Sitting atop of a hurried slope covered in pleasantries and merriments stays a home for graceful radiance. There it was always sunny and there it was bursting with many bright colors. Early mornings and hard work was rewarded with cerulean blue petunias and peachy walls embraced with positivity that would never quit.

One could find themselves feeling a loud sense of longing, or maybe envy for a life such as her life, Branwen Elsher. Or perhaps her daughter, Maple. Or maybe even bitter?

What did it mean for such a specific household to gain so much privilege and opportunity when the same couldn’t be said for another? Was it deserved? Was it forced?

It wasn’t the same there. In what world did it make sense for one house to be luckier than the other instead of being simple?

A frowning face you never did see. Hundreds of folk with the same routine held grins to their faces and found their arms in the familiar labor, surrounded in vibrant happy color.

In such a place, envy was a hardly recognizable stranger. In fact, the same was for hate, anger, and lust. Can’t catch a civilian with the feelings of a sinner.

Did it apply to everyone? Oh yes, but perhaps there was an exception, or a few needing fixing. But of course we shan’t think such things of others.

The kind and beautiful Branwen Elsher was wise to raise her daughter Maple in the same manner for the hope of the next children.

It was hoped that a daughter even kinder and more beautiful than her mother would understand obedience and grace. And so it was done. If one is raised to never ask questions then they never will.

“Beware of the One of Wings,” innocent bystanders would say on their perfectly cut lawns, a cheerful smile to almost show that it was merely a joke. Who would believe that such a thing could exist in their esoteric realities?

It was said a creature of wings, one with one giant bird foot and black feathers as big as Maple’s head shrouded itself in the shadows of the neighborhood and did the most interestingly awful things to people. Everyone had a different story.

But the stories could never last long, or else one might feel uneasy. And nobody would tolerate that.

It happened to be perhaps a truth, or some truth to it, since it seemed not too long later a big black bird with a human face and one foot swooped down and, to put it extremely lightly, killed a man.

Panic could not be raised. That would not do. So for the remaining days of the neighborhood’s meaningless existence, it was unspoken. Completely silenced, so now it was a stranger. A stranger who must go away, or else it might chase the poor childlike positivity into a game of hide-and-go-seek.

Perhaps Maple should have been scared, but if to everyone else the rumor was merely a falsehood not to be worried about then of course she shan’t worry.

It was in the kitchen of pink and green with neon yellow that it seemed one little moment changed for the worst. Through the clear window quite a few rays of warm sunshine piled through and made its way onto a great glistening bowl on the yellow countertop, filled with sweet brown dough.

“Hello sweetheart,” Branwen smiled the same default that if Maple were to be honest, made her skin crawl. Her eyes never quite matched it, staying the same neutral look while at the same time her mouth moved into a grin that seemed simply forced.

Maple had to ask about the same thing that had plagued her mind for days. Instead of dwelling on what her mother might say or might act, she pushed forward, for the question pounded in her head like a hammer on a nail.

“Is the One of Wings real?”

A slight stroke of silence. It created tension like no other thing in the world could. Oh no, what had Maple done? Perhaps it was too late to change anything. Perhaps she was doomed to be looked down upon forever for the way she thought.

Curse her.

Again, the same smile. But perhaps a little forced.

“Of course not. Who told you that?”

“Nobody.”

This, however, seemed to spark a slight concern on Branwen’s temple. She was quick to mask it, letting it slip, slip, slip for only a moment.

“There is nothing out there, I assure you. Would you like some chocolate bread? I’m whipping up a batch as we speak.”

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A leak in the ceiling? Strange. The roof never leaked. And it wasn’t raining.

Both Branwen and Maple couldn’t contain the curiosity that kept them both from speaking again. They looked up.

To Maple’s sweet horror, a patch in the ceiling was red, like a lid to the Tupperware. No, like the handmade blanket she kept in her room. No! Like the red roses their next door neighbor grew in their front garden!

No, it was like blood. And it dripped through the ceiling from the attic to Maple’s shoe.

The second drop came like a slow motion water droplet, and another drop landed and splattered on her shoe again.

And almost as suddenly, it was gone. There was now a wet shoe of hers under a ceiling dripping with rain water. And when Maple took a peak out of the window, the sky was still sunny but it was now raining.

“Oh dear. Well I guess I’ll have to postpone the extra gardening I was planning today.”

Maple looked at her mother again, who was staring out at the rain outside. She couldn’t help but wonder how it rained so fast.

But it was like suddenly everything made sense. The questions she’d asked herself, the questions she so wished that she could ask the others, but never could. It all came together like a puzzle too complex to figure.

“Mom, why did you kill Henry Gerard?”

Branwen, who’s back was turned away from Maple, who was kneading the dough just seconds ago, was now standing completely still, like a timid rabbit among many dangers. It seemed as though now the beast had been caught.

“Sweetheart, what an awful thing to ask. Are you feeling Ill? Perhaps a little lie down will fix you right up.”

Maple would have most definitely listened to what her mother said and forgotten all about it, but she found herself asking more and more questions in her mind that desperately needed answering in that moment.

“Did you simply do it because you found some odd pleasure in it?”

More silence. Only this time, it seemed much less tense and more relaxed.

Branwen turned to look at her daughter. A new, cruel smile Maple had never seen before graced her lips and once again the rest of her face didn’t follow.

Everything in Maple told her to run, of course. But she couldn’t. It seemed completely irrational somehow and it in a strange way seemed like such a ridiculous idea.

“Yes, my dearest. What else could it have been?”