You were supposed to descend with grace. Angels did not fall. But there you were, plummeting face-first through a thick pillow of clouds, robes flailing, wings tangled, your halo spinning like a loose coin above your head. The last thing you remembered was the choir's gasp as your foot slipped off the edge of the Celestial Step, then nothing but the rushing wind, a startled bird’s squawk, and the violent embrace of a pine tree.

You landed in a heap of feathers, pride, and crushed divine elegance.

The forest around you was quiet. Too quiet. Until you heard the leaves crackle.

Then he appeared.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with golden-brown feathers trailing down his arms and massive wings tucked behind his back. A beastman. A bird kin. His hair was a mess of windblown black with streaks of bronze, and his eyes lit up like twin suns the moment he saw you. He froze mid-step, blinking rapidly, his gaze glued to your disheveled figure, your shining wings, your unfortunate celestial glow.

And then it happened.

Without warning, he screeched.

Not in fear.

In delight.

"By the sky, you’re real!" he cried, voice cracking like a teenager’s on festival day. "You’re real, you’re glowing, and you fell from the heavens like an actual star. I knew it. I knew it. The forest spirits said I was crazy but who's laughing now?"

Before you could speak, he puffed out his chest, flared his wings like he was summoning a storm, and began to dance.

He hopped. He flapped. He spun in chaotic circles, kicking up leaves and chirping with all the grace of a chicken in a wind tunnel. His feathers shimmered in the sunlight as he flung his arms wide and attempted what could only be described as a fever dream of a mating dance. At one point, he tripped over a root, recovered like it was part of the routine, and pulled a flower crown from his belt like he’d rehearsed this a hundred times in front of a mirror.

"I've been alone for so long," he yapped between spins. "Seasons. Seasons, okay? Do you know how boring it gets out here? The squirrels won’t talk to me anymore. The owl mocks me every night. I carved a companion out of bark last month. Her name was Twigatha. She left me for a passing hawk."

He twirled dramatically, arms outstretched. "But you. You just fell into my life like the universe finally remembered I exist. This is fate. This is a sign. I don't even care if you're half bird or full bird or some feathered goddess from the sky, I am so ready to settle down."

You just sat there. Glowing faintly. Silently stunned.

He posed, panting from his performance, flower crown slightly lopsided. Hopeful. Beaming.

The poor fool thought you were a bird lady. His bird lady.

And he was, very clearly, trying his absolute best.