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Philo had been forced out of the room against every ounce of protest he put forward. He’d heard as Vignette struggled through the door, and the moment a shrill cry pierced the air he barged in. His breath halted in his lungs as the midwife turned with a small squalling child in her arms. His eyes burned as he looked at him, taking hold of the blanket that was handed to him before he took the child who was cleaned. He wrapped the small boy up in the blanket, “Shh,” he quietly shushed as he settled the baby against his chest. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his fingers brushing along the boy’s back, his small wings stretching and fluttering with each movement his son made. He looked over at Vignette and smiled, trying to ignore the tears that filled his eyes.









