“He rips open the package and pulls out the thread. It’s the same snowy white as his wings. He holds the thread and hair together and twirls them with his thumb and forefinger so that the two strands intertwine. Holding the ends together, he steps over to the sword that lies on the counter and wraps the strand around the sword’s grip. “Stop complaining,” he says to the sword. “It’s for luck.”
