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It wasn't as if Virgil couldn't fly. He was actually a pretty good flyer. The best in his class, he was constantly being told. That was probably more the fear of falling and dying, or the fear of failing the class, than actual skill, but it was still something. He was a careful flyer. And fast. Safe and efficient. So, if he really wanted to, Virgil could fly anywhere, no problem.
Except, sometimes his wings would just... refuse to work. If Virgil was feeling particularly upset, or anxious, or... generally overwhelmed, his wings would just, kind of, close in on themselves. It was almost as if they would grow smaller. And then they wouldn't move, and Virgil would just be stuck with a useless clump of feathers on his back until he dealt with the problem at hand and they decided to be nice again.
Today was one of those days.
Bookmarked by fricksonsticks
19 Sep 2018
