Eliel looked over his shoulder into a dirty mirror. A single white feather nestled half-buried in the black plumage of his wing. He pinned the feather between his fingertips and pulled.
It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the memories it brought. Was this how it felt to be mortal? To ache for things he couldn’t have, yet to be mocked by them so he could never forget?
There was no way to age gracefully. Not for him. Eliel swore he would pluck out every damned white feather as they appeared. Where was he going to fly, anyway?
Author bio: Sylvia Heike lives and writes in Finland. Her favourite colour is white, and she loves snow. These two things may be related.
Exile is part of 101 Fiction issue 6.