It all started when the Annex detached from the main body of the house and grew wings.
They sprouted at dawn, on each side: huge, white, swan wings.
The Annex had always been my realm, my favourite part of the house, where I could dream, eat, and even blunder into all sorts of objects in the dark at ease, without anyone nagging after me.
It had a square room that could work as a studio flat, were it not also endowed with a spectacular spiral staircase that led to the glass conservatory upstairs.
Yet, those wings were brand new.
My father went out and examined them with care.
The family gathered to decide about the best course of action.
In the end, the most reasonable line of thought prevailed: just doing nothing, for the wings would disappear by themselves, in the same way they had appeared out of the blue.
So everyone got used to them; and I was thrilled. It was terrific to have the Annex with wings:
I realized I could command it to fly away.
The first few times, I just asked for short trips in the surrounding countryside.
Then, as I grew more confident, I became ambitious.
My travels in the Annex spanned whole continents: I reached the most remote corners of Europe, and the most isolated locations.
Every time the Annex would land on a cliff or in a field, there was nobody around fussing over it.
The only inconvenience was that I grew sick while we were landing, but usually it didn’t last long.
It was a marvellous boost for my finances too, since I travelled and had no connected expenses whatsoever.
As soon as the Annex landed, it would fold its huge swan wings, and they would almost look like an element of design, a sort of decoration.
All in all, we blended in with our surroundings quite well.
I lived very happy years that way.
***
Then, I fell in love.
My boyfriend and I shared just about everything, including the Annex, and it was good… until it was not.
The night we broke up, I knew he had been drinking with friends in a pub, flirting with a waitress.
We had already fallen out of love, so when he came home, the Annex’s door was locked from the inside.
I handed him his luggage over the fence he had built all around.
He opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better. He took his bags, and called a cab.
A few hours later, I asked to fly away and forget my last years in that place, but the Annex didn’t move.
Panicking, I repeated the request again and again. I ended up entreating even, to no avail.
I went outside and demolished the fence, hoping that would do the trick, but only managed to produce enough bustle for nasty neighbours to call the police.
As I sat in the rear of their car, I glanced back and saw the Annex had no longer its wings.
My family had been right, after all. I sighed.
***
That night, in the cool prison cell, I went over everything that had happened.
At dawn, I felt uncomfortable and strange, like a wet chick.
I scratched my left shoulder and noticed something hard and protruding.
It was me growing swan wings, this time.
