“I don’t think any of them had the chance to meet one.”
Her eyes were shining again, he could see even in the moonlight. That expression had always made him feel… self-conscious. He cleared his throat, shaking off the thought, turning to place the book in one of the many piles.
“It’s not fair, really. Most of us even have a tendency to treat others who don’t look or act a certain way the same.”
He turned back to her, “How do you mean? Everyone looks different.”
She expressed her sympathies about certain human beings treated as though they weren’t just that; human beings. People who were perceived as unworthy by society all from something they couldn’t help but be born with in some cases, drastically altering the way they live their lives.
While he had heard of such things, it still didn’t make sense how people looking different could be mistreated by their peers. That’s not how things worked way back home…
“Well, I have a few books that may help put it into perspective, if you were interested?”
He raised an eyebrow, “I suppose I do not have anything better to do.”
She looked around the space awkwardly, “Well, I, um… I really like your place. It’s beautiful in here, but it could use a clean-up if I’m honest.”
As if for emphasis, a few of her slender fingers brushed against the white fabric haphazardly covering the chaise longue sofa in the room, drawing lines in the dust there.
“Would it not be suspicious if anyone came across a clean discarded manor?”
Avie wiped the dust on her pants as she grinned, “I thought you said it’s been awhile since you’ve had any ‘guests’?”
Damn. She was right.
“Touché. I should keep it proper, at least.”
“I could help with that,” she said, laughing.
The pair returned to the apartment shortly after the tour, unable to find anything of interest for her odd sensation much to her evident disappointment. Arriving back at her home, she searched around the flat for two books she had mentioned previously. Finding one was easy, finding the second proving to be a game of hide and seek.
“I hope you like these, they’re classic literature.”
“It is new material; I am sure I will enjoy the change.”
She appeared sad at his statement, “There can be more that you can do now, if you’re bored of just reading?”
“I enjoy it, but it is tiresome. What did you have in mind?”
“Have you ever painted? I have supplies you could use. Maybe I can bring them when we spruce-up the place?”
The idea mulled over in his mind, “I could give it a try. After all, I see in other shades, maybe they will translate well to canvas.”
A laugh was hidden behind her hand, “You’re probably a regular Da Vinci.”
He gripped the books tighter, “Right, the painter. He was merely a human; cake walk in comparison to my spectrum,” he chortled, joining in on her laughter.
“Let me know what you think when you’ve finished, or if I can help clarify anything.” His feathers shimmered as he nodded, turning to exit through the bedroom window, “Wait! Wait, before you go… I just wanted to say thanks, you know, for making the effort.”
He turned his crown to observe the sudden statement. While it was true, he wasn’t expecting to have such fluidity with chatter. This human made it easy. While finding him interesting, the more she brought up, the more he found her similar in return. It wasn’t just about the mysterious drumming, there was something more that made him seek her out.
“You are welcome.”
The mass of feathers cocooning wings pushed him into the night’s sky, kissing the stars as he set out to his home in the woods.
That night, he took up one of the books Avie gifted him. Engrossed in a new story, he followed a character trapped and raised inside a grand church, kept secret for the way he looked. Even other humans were treated poorly due to living as an ‘incorrect’ race in the eyes of the antagonist. The main character arc propelled the lead to save the woman he unrequitedly loved and die because of the silly sentiment. His feathered self liked it in terms of believability, and it felt like he did understand the point Avie made earlier… sort of.
It at least outlined the differences someone could face, fiction or not.
He sighed, seeing the sun peeking from the horizon as he sat the paperback on a nearby pile. Laying back and stretching out, he considered getting some sleep, the lingering fingers of fatigue tracing over his eyelids.
Turning to face away from the window, the other title filled his vision.
Then again…
He picked it up, holding it over his face as he read the introductory.
She was cooking, seeing through the same infamous window of her bedroom to the other side of the apartment where she stood.
Lifting the glass, he helped himself inside, gripping the book he brought with him.
“I do not understand this one. I mean I do; I understand it in the literal sense. What I do not understand is the reasoning? I spent dawn reading through it, all day even, and then once I finished… I had to read it again. It is powerful, it is energetic, it is mysterious. Why would the female not return his feelings? How dare it end in this way!”
He paced back and forth in the combined kitchen and living room, rambling off the thoughts, seeing that he startled the human with his sudden appearance and monologue.
“Because she did not love him, she pitied him,” the small female said, quieting the flame on the burner.
He stopped, softly outraged, “Love? But she loved that one not seen since childhood? And she chose him? He hardly acted better!”
“It’s how her heart worked… She never let go of that love she had. I think she really did care
