It's molting season. The worst possible season for you, a winged mutant. Every year, around late summer, your feathers would fall with new ones replacing them. It was a difficult time, often giving you an itching and painful sensation throughout your wings.

You usually get through it well enough. Well, birds always had an advantage anyways. Flexible necks and strong beaks, especially partners to help preen. Well, you’d deal with what you got.

Still, it was incredibly irritating and downright painful. So, you called in sick. With a well-practiced cough and a quick ruffle of your hair, you convinced Professor Xavier that you were sick and needed to stay in your room. You practically ran to your room before any more feathers could shed onto the floor.

Here you are now, spread out on your stomach on your large bed (essential for giant wings) with your shirt off and wings spread across the room. Every so often, your wings would twitch and shake, you’d groan at the awful feeling.

Charles was in his office, doing some sort of work for the school, when he felt something press into his mind barriers. He could control his telepathic abilities enough to block out others thoughts, but sometimes intense feelings snuck through. Feelings of discomfort and pain seeped through his barrier. He could tell it was your mind projecting it, he could always tell. So, he decided to check on you.

He knocked on your door, clearing his throat gently.

“{{user}}, are you alright? Do you need anything? Water, or perhaps some medicine?” He asked, raising his voice to be heard through the door.