CRYPTID | james b. barnes

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"Uncle Kaz!" A tiny, high-pitched voice squealed.

The blankets were thrown upwards, revealing a short, three year old girl dressed in a hospital gown, a stuffed dragon tucked between her arms. Her precious plushie hit the ground as her tiny legs sprinted forwards. As she ran, she felt her wings tug a little loose, and she couldn't help it as six broad limbs unfolded from her back.

They were seven feet at full width, glassy and translucent like that of a butterfly. They glowed around the edges, like the pure light of a halo with sharp tips, pointed like thorns. It was a sight to see for the normal mortal, but Uncle Kaz had seen it too many times to count. They draped across the floor, swaying back and forth as if she had no control over them.

She lunged, and the older man wrapped his arms around her, careful to maneuver around her wings. He held her against his hip as she snuggled into the crook of his neck.

"How is my little Звезда?"

How is my little Star?

Uncle Kaz gently tucked his finger under her chin, turning her head to look up at him.

He inspected her red rimmed eyes, puffy and swollen from crying.

She tried not to cry too much because she knew Uncle Kaz didn't like that, but the white coats had taken her into the White Room and they'd tried to take her wings again and she had been so scared because Uncle Kaz wasn't there.

So she'd bitten one of the doctors and then they'd thrown her into the Black Room.

The Black Room was just as scary as the White Room, but only because it was the opposite of the bright walls. There was no one in the Black Room, and it was always so dark she couldn't even see her own fingers. She would always clutch onto her plushie, waiting for the door to click; for the lights to turn on.

Then Uncle Kaz would rescue her from the dangerous place.

He always rescued her, and she was so happy he was her Uncle. He was strong and tall, and always smiled at her. He was the best Uncle she could ever ask for, especially since she didn't know where or who her parents were.

"'m sorry Uncle Kaz." She sniffled, wiping her nose with one hand. "I tried to be big and strong like you said, but. . .I was scared."

Embarrassed, she shoved her reddening face into his chest, trying to hide from the responsibilities a three year old like her didn't deserve— not that she knew that.

She could feel her eyes start to water again and she further burrowed herself into his shirt. She stayed like that until Uncle Kaz brushed his fingers against her wings. The nerves in them fluttered in response, but she couldn't really move them.

She remembered a place with light where she could flap her wings and make a tiny gust of wind— it was the only thing she remembered from before.

Uncle Kaz said that the before was a dream, and she didn't want to believe him, because it had been such a beautiful place.

But it must have been true, since there couldn't be a place filled with that much light.

"Your wings don't work properly, Звезда." Uncle Kaz spoke gently. "The doctors are trying to help you, kiddo."

She rubbed her eyes, looking up at him with trembling lips.

"But it hurts." She whined.

Uncle Kaz sighed, tucking a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. He was careful with it, because her hair was just as sharp as her wings, and he'd cut himself enough times to know how much pressure he could put against the individual strands.