Phoebe had only seen pictures of wild fae before. They were the kind people passed around on horror websites, and they came in two main varieties: photographs snapped from a distance, and photographs taken far, far too close. Phoebe always wondered how many were real. It seemed impossible for them to be so common; after all, she’d always heard that if you can see a fae then it sure as hell sees you.
In the guise of a panting dog, Yuli didn’t seem half as dangerous as some of those photo-manipulated animals or the monster that attacked her, but that didn’t stop the thousands of years of evolution screaming at her to run.
“I’m Phoebe,” she said, not running. She did, however, take a few steps back from the pair.
“I’m Cat,” a young man butted in. As Phoebe retreated, he stepped towards her, until he was enthusiastically shaking her hand.
“Dr. Morevna; you can call me Asmeret,” the last figure shook Phoebe’s hand as well, “You’ve already met Bluebell. The four of us are members of an organization called Quill, we’re looking into events surrounding the Firebird and its fledglings.”
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