Feed Me To Stones - Wings; Death Heads [Graham]

Her green’ness gave her wings of light. Graham watched as his teacher walk back and forth across the whiteboard, always keeping his eyes focused— or unfocused rather— on the space directly following her.

It was a thing he’d begun to notice. Wings. Everybody had a color, even if it were white or black: the color defined their personality. But only so many people had wing… things. Ms. Schroeder had wings, and Graham still couldn’t understand why or how.

They weren’t wings in the literal sense, but rather a stream of something behind her. Attached at the shoulder, and driving higher.