Archive of Our Own

He’d been wandering in the garden when he found her. The autumn chill was pleasant against his bare skin, and he admired the clear blue sky and the reddening leaves. This time of year was his favorite, when the air smelled sweet with changing things and the trees gave one last beautiful burst of color before sinking into winter’s icy embrace. A strong breeze blew through the garden, knocking leaves from their branches and causing the man to flinch against the sudden cold. Part of him regretted not grabbing his jacket from inside before going for his walk, having opted instead to enjoy the air in nothing but a thin shirt. It hadn’t been his brightest decision, he realized with a quiet sigh. Rubbing absently at the gooseflesh on his arms, the man debated heading back in, but decided against it. He could handle a little cold, after all, and it really was such a lovely day. It’d be a shame to waste it indoors. The man continued down the garden path, with no sound accompanying him other than the occasional whisper of leaves in the wind and the crunch of his heavy boots on gravel as he admired the beds of brightly colored chrysanthemum and carefully tended cosmos.

He found her lying in the marigolds, cotton dress pooled around her as she curled in on her side. The trees above boasted cracked branches, leaves scattered from where they’d been jostled from their perch. Twigs littered the ground around her. She herself was beautiful, as all of her kind are. Soft red curls sprawled across the orange petals of her flowery bed, contrasting against her stark pale skin. Her figure was slender and petite, and oddest of all about this girl sleeping in the marigolds was a pair of wings that sprouted from her back. With feathers the same wispy white as the clouds above, they were mesmerizing in their quiet grace. As the girl's chest rose and fell, with each breath they twitched slightly and cast flickering shadows over the ground.

The man stared at the girl with awe, confusion clouding his thoughts. What was she doing here, this lovely girl with a dove's wings? He crouched next to her and with trembling fingers gently jostled her arm, hoping to wake her. The girl did not stir from her sleep and the man's dark brows furrowed. Less gently, he shook her shoulder again, and failed to so much as cause her eyelids to flicker. How odd, he thought. She didn't appear to be hurt, so why would she sleep so deeply? He pondered this question in silence, sitting on his haunches as he regarded the winged dreamer.
Another particularly cold wind blew, and the man shivered against it. Looking to the sky, he could see it was getting rather late, as violets and reds started to bloom across the clouds. His gaze traveled from the sunset back to the girl. He couldn’t just leave her there when night fell. Not only would it be cold, but who knows what could come along and get her if she stayed asleep? Making his decision, the man crouched down and carefully took the girl into his arms, carrying her bridal style, taking care not to disturb her feathery appendages. After adjusting his grip as not to drop her, the man carried her down the path and towards his home.

She was awake when he awoke the next morning, sitting up in the bed and observing him wordlessly with wide, sunset-colored eyes. He met her stare from his spot on the floor. The girl was even more beautiful conscious, he thought, with her crimson hair surrounding her fair face like a halo and a soft rosy tint coloring her cheeks. He was outright staring at her, he knew, and as was she him. He forced himself to speak, thinking that he was being very rude.

“Good morning,” the man said.

The girl blinked, tilting her head, and her wings lifted themselves from the bedclothes and ruffled with movement, almost like a wave. She didn’t say a word, still watching him. The man stood up, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable under the girl’s scrutinizing gaze. As was his habit when nervous, he busied himself, tidying up the blankets from the palette on the floor where he had slept that night. He spoke again as he folded the sheets, babbling to fill the girl’s silence.

“I found you outside yesterday, and well, I couldn’t just leave you out there. You’re at my house. A little small, yes, but it’s home.” The man gestured around the one-room cabin where he lived. “I haven’t got much, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Do you have any family? Anybody who may be looking for you? I mean, you are rather young, and obviously not the most...uh...well…y’know.” He turned to her and looked pointedly at her wings, his arms full of laundry. She blinked again, raising the appendages in question and giving them a quick flap. These? the action seemed to say.

Throwing the blankets on the laundry pile, the man nodded to the girl. “Yeah, those.” He ran a hand through his blond hair and leaned against the wall.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “I’m Yohio. Yohio Lloyd.”

She kept her honey eyes fixed on him as she slowly shook her head, silent. Joseph furrowed his brows at her, confusion marking his features.

“You do have a name, right?”

Again she shook her head, soft red curls spilling around her shoulders. Her wings curled around her shoulders, as if she were trying to hide from Yohio’s shocked look. Pinkness spread across her cheeks as she blushed.

Yohio blinked wearily at her, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, uh, that won’t do. Names are important. Names make or break a person, my mother used to say.” He sat down on the bed next to her, looking at the floor. “Guess we should give you one, huh?”

The girl looked up from her lap, surprise clear on her fair face. She looked away again, nodding slowly. Yohio nodded in return, playing with his fingers. A name, a name. He thought back to what he knew about her, from her snowy wings to her silence. Where he found her flashed into his mind, the slightly trampled bed of marigolds.

“What about Miki?” he suggested, thinking of the sturdy orange flowers. Their color was similar to her eyes, he thought. The girl looked to the man, staring as she appeared to ponder the name.

“Miki,” she murmured, testing it out. Her voice was sweet and high, soft in volume. Yohio thought to himself that it was lovely -- just like her. She said it again, a bit louder this time. A shiver went down Yohio’s spine. With a nod, the girl looked to him, pointing to herself.

