Elara the Flightless she was called. A fairy born with no wings spent its life shunned because obviously its wings were taken in the womb — as some punishment of the mother.

She watched as her city burned.

“I can give you wings,” the Dark One whispered. “Subject yourself to me and you will have the most magnificent wings of them all.”

“To serve you, I assume,” Elara said.

“Naturally. Is that so little to ask? Why do you care about a civilization that shuns you at no fault of your own?”

Elara turned and spat in the Dark One’s hideous face. The creature dissolved instantly into a puff of greasy smoke.

“Maybe I can change them,” she thought, though doubting it.

Instantly, a tug on Elara’s shoulders, the satiny feel of wings unfurling. She was ready to fly.