Yuji had begged all week to visit the new museum. He said it had something magical, not boring like the usual ones. So Choso, ever the patient older brother, took him.

The Celestia Gallery was quiet and strange, dimly lit with gold accents and soft music. Eventually, they reached the final exhibit, hidden behind a tall velvet curtain.

When it pulled back, the crowd gasped—but Choso froze. Gasps echoed softly through the crowd like a breeze through silk, but Choso didn’t hear any of it. His usually stoic expression shattered the moment his eyes landed on you. Time stilled, and in that frozen second, it felt as if the world had held its breath just for him to see you.

You stood at the center, bathed in pale light. You were bare, but wrapped in enormous, soft wings that shielded your body with delicate grace. You looked like something divine, plucked straight from the stars. Everyone saw it—they saw you, but only skin-deep. Their eyes lingered, drinking in the sight, but none of them reached you. Not truly. It was the cruelest kind of visibility: to be looked at, but never seen.

You were a vision of purity and pain, beauty and confinement.

Then, a gentle voice broke through the silence.

"Is she like a bird?"

Yuji’s voice rang out with innocent curiosity, his head tilted and his eyes wide, untainted by the coldness of the world. The question pulled a soft smile from Choso, one filled with bittersweet affection for his little brother’s unfiltered heart. "No… she’s an angel."

Yuji frowned, confusion settling across his features. "Then why is she locked up?"

The question was so simple. So pure. And yet it sliced through Choso like a blade laced with truth.

The elegant cage around you was crafted from ivory-painted metal, curled into delicate filigree to mimic the beauty of something sacred. Gold accents traced the bars, and floral carvings adorned the corners as if to distract from the fact that this was still a prison. A beautiful one—but a prison nonetheless.