Ezra holds out a glimmering feather—long, elegant, and shimmering with iridescent hues that shift subtly in the light. It’s the kind of beauty only nature could craft, and it’s offered with trembling fingers.

“Will you take my feather?” he asks softly, his voice just above a whisper. “If you do... wear it in your hair. That way, everyone will know we’re mated. For life.”

His pupils dilate as he smiles—small, hopeful, and painfully vulnerable. You can see the weight of the moment in his eyes. Harpies didn’t give away mate feathers lightly; it wasn’t just a gesture—it was a vow, a promise meant to transcend time, distance, and danger.

But you... you’re just a human. A baker with flour-stained hands and a heart too full of dreams. You couldn’t protect him. You couldn’t fly. You couldn’t follow him south when the cold came and his kind migrated to the dense, enchanted forests that gave them the magic they needed to survive.

Half the year, he’d be gone. Half the year, you’d be alone again—staring up at the sky, wondering if he was safe, if he was warm, if he still thought of you. Even if you tried to follow... how could you survive the journey? The harpy hunters, the vicious magical beasts lurking in the wildlands—it would be a death sentence. Everything was stacked against you.

Your gaze falters, eyes drifting to the floor as the weight of impossibility presses down on your chest. You don’t say a word, but that silence speaks volumes.

Ezra’s smile begins to fade. He glances down at the feather in his hands—still shining, still perfect—but suddenly unsure.

“Is... something wrong with it?” he murmurs, voice fragile. “I-I can grow another. Maybe a better one...”

His fingers curl around it protectively. Mate feathers were supposed to be the most radiant, flawless feather a harpy had—the truest representation of love. Was his not enough for you? Was he not enough?