"Sixteen-year-olds don't always have the greatest risk assessment in the world. And the skill element is hard enough to articulate that I think a lot of people misunderstand it, and think they can get by on just being stubborn, just being a good dancer, just having a high pain tolerance..."

"Sixteen year old Elves are tiny children. You grow faster, but... still."

"Sixteen-year-old humans are... more or less adults but not any good at it yet, I think."

"Elves are like that at fifty. And that's in local years; in Valinor it takes ten times as long to grow up as in Endorë."

"I'd have gone crazy if I'd taken five hundred years to reach sixteen. I don't have anywhere near that much patience."

"Valinor has an effect where time slides by. It's very relaxing but not good for getting work done, so a lot of people install blessings to counteract it and only turn them off when they go on vacation."

"Everything about this place sounds so... nice but terrible? I'm glad it exists but you couldn't pay me to live there."

"Endorë's different. Although it does have the omniscient creator god he is not immediately overhead making shadow puppets with the moon."

Giggle. "Shadow puppets?"

"Shadow puppets! The moon is bright because it's illuminated by the suns. You can block the light and make shadow puppets."

"That's adorable," he says. "But I was going to make you wings—here—"

A single large flower on a thick twisting stalk spirals up out of the ground next to Ambela, and when it opens its delicate silver-white petals, instead of any usual flower parts they reveal a pool of soft blue-grey fabric with a shimmery luster, like a smoother, softer version of silk, light enough to flow like water.

Extracted from the flower, it turns out to be a dress, with elbow-length sleeves and an open back. The skirt is made of a multitude of long overlapping petal-like layers. Tiny imperfections in the weave of the fabric form a subtle pattern that resembles falling rain, especially when the layers move over one another.

"- if you ever did move to my world you could be very sought after. Ah, we don't have a nudity taboo, turn or don't as you like." She begins exchanging outfits.

"I would hate living in your world but I'd probably have a lot of fun designing pretty things and watching people be delighted by them!"

He doesn't turn away, but doesn't stare either.

She wears the backless dress, indulges in a twirl.

The dress is beautiful and she looks stunning in it. The Emperor beams at her.

"Okay, wings," he says. "Might feel a little weird but it shouldn't hurt—ready?—"

"Go for it."

And she grows wings.

It happens over the course of a few seconds - first a strange weight hanging from her shoulders, then a rush of odd sensations as the wings develop to their full size and acquire nerves and bones and muscles and feathers and skin. As promised, though, it doesn't hurt. And when it's finished, she has wings, just as much under her control as her arms or legs and with just as much grace and precision of movement - maybe even a little more.

Per her suggestion, the wings are based on the form of a hawk's, but with pale shimmering feathers that ripple with subtle colour as though carved from mother-of-pearl. They look absolutely magnificent.

"Eee!" Flap. She pets her feathers.

Her feathers are lovely and soft. Petting them feels nice, but not to an awkward degree. The Emperor is beaming at her again.

"Thank you, they're fabulous."

"You're welcome! I'm not sure how good I'd be at flying lessons, but if you want some I can at least arrange that you don't fall out of the sky for the duration."

"Probably convenient, yes. Will I need a running start, or for that matter a falling start -?"

"Probably simplest for now if I just make a portal into a nice empty bit of sky," he says, doing so. "Eventually, though, you'll be able to take off from the ground - running and falling both make it easier, but it's possible without."

"Cool."

She spreads her wings and steps into the sky.

The Emperor follows, closing the portal behind them.

The ocean is a long way down from here, and there's no land in sight - but it's not that hard to figure out how to glide. Her wings seem to have some muscle memory pre-installed. Up to her if she wants to attempt flapping on this basis.

Meanwhile, the Emperor lets himself fall for a second or two before he summons his wings and catches himself.