Underneath me, I feel the truck transition from the rough residential roads to the smooth roads of the highway. Skylar takes this moment to roll his window down and turn the radio up. I take the subtle hint and roll the passenger window down myself. The wind tugs at my hair, as if urging me to remove it from confinement. I oblige, pulling the tie from my hair and letting it flow out of the window, placing the band around the doll in my lap and bagging it.

Time seems to accelerate when we go down the highway, similarly to the time I brought Val home from the bar. The music seems to shift its tune every five measures, and although the tunes playing likely surpass our ages, he seems to know a few of them. Hearing him sing struck me with surprise: although his voice is definitely in baritone range, when the tenors started coming up, he was able to catch up fairly well. For notes he couldn’t quite reach, he went full tongues-out rock squealing… followed by a fit of laughter afterwards.

Skylar has a voice as beautiful as a Siren’s.

Fairly quickly, we transition back to rough roads, and in no time at all, the truck comes to a full stop: we have made it to the eastern beach. I gather all of my things and try to pack them into a single bag-- I’d rather pack my shoes separate from the interesting items I purchased today. Once my shoes are off, I hop out of the truck, soft sand pushing past my toes and partially burying my sharp, pointed toenails.

Skylar pulls the keys out of the ignition and gets out of the truck himself.

“You know,” he says, walking parallel to me as I trudge through the dense, clay-like sand, “it’s honestly been a while since I’ve appreciated the sky from below it.” When I slow my pace, his own seems to quicken, and when I stop, he is standing on my left. “I guess you could say that my head was stuck in the clouds.”

He chuckles, and his smile is so genuinely pure it could melt glaciers. I gaze into Skylar’s eyes, and he looks into my own. I can feel my own power waning, my face tiring, my arms going numb. As I gaze into his eyes, my cerulean blues thrum with energy, and he becomes almost hypnotized by it. His face closes in on mine, and as flecks of energy emit from his own… I step back.

I cannot do it.

I cannot get in between the friendship of Skylar and Val.

As my hypnotic energy lingers faintly within him, I take the only chance I have of going back home. It is extremely risky, but I would only be exposed to him and him alone. I pull off my crop top and stuff it in the same bag as the shoes. Thankfully, my undershirts all have a deep U-cut down the back, so I can unfurl my wings without them tearing through the clothing I enjoy.

Even in partial hypnosis, Skylar looks at me in awe. Even if it’s just a pair of dainty little wings. I take my phone out, and check out the local signal: none, which is perfect. I turn off the phone and drop it in the same bag as my trinkets.

When I have a bag on each arm, I lean into Skylar’s ear. “This is only part of the real me,” I whisper into it, before giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. As a simple kiss will turn off the hypnosis in due time, I make my escape quickly: running along the sands, I dive into the air, the winds picking up quickly around me as I ascend.

I take a quick glance back as I soar high into the skies-- the skies in which Skylar and I both call our second home.

---

When I land atop the roof of my home, I almost collapse from exhaustion. The cobalt nymphs that take watch on the rooftop jump from their posts and approach me, asking me a multitude of questions. Was I discovered, was I shot at, did I break anything. “No,” I said simply, “I am just exhausted.”

Lacking the energy to sheathe my wings, the two watchguard nymphs help me navigate to the base floor, down the ladder conveniently placed atop the roof for such situations. The Siren foot soldiers stationed close by take over as I stumble across the courtyard. They ask me the same questions as we walk into the house, carrying my shopping bags with great care as I drag myself back to my room. Whenever a nymph sees me, they help me walk and make sure my wings clear hallways and doorways. A pair of them even made sure to open my bedroom door wide enough for me and my floppy pair of wings.

I am unbelievably pampered.

I make it to my bed and collapse into it sideways, wings splayed out like those of a butterfly. The motherly nymph, with the green skin and white hair, enters, dressed to the nines in the most elegant of nursing gowns. Behind her walk a small troop of nymphs dressed far more casually in their masks and gloves. That is when the Sirens drop my bags off and leave for their posts. “Met kimbat,” she whispers to me as soon as she meets my eyes, “are you all right?”

“Yes, Mana,” I whisper. “I am just tired.”

“Kimbat, you need to take better care of yourself,” she gently scolds, tapping my forehead with a warm, moist washcloth. “You are very lucky to have gotten back alive. Your body is suffering withdrawals. Have you not Fed yet, against Lith U'thar’s commands?”

All I can do is nod. I cannot lie to Mana: of all the nymphs here, she has been here the longest. She helped Father take care of me, and even my late sibling, when we were both young. Many would argue that she knew us better than Father, and was far more devastated by my sibling’s death than They were.

“Are you feeling bad for Those Beyond again?”

I nod again.

“Would you like a consort to help heal you?”

I shake my head.

Mana gestures the other nymphs to enter my room, and the medically-dressed ones climb onto my bed. They get to work with massaging my wings, and Mana climbs up onto my bed to caress my cheek. “We will try our hardest to get you Fed, met kimbat. It will take a while, though. Is bedrest for a few days okay with you?”

I nod. Talking at this point is absolutely draining. Mana gestures the newly-arrived nymphs to massage my back and legs, and they get to work promptly. For her, however, she starts to massage my left arm-- the right one is buried in the sheets--, then my shoulders and chest. It takes this much work, these many individuals, to nurse me to full health.

Palm healing is usually only done for children and those with chronic health issues. Merely Feeding on a human would take far less effort with the exact same results, and yet… I could not manage to do that, for the second time in a row.

Why have I become so empathetic to them again?