Protective or curious

The whispers. They were like a swarm of gnats, always buzzing at the edge of my hearing, but today, they felt louder, sharper. I tried to focus on the swirling patterns of dust motes dancing in the sunlight slanting through the academy windows, a familiar comfort, but the sounds persisted. *“Did you see how she did that?”* *“It’s not natural.”* *“She’s hiding something.”*

My wings, usually a source of pride, felt heavy, a burden I couldn't shed. I pulled them closer, tucking them against my sides, willing myself to shrink, to become a mere shadow. The familiar tightness seized my chest, a cold dread that always followed when the whispers turned from admiration to suspicion. It was the same fear that had driven me to make myself small, to feign a meekness that was only partly an act. The academy was supposed to be my sanctuary, the only place where I could escape the fractured echoes of my life outside these hallowed halls. But now, even here, the shadows were lengthening.

Flame was across the courtyard, practicing his aerial maneuvers. Even from this distance, his movements were a blur of controlled power, a stark contrast to my own hesitant grace. He was a whirlwind of motion, a joyous defiance of gravity, his frost breath leaving shimmering trails against the blue sky. He was everything I wasn't: bold, unburdened, and utterly unaware of the fragility that encased me. He was probably the worst student academically, but when it came to anything involving wings and wind, he was a natural. The thought of him always brought a tiny spark of warmth to the cold fear.