MEGAN FLEXED HER WINGS. It seemed wrong for something so large to make so little noise. Where was the rustle? How could they move with a whisper? And why was it so difficult to discern one feather from the next? She had to admit they felt as if they were the only part of her life that was meant to be. Perhaps she could fulfil the role they implied. She could give love to others because it was denied her. She would be the better person for it. Reparations for the hurt she caused would be...

NO! She refused!

If her mother had taught her one thing, it was that Love didn't care. You ate away at it, its sweet coating only making you sick the more you consumed, not seeing you were being consumed yourself. Having the wings was something she would never want to give up, but she could not bring herself to carry out the duties implicit in wearing them. The bow found her wherever she was, but she didn't have to use it.

But... How could she return to her normal life? Not that it was a life worth returning to, of course. She'd prefer to stay at the cabin but the wine would run out and Claudia had agreed to a few days, not a lifetime. Megan closed her eyes, clenching them as hard as she did her jaw and fists. There had to be a way. There had to be something she could do.

And then she knew. She had the answer. There was only one way. Use the wings. Use the bow. Just don't use them as intended.

Wings were meant to be white. Hers were black. As black as her heart. Fine. She would fire those arrows but not to bring people together. Her friends and those who were once meant to be such should know how it felt. They needed to see what pain Megan suffered. If her wings were a negative version of the real thing, she could be, too.

She pulled back on the string and loosed an arrow.

A yelp. A growl. A snarl. A wild bustle in the undergrowth and then silence.

Megan nodded to herself, then with a single beat of her wings lifted into the air. She felt alive for the first time, not just in a long time, but ever. She had a purpose. A meaning. A direction. Perhaps this was what her life had been leading up to. She had to travel the shattered road to be able to fulfil her destiny. Mend the world by breaking it.

Briefly, she wondered where to start, but the question had already been answered. She headed home. Flying on a whim, the slightest inclination of her body or mind taking her where she wanted to go, she lost herself in the clouds. She soared high above them, testing the height she could reach before air pressure or lack of oxygen forced her back down. She dipped down to skim the tops of rapeseed fields.

A murmuration of starlings flicked about, following the air currents. They scattered as she passed then flew alongside her for a way, curious as to what this strange bird might be.

Megan fought back tears of joy as her body seemed to explode with pleasure. When she reached town, she suddenly worried what people's reaction would be upon seeing her. She settled back down, her wings folding and her feet walking. At first, the prospect of hiding occurred to her, skulking along alleys and crouching between cars. There would be no way for her to carry out her precious task if she had to keep from sight. Anyway, let them see. Let them wonder.

Let them fear.

So she walked. It was a cool day, warm enough for light clothes but not enough for sun cream. People were going about their business as usual. When they walked past Megan, a few broke eye contact with their smart phone or blinked from the daze they were autopiloting through to notice her. One or two smiled. One or two frowned. All continued.

They saw her, but they didn't see them. Looking back, the wings were definitely still attached to her, but passers-by either couldn't see or ignored them. To make sure they weren't actually in her imagination, and everything that had happened in the forest hadn't been a dream, she turned down an alleyway and flew up to look in a window in the side of a house. No-one was in the bedroom inside—luckily, as that would have taken some explaining—but she could see her reflection in the glass. It was definitely her. The wings were still there.

She returned to the ground and to her course. The first person she needed to see was Janey. She had been a friend of Megan's since primary school. They had been neighbours, had sat next to each other in most of her classes, and had even lost their virginities at the same party, though Megan had regretted it whilst Janey had bragged. In contrast, Megan's partner at the time had boasted about his conquest whereas Janey's had kept the details quiet. Janey, it was revealed later, wasn't the only virgin in that room and had, after the deed was done, made fun of the other's body and performance.

Megan thought the treatment of him was too harsh. Nerves and pressure are passion killers at the best of times. Still, Janey was popular and, by virtue of association, Megan enjoyed some of the same status. They remained friends for some time but, when Megan proved to be a car crash on the relationship motorway, Janey left the vehicle. She then proceeded to be the shoulder for the ex-boyfriend to cry on and the bed for them to lay in.

Megan knocked on the door when she reached the house. She had been here many times over the years. It had belonged to Janey's parents and, when they decided to move to Spain on retirement, it was left to their only daughter. For an easy fix and lay, it had been the place to go. When she finally found 'the one' and stopped her rebellious ways, Janey had settled down. Her boyfriend had moved in and they were happy.

Why, though, did she deserve any happiness? She trampled over feelings with glee, always looking for the next head to step onto and force under the river's flow. Megan suffered because she couldn't help it and others were hurt as a result. Janey took what she wanted and cared little for the consequences. Yet she won out in the end. A man who cared for her. A decent job. A good life.

It wasn't fair. Megan needed to correct that. It was unfortunate for the other half of the couple, but he would recover. They always did.

There was no answer to her knocks so, with a quick look around, she flew up and over the house. In the back garden was a large summer house that had been turned into a garden pub. A bar, complete with optics and working pumps, was in constant use on warm summer evenings and was never left completely abandoned, even when snow covered the ground. The door was locked but Megan knew Janey's old habits. There were always hiding places under plant pots in case she ever came home drunk and needed to get the boy she was with upstairs but had lost her keys.

Quickly, Megan unlocked the door and entered. She switched the light on, even though it was daytime. Hopefully, Janey would see the illumination and come to investigate.