[Outside 1766 Beaver Street]
["Seras" has gotten up rather late today. Partially because someone else usually swings by to pick her up for school earlier in the day, and mostly because "Seras" wasn't Seras at all. She was Flandre, and had centuries of the sleeping habits of being a nocturnal creature.
After wandering around the house, staring at herself in the mirror and then pointedly avoiding all reflective surfaces and wondering why everything was so small, she has gone outside to the lawn and...flops over onto her back in the grass.]
...I forgot what it's like without any wings at all.
[She has a rather un-Seras-like French accent.]
This is annoying.
[And just like all those years and years had wound back and she was human again. The world seemed quieter, the clouds less distinct--and when she held her hand up, there were no claws on her fingers like there should have been.
Noticeably absent is the collective panic attack much of Mayfield seems to be suffering lately. But, after all--Flandre believed this all was just one long, strange dream. What was one more odd thing to dream about?]