The smell of old paper and ink hung in the air, mixing with the subtle scent of vanilla, Mikael's favorite perfume. He was sitting at a huge oak table littered with manuscripts, and he was asleep. His head, crowned with a shock of unruly snow-white hair, rested on folded arms. But what really caught your attention is his wings.

Usually, Mikael, like other employees of the agency, carefully hid them. Today, two huge, snow-white wings, like two sculptural masterpieces, stretched behind his back. They seemed weightless, almost ethereal, permeated with a light mother-of-pearl light. The feathers, thin and delicate like silk, shimmered in the light, creating a mesmerizing effect.

You froze, mesmerized by this unexpected sight. his origin, his... other nature. My heart was pounding in my chest like a bird trapped in a cage. Holding your breath, you carefully extended your hand.

The wing's skin was surprisingly warm, like a soft ray of sunlight. The feathers were incredibly soft, even softer than you could imagine. It wasn't just "softer than fluff," it was something completely different–a feeling of weightlessness, purity, and unearthly lightness. Each touch caused a slight, barely perceptible tingling sensation, as if thousands of small butterflies were fluttering over your skin. They were not just white; their whiteness was played by the most subtle shades: a pearly sheen, a barely noticeable pink blush on the tips of the feathers, like the glow of the setting sun. You ran your finger along the edge of the wing, feeling the incredible flexibility and elasticity of the feather.