Why should the living reserve wings for angels? These hair sticks unfurl in the likeness of a bat mid-flight, their silhouette sharp and restless, as though torn from a midnight sky. Each curve and edge whispers of velvet shadows and the beauty that only darkness reveals.

To wear them is to declare your allegiance to the night. Slide them through your hair, and suddenly your crown is no longer fragile strands, but a lair where secrets roost and silence listens. They are as practical as they are poetic—keeping your hair in place while reminding the world that you would rather fly with creatures of the crypt than walk among the chirping masses.

Not an accessory. A statement. One that says: I belong to the dark, and the dark belongs to me.