He'd had wings, once. He'd flown. Buoyed by millions of fans, singing the words he sang-- not his words, but the words he got to bring out, the evocation of pain, the distillation of a broken heart. The pinfeathers of his wings.

The space between his shoulderblades ached sometimes, where his wings had kissed his skin, feathery touches from the back of his neck to the base of his spine.