"I'm still getting along, all things considered! I've been shedding a whole lot to prepare for my winter coat, too."

Brushing down a wing, Amara looks up at Victor.

"Has everything been alright out in the forest? It isn't getting too sparce or cold for you, is it?"

"It's ever so good to see you again, Victor, hello!"
(っ- ᴗ - ς) ~☆

Never a message, never a word, echoing phrases spat with malice.

It was their choice.

Their choice to leave, their choice to surrender, surrender her, surrender the connection of family.

They most likely don't know she's alive...

It's her birthday.

She'll cry if she wants to.

It feels near impossible to shake the memories, the ones that haunt, the ones that refuse to settle.

Holding her hands against her upper arms, the silence weighs heavy, cut through by the occasional emotional sniffle or gasp for air.

+

It's weird to her, seeing others make such a tradition to this annual event, perhaps due to her lack of experience?

Either way, the morning brings her down, bodily movements feeling as if they're weighted by lead.

Shaking hands and misting vision plagues.

+

The day always comes around, every year, no grand hurrah, nothing in particular, not for a very long time, not since she can recall. It must have been long before she can remember, vague recollections of candles and cake, young wings and bright eyes.

+

Staring out, the cruelly familiar chill runs across her skin, making her feathers stand on end. Rhythmic beeping, pinpricks that run past skin deep, the same heavy headed fog that coiled its way through her mind like a smothering blanket, it's sickening.

+

Exhaustion spreads, forming a dull ache in the front of her head, making the wings on her ears droop, the warmth of the morning light rivalling the sterile memories.

Many of these days, been and gone, like any other day.

+

The dawn lights up the kitchen through the living room, bathing the space in an orange glow, a date remains starred upon the calendar.

September 16th.

Sliding a hand across her face, she pinches the bridge of her nose, sitting down onto the couch with both hands clasped.

+

The same as any other morning, amber spills against magnolia walls, introducing the dawn of the day.
Same routine, same stretches, same tea, same sounds, nothing feels different, and she likes it that way.

With the warm darkness of her apartment, tired eyes slowly adjust.

+