WITHOUT WINGS: A WINTER INTERLUDE. (A Limited Seasonal Piece — Outside Canon) Lucien speaks. Winter is when humans pretend endings can be wrapped.They hang lights over grief. They bake memory into sugar and call it comfort.They insist the dark is temporary. They are wrong. This night thins the world. I feel it like a fault line beneath my feet—the old rules loosening, the veil forgetting its job. Children sense it first. They always do. Wilona stands at t

– late. windy. Maybe I’m just weird. Or maybe something is happening, I just don’t know what it is yet. Nothing has changed here at home. Richard still stomps around like the whole house belongs to him. Like we’re trespassing in our own lives. He’s been watching me more lately—those quick sideways glances he thinks I don’t notice. I keep my bedroom door locked, but that doesn’t stop the feeling. Sometimes it’s like the air itself is waiting for him to push through it. Mum kee

First Diary entry

Tethered to Wilona

What it's like to serve humans