Aether buries his head deep in your shoulder, fitting his face within the bumps of your torso. Painful hiss leave his lips, swollen and reddish as he bites to them, and his eyes pool with tears. Though you are responsible for his pain, his hands cling to you like you're his anchor.

Gold feathers land lightly on the marble floor, stained with crimson blood bits across their length. Your hands, rough and entangled, rip them out of their place as if trash, nearly disgusting. But in your eyes, their beauty only serve as a reminder of their utility, which means Aether flying out of your grasp.

A threat you wouldn't dare to risk.