“Miki.”

Despite himself, Yohio smiled. He nodded back to her. “Hello, Miki.”

Miki did not appear to have any home to go to, judging from the way she made no move to leave Yohio’s cabin. Not having the heart to turn the girl away, Yohio allowed her to stay with him. He feared what others would do to Miki if they ever came across her, considering the oddity that was her wings.

So, she stayed with him, and eventually, they settled into a routine. Yohio occupied his days with managing the household chores, whilst Miki would wander around the house and nearby area. Sometimes she would pick flowers and make bouquets, sometimes she would return with a dress full of edible roots and berries to go along with that night’s supper. Yohio quickly learned that the girl refused to eat meat of any sort, so he made sure to include large portions of fruits, vegetables, and other things for her at meal times.

When he wasn’t busy with the chores, Yohio would teach her. He taught her how to sew and make herself clothes from the fabric he occasionally brought home. He taught her how to milk his old cow and how to start a fire in the stove for supper. At one point he taught her how to cook simple meals, and even gave her a few reading lessons when he had the chance. In Miki, he found an ideal pupil; intelligent enough to grasp concepts quickly most of the time and hardworking enough to understand them eventually when she didn’t.

Their life was simple, but content. The two were comfortable around each other, and a friendship was slowly building between them. Miki was speaking more each day, and while still a bit on the quiet side, she eventually completely cast aside her original silent nature. Yohio had a hard time remembering what it had been like before he had found her. He liked having her around, and he found himself growing increasingly fond of her. He didn’t want anything about their situation to change. It was just fine the way it was.

One evening, after the two had enjoyed a simple supper and were lounging in front of the fire, Miki asked him a question.

“‘Hio?”

He looked up from his book to her, eyebrow slightly raised. She was curled up in her seat, feet tucked up beneath her and wings wrapped around her shoulders. Having put away the white dress he had found her in shortly after she had awoken, she was wearing a simple green frock that he’d picked her up from the tailor, slits cut in the back to accommodate her feathery appendages. Her fair features were uncharacteristically blank. “Yes?” he answered, closing his book and marking the place with his finger.

She bit her lip lightly, looking into the fireplace. “If...if I were to leave...what would you do?”

Yohio frowned. “Why?”

“Please,” she murmured. “Just answer.”

The man sighed, rubbing at his neck. “Well, it sure would be different without you. I’ve gotten used to having someone around. Being alone again, uh, well, it would be different.” And I wouldn’t like it hung in the air after his words, unspoken.

Miki seemed to curl in on herself further, wings tightening around her. “Alright…”

She stood up from her chair, tucking her wings behind her back as she passed him. At Yohio’s surprised look, she offered him a quick smile. “I’m just going to bed, don’t worry,” she told him. “Good night.” Miki continued to the back of the house, before pausing once more. “Yohio?”

“Yes, Miki?”

“Thank you

Yohio blinked after her, watching as she climbed into the bed. “You’re welcome

Silence hung in the air after her. Yohio stayed by the fireplace for a few hours more, sinking back into his book. Eventually, he fell asleep, leaning against the chair with the book dangling in his limp fingers.

When he awoke, Yohio had a horrible crick in his neck. He reached up to rub away the kink, and noticed a wool blanket fall off his shoulders. Massaging his neck, he looked around, eyes bleary with sleep. Sunlight was streaming in the windows, dust motes hanging in the air. It had to be sometime in the late morning.

“Miki?” he called, his voice rough. Silence answered him, and he stood, looking around the cabin. The bed was empty, sheets neatly made and her green dress laid out on top of it. It didn’t seem that she was inside. Yohio walked to the window, calling her name again. He saw no sign of her outside either, just a sunny day and the quiet forest that surrounded the cabin. The air was cool with the promise of the coming winter, the ground littered with fallen leaves. Shaking his head of the worried thoughts brewing, Yohio grabbed his coat and ran out the door, slamming it shut behind him. He made his way down Miki’s favorite path to take on her walks, calling for her.

Something felt off, he thought. It wasn’t unusual for Miki to rise before he did, neither was it odd for her to leave the house for a walk. This time, however, was different. Yohio couldn’t name what it was, but it was there.

Eventually, Yohio found himself in the garden where he had first found Miki, months ago. He rounded the familiar path, completely ignoring the flowers that he normally would have paused to admire. Soon enough, he came to the bed where he had found her.

The marigolds had wilted since, replaced by forlorn brown stems as their season ended. Nestled amongst the withered blooms was a feather, he noticed. The white stuck out starkly amongst the dirty brown. Next to the feather was a rolled up piece of paper, which Yohio quickly picked up and unrolled, cerise eyes quickly scanning over the shakily penned letters. His expression darkened as he read, eventually settling into a frown as he finished and rolled the note back up, placing it in the pocket of his coat. He reached down and plucked the feather from amongst the dead blooms, spinning it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Couldn’t even say goodbye in person, huh?” The words slipped out, coated in a tired sort of exasperation. Shaking his head, Yohio placed the feather carefully in his pocket, not wanting to damage it. He turned to leave, already picturing the empty cabin he would return home to.