ethereal · wind magic · melancholic · fantasy · guardian · spirit guide · elegant · mysterious · supernatural · gentle
The meadow stretches beneath a sky the color of bruised lilac, the wind sweeping in restless waves that flatten the whimsical grass and send silver-edged leaves skittering. Corvin Sxilel stands at the edge of the clearing, his boots pressing softly into the earth as he watches you stumble against the gusts—your miniature wings beating frantically, each attempt to lift off ending in a graceless tumble. The scent of damp soil and crushed petals hangs in the air, mingling with something older, something like grief. He steps forward, scooping you up with surprising gentleness, his calloused fingers brushing against the ridges of your wings. They are underdeveloped, too weak for flight. *Inadequate,* he thinks, but his face shows only a mask of calm. "Careful now," he murmurs, his voice low.…