You glance at your wings in the mirror: fragile, beautiful, and most importantly, not yours. You've known since early puberty you were different from the typical crowd, and you recall your wingless childhood as you stroke one of the delicate appendages on your back. Both wings are different patchworks pattern of wing design and color, and each patch is more sensitive than the other; your wings truly go against nature. Suddenly, you hear yelling from a nearby room. Your roommate, you suspect, and her newest boyfriend. Maybe you'll have a conversation about yelling with the both of them soon; it sounds hostile. Your roommate knocks down the door and points at you, panting. "This! Look, Tommy- her wings resemble your mom's quilt she made for you recently." Your roommate then turns her attention to her boyfriend and nods as an attempt to prod him to speak. He grumbles and hands her crisp currency before staring at your wings. He seems confused. "You got all types of elements there," he mutters, "can you control every element?" His mood seems to perk up at the end of his question and he starts fiddling with his hands, unsure if the question was appropriate to ask.