It was the most beautiful moment of the day. She loved watching the sharp peaks of the buildings undress from the night’s cloak. Silhouettes barely visible at first against the starry morning sky slowly began to take shape. The vastness in which they floated then turned a subtle pink, and the first rays of the sun started to cast fiery glints on the glass domes.
Seated on the tatami with a cup of coffee in hand, those early morning moments were the most precious to her. The cold, rarefied air from the 147th floor didn’t bother her. On the contrary—it sharpened her senses, making the moment of meditation all the more powerful. She wished she could prolong the magic of dawn before diving into the insipid daily grind.
Marilena took a deep breath and held it for a moment. The chill piercing her red silk kimono contrasted perfectly with the warmth of the coffee cup she clasped in her palms. From far below, from the fog-covered depths of the city, sharp cries rang out. Then she saw flocks of black birds straining their leathery wings to rise toward the light-drenched domes of the tallest buildings. She liked their cries—adored their crystalline sound in the rosy morning light.
She rose from the tatami and grasped the balcony railing with all seven fingers of her left hand, holding tightly. A quiet fear had awakened somewhere deep in her mind. It would be so easy to join the birds. To float among the glass and steel peaks, carefree, in the pure air of morning. To answer their call, intertwining her flight with theirs. She lingered a moment longer, then brought the cup to her lips and savored a sip of the fragrant, hot, and bitter liquid. She stretched languidly, then turned to go inside.
The children were waking up, and there was no more time for dreaming. She had to get them ready and then start work herself. She turned on the news and placed the cup in the sink atop the pile of dishes patiently waiting since last night. With a mechanical gesture, she ran her hand through her hair and got to work. She barely heard the anchors' voices, only half-listening.
“According to specialists, the birds increasingly seen by residents are an invasive but harmless species. Dr. Rittenhouse, who gave an interview to our station last night, assured us that they pose no danger and that their appearance is merely part of a migration episode. He reassured the public that there is no reason for concern...
Another major topic today is the meeting between representatives of the new sect and the governor. Talks will be held regarding special freedoms for the growing number of citizens joining this new faith. Their representative stated at the press conference that she hopes many of their demands will be met, considering the governor's liberal political stance.”
Her eldest son, Iovan, entered the kitchen and started rummaging through the fridge. She knew he was unhappy with what he found and told him:
— If you wait a bit, I’ll make you something right away. Just let me start the dishwasher.
— But Mom, I’m in a hurry! he whined, wrapping his tail in impatience.
— You’ve got time, said Marilena. Besides, Dad’s driving you to school today.
— But I want to meet the guys first—they said we’d trade games this morning, Iovan replied in a whiny voice.
From the living room came her husband Paul’s deep baritone:
— I’ll give him money to buy something.
She didn’t like it when he overrode her like that. She knew he didn’t mean any harm, just trying to get in their son’s good graces—who was nearly a teenager now. She loved her husband deeply. He was everything she had dreamed of in a man, and she thanked the heavens he was by her side. But like in all couples, there were moments of disagreement.
— You spoil them too much and they just buy junk, Marilena replied. I’m making cheese sandwiches. Is Alina awake?
— Yeah, but she’s sulking, her son answered. She says she doesn’t want to go to preschool today. I think she’s scared of the birds.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She had to smile thinking of her daughter’s sulking. Alina was only five, but already showed independence and a strong will. She liked making her own choices and never hesitated to express her opinions. Her little girl was growing up. She wouldn’t even let Marilena clean her scales anymore, preferring to struggle with it herself each night.
Marilena finished preparing breakfast and packed a sandwich for each family member. Now it was time for her to get ready for work. Luckily, her job wasn’t far and she didn’t have to commute like her husband. Besides, she wasn’t the type to spend hours getting dolled up. Sure, there were moments she enjoyed making an impression, but most of the time she preferred to be practical and not waste time with elaborate makeup and uncomfortable outfits.
