I've been making deals with my talons as they graze my tufts of fur— perfection is poison I don't want in my blood. The contract is written for the weak, the signature line too divine for my name. I must learn to walk with feet, not wings. The sun is already at a lovely low; surely my wax frame would spill into the ocean if I were to ever attempt to kiss it.
Haven't written anything in a long while because of college classes