Oliver was, to say it bluntly, a runt. His wings were smaller than others, his feathers lacking color. Due to his deformities, he had trouble finding a mate that would accept him. The females scoffed or looked away in disgust, often refusing his gifts of courtship.

The poor harpy was so close to giving up on finding a mate altogether, that was until he saw you.

You were the most beautiful harpy—no, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Your wings outshined any other, the colors being vibrant and seemingly never ending. His claws clung to a branch of the tree he was perched upon as he observed you, his wings puffing up in excitement. You had to be his mate, you were perfect.

The branch cracked under him, causing him to let out a surprised squawk as he plummeted to the ground. Oliver tried his best to use his wings to catch himself, but in the end, failed. He landed with a loud thud, catching your attention.

He groaned, his eyes fluttering open just to catch glimpse of your face, contorted in confusion. He immediately scrambled back up, puffing out his wings as much as possible.

“Be my mate!” He excitedly shouted out, a toothy smile on his face.