Elijah’s heart still pounding in his chest, and pollen still clogging his throat and lungs, he is unable to lift himself from the cold, rough ground. The midnight moon sears the flesh where his wing used to connect, as the nerves lay dangled in a cacophonous bramble. A sudden wind blows, very fast passed him at first, and then settling softly against his shoulders. In his feebled position, he looks up to see a womanly figure – a dull pink specter, flickering in the wind like static on a television. Her body is composed, patient, and beautiful, but her wide eyes reveal the nervousness behind. She methodically moves out a ghostly hand: an offering of assistance. He struggles to push off her hand, which is no more than a condensed collection of vapor. Still, the strength of her presence awes and invites him to action, and he is able to stand again, albeit on wobbling knees. She touches his lips gently with one hand and speaks softly: “My name is Anita. I’ve been wandering the forest too.” She touches a necklace that encircles her neck. Its chain is thin and gold, and at her breast lies a pendant in the shape of a keyhole, nearly filled with a swirling black gas. She says “I wandered for days in the dark mist, but when I put this on, I found you, and now I don’t feel so alone.” He takes out his key to see if it will match the lock. She lifts his key with both hands to inspect it, but his key is far too large for her necklace. He feels suddenly ashamed that she wears her necklace but he has only been keeping his in his pocket. He slips it on to keep track of it and hopefully to find truth in the darkness as her necklace has apparently done for her. He shivers under the cold, hard pain of the moonlight on his scarred back. She closes in for a hug, resting one hand on his hip and another on the wound of his uprooted wing. She grips the skin, and stretches it. As if kneading a soft dough she moves her hand in and out, summoning a wing to form out of the deepest reaches of his flesh. Great pain sears through his bones as a messy wing begins to form the way time-lapsed nightshade grows in the moonlight. It feels shriveled and weak, but the task is complete. She grips one last time, and requests softly “are you ready?” before ripping it off quickly and easily, like paper from a notebook. She takes a strand of her hair and laced the wing into her own back. She summons another wing from Elijah, but it too as too small and crumpled for use. She has empowered Elijah with this new wing, which though small still helped him find his feet again. Yet amid all the fevered and searing pain he feels mostly only overwhelmed by a deep pit of loss.