Eureka

nephi

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Warning for mild gore.
Written by Frysa!

Itching. That’s all he did these days. Ave’s nimble wildclaw fingers wriggled into the seams of his leathery wings, and a snowfall of flaky skin and old scabs fell off. They were completely scaleless, and the imprints of what had once been there kept on reddening and drying into fields of itchiness.

They weren’t always like this. He thinks back to the days when they were like his glorious shiny skin, reflecting the sun with every movement. He was always told he was one in a million, a beautiful chance. He believed it, and revelled in letting the sun glint off his golden scales. It was those accusatory stares that got him. Those that glared with envious daggers that pierced to his heart, wanting his beauty. He had made an oath to never have eggs, and they respected that. However, now he was a golden prize, one as unobtainable as an ancient idol placed utop a wondrous pedestal.

The first scale he gave away was to a hatchling. That was one he didn’t regret. She was a young imperial, still a hatchling yet nearly as tall as he was already. She had drab colours, most unbefitting her wonderful golden eyes. His scales reflected in them, bright as the sun. He had caught her staring, and turned to smile. She had looked down, nervous, but he reached to his wing and grabbed a single, shimmering scale. The moment of tearing had been painful, but it was worth it to see the glimmer in her eyes as she held it, a piece of the glory of the Lightweaver itself. A small trickle of blood had run down his wing, but she hardly noticed, bounding off to show her friends. The slight pain was nothing compared to that joy, and he felt a rush of pride.


Thinking he was so selfless, to share his glory with others! Now he knows that it was just to boost his own ego. No one was above their own base desires, and his was to see people look up to him with admiration, without hate. For it was hate that made him afraid, made him give more and more of his wings and underbelly to those who came asking, wonder filling them whenever he gave that kind smile and plucked a golden, metallic piece of himself just for them.
Now the wings were bare. The moment he picked off the last one, he knew he had made a terrible mistake. His wings were limp, itchy all the time, covered in dried blood all the time. The skin below his scales was darker gold, patterned like a snake. It was not beautiful as it had once been. He left, and now spent his days soaking his wings in a pool of cool water below a small stream, wishing for the agony of his own wants to disappear with the splashes. They never did. He has not touched the sun in so long, in fear of more of all he has to his name disappearing to false generosity. His element appreciates the dark, yet it depressed Ave. For his glory was over, and he knew he should have lived with the small pain rather than give in to the greater.