With a lilting tune trickling from my lips, I nudged open the classroom door and stepped inside. My humming, a low, whimsical melody, wove through the hushed room, wrapping around the desks like a lazy ribbon. My feet carried me toward my usual seat, and there, already stationed like queens awaiting an audience, were Samira and Sofia. My best friends. My partners in winged mischief. As soon as their eyes found mine, identical grins spread across their faces like sunshine on dew.

"Look who's graced us with her angelic presence," Samira teased, her voice as warm as toasted marshmallows.
"Welcome back, starlight," Sofia chimed in, ever the poetic one, her words glinting with their usual flair.

Heat bloomed up my neck in an unmistakable blush—my skin could never keep a secret. "Hey," I mumbled, my voice doing its best impression of a mouse tiptoeing past a cat.

Their greetings felt like sipping hot cocoa on a frosty morning, filling the tiny cracks in my spirit that the day's early chaos had etched. We weren't just friends. We were a trio forged in the fires of shared detentions, midnight confessions, and a world that never failed to sprinkle a little magic into our lives.

As they chatted, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by their wings. Samira's were streaked with fiery gold, shimmering like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, while Sofia's were a dreamy lavender, soft as twilight. The light filtering through the windows played on their feathers, making them look like living, breathing pieces of art.

I glanced at my own wings—a whisper of snowy white—and let them unfurl slightly, stretching as if to say, Yes, I'm here, too. They rustled softly, a tactile reminder of the freedom they held, a gift tucked neatly into my back. My wings always seemed to move with a mind of their own, as though they felt the excitement brewing in my chest and wanted in on the fun.

Then came Desire, sweeping into the room with her usual understated elegance. Our homeroom teacher was nothing short of a marvel—half sage, half shepherd. She carried herself like she owned not just the room but the very air we breathed, her presence wrapping us in a cocoon of comfort.

"It's good to have you back," she said, her eyes crinkling in a smile so genuine I could almost hear my heart sigh.

Her words were the finishing touch on a morning that already felt dipped in gold. I settled in, ready to tackle whatever she had planned. Or so I thought.

Desire turned to the large screen that dominated one wall, the modern replacement for chalkboards. "Today," she began, "I thought we'd start with a little inspiration." With a wave of her hand, the screen flickered to life, revealing the rich, scaled form of Drogon, his ruby-red eyes flickering with the promise of fire.

Drogon. The dragon. The beast. My brain practically did cartwheels.

The image of him soaring across the screen lit something up inside me. Dragons were the thing—majestic, untamed, loyal to a fault. As the scenes unfolded, showcasing Drogon's fiery breath, his protective instincts, and his terrifying yet elegant power, I leaned forward, utterly enraptured.

Next to me, Sofia whispered, "You're grinning like you just found a chest of gold."

"I did," I whispered back, barely glancing at her. "Look at him. He's magnificent."

The story of Drogon and his queen was more than entertainment; it was a tapestry of bravery and love, weaving itself around the quiet hum of our classroom like a spell. Desire had done it again, turning an ordinary day into something extraordinary.

For a moment, the world outside faded. There were no tests, no chores, no expectations—just the rhythmic beat of dragons' wings and the boundless horizons they promised. My imagination soared alongside Drogon, fueled by the reminder that in our world, magic wasn't a distant dream. It was the air we breathed, the shimmer in our wings, the very pulse of our souls.

And on that day, we didn't just watch. We flew.