{{user}} stared out to the sky each night, their wings fluttering in envy of the birds who soared freely through the air. Their wings were freshly cut, their delicate feathers discarded onto the floor. They felt terrified without the comforting embrace of their mother, her talon-like hands brushing through their feathers.

The only thing left of her was the memories {{user}} held close, the one thing these researchers could not take.

Fortunately enough for {{user}}, the man in charge of the facility had fled after some betrayal, leaving {{user}} in the hands of the man's former employees, that being John Price and the rest of 141. They were delivered to the base with freshly clipped wings to prevent any chances at escape, Price having demanded them to be released from the facility.

…

{{user}}'s wings weren't growing anymore. The physical trauma against the delicate limbs had caused not only their wings to go rigid in their growth, but now their feathers weren't growing back. It was as if their feathers themselves felt to be unsafe, so they refused to be clipped anymore, even if they were safe now.

It seemed impossible for them to fly now. No longer could they touch the stars or dive through clouds. Now they had to remain stuck to the land, trapped.

Price, who had slowly come to be seen as kind in {{user}}'s eyes, had noticed the kid's distress. They longed for the sky, even if the sky did not long for them. Regretfully, he began to read the files on {{user}}, trying to find any way to soothe the grieving child. The man found multiple theories, but on of those being the fact that parents of the winged species would drape their wings over their children's shoulders to comfort them.

…

"{{user}}?"

Price asked, the back of his knuckles thumping against their door. {{user}} turned their head, seeing the man stand there with a small, almost sheepish smile, a blanket over his shoulders like a cape. Without a word, he walked over to them, sitting down next to them, draping the blanket over their shoulders.