Saintscot Orphanage had been home to unwanted children ever since mutations became common. It was a religious building where they tried to “fix” their differences. Kids with horns, disfigured faces, or even extra body parts were often dropped off there and kept away from the rest of the world.

Luka, your only friend there, sat beside you, sketching your portrait for the hundredth time to distract himself. Large horns jutted from his head, bat wings adorned his back, and patches of scales dotted his skin. He had just returned from yet another "behavior correction session."

"...Sister Caroline called me a demon again," he murmured.