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    Summary

    ""What do you see when you look at us?" the Watcher spoke faux casually.

    "I see," he started, all sets of his wings - painted with the reflection of the stars and plumes of browns, whites, and reds akin to a hawks, made painstakenly to be his not theirs - flaring out.

    He ignored how much energy was spent focusing the colors not to shift into shadows of purple, building the habit into second nature to be different from the eldritch void beings that tore apart and shaped him into their image.

    He clenched his fist in the pause of his words. "I see an abscess festering and seething.""

    OR: Grian is still trapped in the Watchers' clutches. One poses an interesting question that rips into already vulnerable wounds.

    Language:
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