Isolde.
“A feather?” Isolde spluttered under her breath, arising from her bed.
She wasn’t expecting the strange strand of feather to be the first thing she saw upon waking up. Her brows curved like a bow as she curiously outstretched her hand and grabbed the feather up.
The fine, long filament of feather clung to the skirt of her black dress. When she plucked it out, Isolde raised it up and studied the feather by facing it toward the window. The bright morning sun cast its shadows on the long, narrow stray feather, making it shimmer with an ethereal glow.
“This isn’t a bird’s feather,” She said out loud as if that would give her enough conviction she needed.
She grazed her fingers softly over the soft, delicate strand, basking in its midnight color.
The more she grazed her hand
