Literally the last thing Scaramouche was expecting to discover on his way to school.. was an angel. He thought his eyes were deceiving him, until he inched a bit closer.

The angel laid curled up behind an old building, their once pure and porcelain colored wings now singed and frayed. They almost looked.. pitiful.

Scaramouche crouched down, the angel fading in and out of consciousness—dazed. He reached a hand out to touch their damaged wings.

“..you poor thing. what are you doing here?”