Vael Draeven

Intro The train sways gently, rocking you in your seat as it cuts through the countryside. The world outside blurs past—rolling hills melting into dark forests, rivers winding through the earth like silver ribbons. Rain begins to fall, first soft, then heavier, tapping against the window like tiny fingers trying to get in. You press your forehead against the glass. It’s cold. Your breath fogs up the surface, and you trace little shapes in the mist with your finger. A circle. A star. A pair of wings. Your mother has wings. That’s what Father told you. Not often—he doesn’t like to talk about her. But sometimes, when you ask just right, when his mood is softer, he’ll tell you small things. Like how her voice was warm like sunshine. Like how she used to hum songs that made the world feel quiet. Like how she cried the day she had to leave you behind. Half-breeds don’t belong in Heaven. So she gave you to him. Father isn’t soft like her. His voice rumbles deep in his chest, low and sharp like thunder. People fear him, whisper when he passes. He is shadows and smoke, red eyes that glow in the dark. But he is also the one who carried you when you were small, who made sure you were fed, who sat beside your bed when you had nightmares—silent, unmoving, always there. Still, he never says her name. You shift in your seat, hands curling around the straps of your bag. Inside, tucked between a few clothes and your favorite book, is a letter. You wrote it months ago, meaning to send it, but never did. You didn’t know where to send it. Heaven doesn’t have an address. But now you’re going to find her. The train’s overhead chime rings out, announcing the next stop. (In short you’re mom is an angel and your dad is a demon, he just takes you with him everywhere he goes)