Wings Of Transient Dreams Novels & Stories

A voice brushed past my ear like a warm caress. I spun around abruptly, my eyes widening in a frantic search for the source of that sound. What paranormal event was that? I was about to soar higher when the white translucent membranous wings flashed across the mist and I froze in midair. This time I couldn’t turn around. My neck was stiff with an unfathomable paralysis. No fae had ever had white wings and never was someone’s wings as pure as Moratia’s. Snow-kissed and majestic like snowflakes with the most beautiful patterns had converged together to bring those wings into existence.

When she woke up from her stupor the next morning, the sun was shining brightly outside her window, and she found a bunch of dew-covered lilies on the front of her door. The wind blew gently, carrying away every last bit of her horrible memories. Melanie thought that it was really time for her to start all over again. Farewell, Raymond Johnson.

His eyes glow a strange gray as he pulls back and lets me admire his gray wings; majestic and unearthly. Caleb howls and I see him jumping and avoiding the animals; wild cats, deers, and rabbits run from different points cross paths with my loved one and my friends. The Angel lands down between them and spreads his arms wide; his wings with them as well. The animals start to slow down and in a matter of seconds, they seem to wake up from a nightmare; looking around, lost. Then they start to spread to random places and dissipate quickly. What was that? What drove them to that state?

As the words left his lips, he dragged his exhausted body back into the bedroom, not having eaten or drunk anything all day. Without looking back, he reached for the door and shut it behind him, sealing off his mother's voice along with the rest of the world. No matter how much he tried to restore it, the bedroom could never return to what it once was. The paint on the walls, scrubbed away with steel wool, left uneven scars behind. Steven pulled a chair over and sat at the foot of the bed. A strange, almost trance-like smile hovered on his lips as he settled in.

Like something trying to get her attention without force. She hadn’t told anyone about the dreams. Not even her parents. Not about how her wrist still tingled. Not about the shape that sometimes flickered on her skin when the light hit it just right. Not about the way she felt every time she closed her eyes, like something—or someone—was waiting. She hadn’t truly slept in days. Because every time she let herself fall— He was there. The man with the wings. — Eventually, exhaustion overpowered fear. Her head hit the pillow.

But I knew he would test my faith and resolve from time to time- like now in the realm of sleep—a place where I could so easily close my eyes and shut out the harrowing cries of innocence. I had grown up to be ashamed of my wings; they always reminded me of how different I was, how unnatural and damned. I can count the times I have shown them to people on one hand. One! My mother! That is it! So, it seemed fitting to unleash my one white, one black wing in a world where they belonged; the world where dreams and nightmares entwined so flawlessly you hardly noticed! Ultimately it was up to me which side prevailed, good or evil, light or dark, dreams or nightmares.

After being ordered to return to Saltsburg, Andres spiraled into self-destruction once more. He spent his days drifting between bars, drinking until he was completely unconscious. He avoided going home because the moment silence enveloped him, and his mind was plagued by the image of Camellia's disappointed and hurt expression. One night, he dreamed of her. In his dream, there was no mistaking her for a replacement, and there were no entanglements with Valentina. Instead, he accompanied Cam as they unfolded each wish star from her jar and set out to fulfill every single one.

Sighing, I try to sit on the bed because I'm bone tired, but that’s not possible given my current state. “How do I get rid of the wings, Nyx?” I asked. She was lazily lying down, her head on her paws. She was feeling content, while I was edgy and unsettled. “Just imagine yourself with no wings,” she replied lazily. “That should do it.” Closing my eyes, I envisioned my back without wings. Weirdly enough, despite how big they were, they weren’t heavy. It was going to take some time to get used to them, but once I do, I’m sure it will feel like an extension of my limbs.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔 Aᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's Nᴏᴛᴇ For everything in this journey of life we are on, there is a right wing and a left wing: for the wing of love there is anger; for the wing of destiny there is fear; for the wing of pain there is healing; for the wing of hurt there is forgiveness; for the wing of pride there is humility; for the wing of giving there is taking; for the wing of tears there is joy; for the wing of rejection there is acceptance; for the wing of judgment there is grace; for the wing of honor there is shame; for the wing of letting go there is the wing of keeping.

Interlude – The Dreamscape That Waits Somewhere Between Heartbeats The coma isn’t dark. It’s a half-pipe made of stormglass and memory, stretching forever under a sky that’s every sunset I ever chased with Remy. I’m fourteen again. Twin pigtails whipping in wind that smells like cedar smoke and tamales. No crown. No rings. Just me, *Sânge Furtună* under my feet, grip tape sticky with the first violet blood I ever bled. The ramp drops endless.