Page 324 of Psycho Gods
Our Revered.
Our treasure.
Chapter 64
Aran
FLYING
Ethereal (adjective): extremely delicate and light.
A warm breeze blew through my curls as I whooped aloud with joy.
Fresh grass and sweet florals filled my nose.
Crystalline wings flapped behind me as I spun higher into the air. The weight of my wings was a comforting presence that felt right, as opposed to crushing.
I was built to take to the sky.
It was my destiny.
The rising sun kissed my rosy cheeks, and morning fog gave everything a whimsical quality. Goats, sheep, and miniature ponies trotted about without a care in the world.
The sunshine was golden and hazy.
Life felt like a watercolor painting.
Bubbles of excitement jumped in my stomach as I twisted onto my back and spread my wings wide, then lazily spiraled toward the land.
Again and again, I flew toward the heavens, then turned, and drifted back down.
Flying was better than anything I could have ever imagined, and there were no words that could capture the feeling of pure euphoria.
It felt like freedom tasted.
For the first time in my life, I was completely, exquisitely, and wonderfully alive.
When my lungs strained and sweat dotted my brow, I landed gently in a soft patch of sun-warmed grass. Fog wrapped around my ankles in a caress as I walked across the rolling hills toward the stately tree I’d claimed yesterday as mine.
Its sweeping branches cast a welcoming shade.
Collapsing onto my pastel blanket, I lay on my back and marveled at the sensation of stillness after exertion. My flowy white silk pants and top were cool against my warm skin.
I closed my eyes and dug my toes into the grass.
Blood pounding through my veins, I spread my arms wide, wings fanned out beneath me as I embraced the stillness.
Tipping my head back, I swore I could feel the realm spinning.
I sighed with relief.
Ice spread across my fingertips.
Here—in a faraway countryside—I was nothing but a woman in a field with pastel ribbons in my blue curls.
A small pang of emptiness stabbed my heart.
I gasped.