Lately, she had come to hate her job. She felt suffocated in her cubicle—one of a thousand in the building, likely one of millions across the city. It was repetitive work that brought her no satisfaction, like pushing a boulder up a hill she’d never reach.
When she started, years ago, she told herself it wouldn’t last—that it was just a phase, a transition. But years had passed, and she felt like a prisoner, trapped like an insect in amber.
Without enthusiasm, she crumpled her kimono and tossed it into the laundry basket. She stepped into the shower, twisting the faucet with the end of her tail. She shivered briefly as the first droplets touched the scales on her nape, then relaxed, letting the water flow freely over her body, over her full breasts.
She washed quickly, with nervous, rushed gestures. She got dressed in her office attire and felt like the clothes hung on her like a stiff bark. With a long sigh, she grabbed her keys and backpack and headed to work.
Paul opened the door, stepped inside, dropped his briefcase, and tossed his keys onto the entryway table. He felt exhausted, utterly drained, and was eager to shower off the dust of the journey.
But first, he went to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge. He popped it open and took a long swig, feeling the cool, bitter liquid spread through his body and relax him.
It had been a long business trip, and he was glad to be home. He had missed his kids and wife dearly. A whole month apart had been too much. He had never been away from his family for so long and had struggled with how slowly time passed. At first, he thought work would keep him busy, but not a moment passed without thoughts of his family. Time dragged unbearably.
Still, the trip had been necessary. They needed the money to move. Life for an average family was becoming increasingly expensive, and he was doing his best to provide a comfortable life.
It was his dream to escape the apartment on the 147th floor and move to a more spacious home in the suburbs—with a huge yard and a hexapod pet for the kids. He dreamed of playing with a shaggy dog thudding happily through the house on all six legs, while the children chased it, laughing.
But for now, he was happy to be home.
He settled on the living room couch and started watching a wrestling match. He knew he had a good half hour before Marilena returned from work and the kids came home from school. He took another sip of beer and stretched his tail, savoring the peace and quiet of the home he had missed so much.
He watched the match for a while, without really paying attention. He finished his beer, got up, and went to take the long-awaited shower.
He turned on a news channel, and the anchor’s voice began to echo rhythmically off the steamy, gold-tiled bathroom walls:
“For the fifth week in a row, birds have invaded the city. Residents say they’re getting used to it, and some of those interviewed believe there's a link to the followers of the new faith. Though the connection between the two events isn’t clear, it’s undeniable that the birds began appearing around the time of the first conversions.
City officials aren’t concerned about the birds, but they’re sounding the alarm regarding the new adherents. A growing number of people are choosing to upload their cognitive processes into the sect’s new devices, abandoning their ordinary lives.”
Paul only half-heard the anchor’s words over the shower’s hot spray. He let the water soothe him and spent a long time in front of the mirror, trying to scrub the dust from between the scales on his cheeks. He looked at his face and noticed the tired shadows in his eyes, in his yellow irises with slit pupils.
After a while, he wrapped himself in a soft cotton towel and entered the bedroom. He opened the wardrobe and pulled out something more comfortable.
Only as he started pulling on his pants did he notice the note and the small glass egg placed on the bed.
“My love, don’t let the children see me like this. Tell them I’ve gone away for a while. Tell them I’m thinking of them and that I love them. Don’t let them cry.
It was my choice. There was no other way. Take me to the highest glass dome—the blue dome you know I love.
Don’t be upset. I’m still me, and I’m still with you.
One day, bring the children to see me. Help them get used to visiting. In time, Alina won’t be afraid of the birds anymore.
I love you.”
Tears began to stream from his eyes as he held the letter and read it. A wave of crushing despair gripped his heart like a claw. He took the glass egg in his hands and clutched it to his chest. He threw himself onto the bed, curling up, holding it tightly. Between his fingers, the sun’s blue rays shimmered in the translucent egg, glowing with a thousand colors.