Prologue- 2

I was flying.

Flying at the glorious speed of… 2.5 kilometers per hour.

Majestic, right? Like a paper plane caught in a sneeze.

But then...ugh. Hunger hit me like a hangover after three sips of boxed wine. My belly growled, or... buzzed? Whatever mosquitoes have instead of stomachs. Point is: I needed blood.

There! A human! Walking, full of juicy, oxygen-rich hemoglobin! I could already taste the iron. And I had just acquired a brand-new blood sucking straw. Top of the line, it's sleek and shiny. FDA unapproved. I needed to test it out, make sure it wasn't some cheap knockoff that came with mosquito scam ads: Suck better, fly faster! Limited time proboscis upgrade!

My tiny wings buzzed with every flap—eeeeeeeeeeeee- so high-pitched even I was annoyed. I didn't even know mosquitoes could get tired, but here I was: Aedes Lucien, emotionally unstable and physically done, about to pass out mid-air like a drunk drone.

My compound eyes were glitching like a shattered phone screen after a toddler's tantrum. I had no GPS, or mosquito version of Google Maps, no mosquito instincts left in me. Just sheer desperation and spite.

And vengeance. I can't forget vengeance. This wasn't just about survival.

It was about Toby.

Yes. Her. The ex. My Toby. A 24-year-old, average-looking human who I once thought was beautiful until she turned out to be a lesbian and used me...ME as a heterosexual decoy!

I wanted a payback. The mosquito version of a bitter breakup text. Dengue, to be precise.

Then I heard it, a whoosh. A disturbance in the wind. A cruel reminder that even the air hated me.

I had to zigzag, like a drunk pigeon, to get back on course. There! I spotted her. Or… wait. Him?

I landed.

On an arm. A man's arm.

Whoops.

Okay, maybe not ideal, but blood is blood, right?

I rubbed my tiny mosquito hands together like a mad scientist. Polished my bloodsucking straw. Licked my nonexistent lips. It was time to pierce some skin.

But then… something felt wrong. I hesitated.

Why don't I feel thirsty anymore?

Wait… no.

No. No no no no.

I remembered. In a blinding flash of existential stupidity.

I'm male.

Male Aedes mosquitoes… don't drink blood.

We sip nectar. Friggin' NECTAR. Flower juice. That's what I came into this world for? Pollination and disappointment?

I can't even bite Toby. I can't infect her with dengue. I'm useless. A fraud. A winged imposter in the mosquito mafia.

And that's when it hit me.

Not the realization. The hand.

A massive, human hand, rising like a vengeful god in a tank top. Before I could even gasp, I saw it through a million fragmented lenses, coming straight for me.

"Oh no," I whispered. My thorax twitched. My straw curled up in sheer terror.

This is karma, isn't it? I muttered. This is for trying to infect my ex. This is mosquito hell.

I flapped my wings, desperate for lift-off, trying to abort mission, pull an aerial U-turn, but it was too late.

SMACK!

The sound echoed across the street like a meaty exclamation point. Somewhere, a dog barked, a grandma clutched her pearls.

And as I spiraled into darkness, spiraling down like a failed parachute, my mosquito life flashed before my eyes: getting wing's, learning to hover, practicing stealth flight over Toby's hairy arm.

And then… blackness.

With my last breath, I croaked, "I'm doomed."

And I was.

Not from blood loss. Neither from heartbreak. But from the sheer cosmic comedy of being a mosquito with a vendetta and no fangs to back it up.

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Beep... beep... beep... beeeeeeeeeep.

Flatline.

Well, that couldn't be good...

"He died before completing his mission as a mosquito and now, his soul can't return to his body," said a panicked voice somewhere above… or maybe inside… or possibly behind me. Direction didn't make much sense anymore.

The voice sounded weirdly familiar, It hovered at the edge of recognition, teasing me.

"Wait a minute…" I muttered, or thought, or maybe soul-whispered. Where have I heard that voice before?

Then it hit me. Not a memory, an actual memory-fairy hybrid.

"Ohhh nooo," he recognized me! The voice groaned, as if realizing a very inconvenient plot twist. I forgot to tell you... if you die before the 24 hours are up, you'll die both as a mosquito and in your original human body. Small print stuff. Very technical, sometimes show error. My bad.

"Wait...what?" I said, alarmed. You mean I really am dead? Like, human-dead? Not just mosquito-dead?

A pause. I don't know what kind of expression should I showcase on my face, anger...or shocked?

"Ahem," the voice said, shifting into a far-too-serious tone for someone wearing glitter. "Yes. You have died. And your soul can no longer return to your original self. That's on me. Big oops."

That's when I remembered her...the fairy. The drunk fairy who showed up last night after I drunkenly wished I could bite my cheating ex. One thing led to another, and bam! Mosquito form. Tiny wings. Bloodlust. Pure drama.

Now here I'm, dead because some guy slapped me mid-flight. And apparently, that one slap punched my soul straight out of the reincarnation queue.

I blinked...or tried to. Hard to say what body parts I had anymore. "So… what now? Am I just… floating? Forever?" I asked.

Oh, don't worry! The fairy chirped, instantly chipper again. I've found a workaround. I'll transfer your soul to a new body. Can't say where or when, but hey, second chances, right? Buckle up!

"Wait, wait, hold on..."

But she didn't. I didn't even a get a second to protest before she started proceeding. Again.... The air cracked like someone ripping open a portal made of static and bad decisions.

Everything around me spun. There was wind, water, fire, or at least something spicy. My whole being was flung across some invisible highway of the cosmos like a drunk intern hitting send on the wrong email. At one point I even started doubting if I'm going to hell...

And just like that...all I felt is only motion and uncertainty.

And so here I am.

Through wind, water, and flame, my soul sets forth on a voyage I never signed up for, all because a fairy got tipsy and thought it'd be funny to turn me into an aedes mosquito.

Who knows where I'll land?

But one thing's for sure; I am never making drunken wishes again.

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