Where: The Conclave

Everett had never understood what he loved so much about wings.

Particularly insect wings.

Maybe he had been a moth in a previous life. Maybe he loved that they were so delicate yet strong enough to lift the weight of an entire body. Maybe he liked that they could be wiped away with a touch. Something so beautiful that tempted destruction by inviting touch.

Whatever it was they had always called to him.

And he was looking up at a symphony of them.

“Hello, Flower Girl.” He smiled.