“What the …”
Quickly, she sat up, staring. She could feel the heavy weight on them - or what had the significance of never having existed before; thus were heavy, even if, respective to similar objects, they were relatively light. Twisting her head around to glance over her shoulder she could see them, unfurled but limp, and their ends laying on the mattress. The mattress … with the covers and blankets all twisted and some torn, seemingly by her very own claws. And in various places, splatterings of crimson stained the sheets. It was elementary to deduce that she had bled greatly, and had been writhing terribly in pain.
Her beak parted in shock and her eyes were wide with disbelief. Slowly she blinked, her words trailing away on the gentle breeze that swirled around the room.
“Ansaldo's balls …”
“Indeed,” came a dull, low voice from her other side.
Turning her head quickly, Stare came to see the figure of Vitruvion leaning against the headboard. Slowly, he breathed, and his snow white hair hung around his face in a curtain. It obscured part of it, for he had his eyes cast down to his knees, which were drawn up. He had a hand settling over them, holding onto a small book. His other hand lay loose on the pillow beside him, and she could swear, as she looked, it shook.
But no. Vitruvion never shook. After all, he was an all-powerful god of everything. Life, death, elements, creation, destruction - all of it. At least, he would be, had he his divine body. Right now, he was trapped with a human form, but that should not mean that he shook.
That was her theory. And it seemed entirely reasonable. Thus, she ignored what she presumed she thought she saw and stared with astonishment, gesturing with great uncertainty at the objects hanging from her back. Those new limbs that she had grown overnight, and remembered something of the horrible agony …
“Vitruvion …” she whispered, “I - they …”
“I know, Stare,” he said quietly, gently. In a voice that spoke of intense understanding.
With her heart racing she glanced back at those wings again, then sucked in a heavy, burdensome breath. “What - how? Why this - just after. Did you - you do-”
The god took a moment, gazing at his book balanced quite expertly on his knees, then he looked at her. She saw an incomprehensible expression on his face, one that she honestly did not know how to decipher. In all the year and more that she had spent with him, never has she seen such a complicated countenance. It was a mystery in itself, as curious as a beast with five legs, or a disappointment that was, ultimately, beneficial.
For his eyes looked tired, and his brow grim. Yet deep in his pupils there was a deep hopefulness and joy. His lips too were curved into the smallest hint of a pleasant smile.
“Not this time, no, Stare,” Vitruvion told her, with a patient tone.
It was surprising. There was no malice, no implication at another intention, which was his usual practise. It made her feel even more vulnerable, in a way, stuck between not knowing his real thoughts and not knowing what the hell was going on with her own body. Her huge black eyes began to waver, tears threatening to bubble to the surface.
Slowly he let out a great sigh. “Stare, for my father's sake, I have no ulterior motives in this current time. None. I have as little explanation for what has occured as you have.”
There was pure serious in his voice. Stare looked down at her lap - her tunic was in tatters and barely covered her. The feathers on her knees, those that were the last before the scaley keratin that covered her feet, were disastrous. Broken and bent many had been pulled out of place, and many more had lost their glossy sheen. Large masses had been carved into disarray as if someone - namely, she - had dragged her claws through them repeatedly. And if that was so then - yes. Numerous red lines could be seen on her deep grey flesh beneath the feathers, where she had brought blood through eager scraping of flesh. All in the cause to rid her of that pain.
Because she - she - had fucking grown wings over night.
“Then how-”
“I am currently trying to research that,” he lifted the book in his hand, waving it in the air before placing it carefully back on his lap. Stare managed to catch just a single word of the title - 'evolution’ - before it was hidden again by the curve of his knees.
Stare shifted slightly, then a look of discomfort came into her eyes as she felt the - the wings - shift. A pause, then she figured that as she moved her shoulder, the wing attached to that seemed to shiver what motion too. With a swallow she tried not to think about them just now as she concentrated back on Vitruvion.
“Is there any way to reverse it?” her next question was.
A look of surprise crossed over the god's contorted face before he suddenly frowned; though the exhaustion still remained in his eyes. “My dear, I am not going to even look into that. You may not want those, but this circumstance is far more wondrous than anything I could have hoped for. More glorious than any of your eye marvels.”
A whimper came from Stare's beak. So he was refusing her outright. Refusing to even look into the possibility of removing these things that, though they did promise something rather spectacular, were not an attractive prospect in this moment in time. Not when she had been immortal for barely a month. Frantically she twisted and grabbed one of the things - though she missed on her first turn as it flopped out of her reach. And she could actually feel the thing shift away from her touch, as if her own body was reacting to her directive.
Then a pale hand suddenly appeared, curling delicately over hers. Glancing up, she found herself staring into the ice blue eyes, which were now only inches from hers. She sucked in her shivering breath, tears now easing themselves from ducts to spill without any hesitation onto the sheets. Carefully the fingers began to pry hers off the wing, and after a moment of fight the kenku relaxed, giving up command as she had done with other facets of her life.
