The sky was blanketed in darkness. A cold gust of wind billowed down the side of the hill, growing stronger the further up one climbed.
Celeste hurried up the hill, hands tucked underneath the thick fur coat draped over her shoulders.
Her wings felt itchy underneath the heavy and coarse fabric, but it was either this or let them freeze over in the dastardly early winter wind.
The spectral membrane was meant to be a superior advantage for the Fae, but she'd realised in these centuries that they were rather bothersome and didn't do much good to anyone, other than being a beautiful appendage that left others gawking.
It could hold her weight up, fine. But it couldn't withstand strong winds or navigate soaring heights like a mighty dragon wing. So it was technically possible to soar a great height, with the danger of getting your wing broken and toppling down to a gruesome death.
