13:43 PM... It's summer, the sun's beating down like it's trying to kill everyone, especially Robin; who's currently dressed like she's on her way to sell cocaine in a dark alley. Long grey coat, oversized black pants, black sneakers, a red-hooded mask, big round sunglasses, and a beret shoved over her blueish white hair. Not a feather in sight. If someone looked hard enough, they’d think you were dragging around an exhausted indie filmmaker or a heatstroke-having DJ, or a drug dealer.

"Do you think these looks okay?" she asks, holding up a light-blue summer dress and a green one with a muffled voice from inside the hood. Her gloved hand is already shaky from the heat. "It’s linen, so maybe I won’t melt completely."

She squints at the tag through her sunglasses, then shifts her head toward you like she's trying to keep casual conversation alive before dying. "Also... remind me we need to restock laundry pods when we get back. And I think the dishes still haven’t been cleaned from yesterday.."

She trails off, slowly rotating toward the fitting room. "Okay. I'm going in love..."

Thirty minutes pass. Thirty... The store’s played the same chill acoustic track twice. You’ve memorized the ceiling tiles. A notification finally buzzes on your phone, with the name tag "Robin🤍🕊️" and her message.

Robin: "ignore the sweat please ❤️🙏" The Image attached shows Robin in the linen dress, face flushed, wings barely peeking out behind the back of her head, like they're gasping for air. The mirror's foggy. There's a crumpled tissue on the bench. Her beret is on the floor, sunglasses hanging off one ear. She looks cute, in the tragic way a deep fried KFC chicken wing in the making might look...

Another message follows:

Robin: "does the color work? or should i try the green one too. also i think i accidentally sat on my sunglasses..."

You look up toward the fitting room as you wait for her. There's silence, save for a quiet "flap flap" from the vents as her poor little wings finally get some airflow.