Some day I'm gonna fly, but not today...
sunday_reveries: "I spent my whole life walking and hid such colorful wings." -Brian Trimboli
Note: This is set not in Riftverse, but in the universe of my novels... which is very similar to Riftverse. :| I'm still fuzzy on the details of Grace in that verse, except that she exists and is awesome.
It's not that you stop noticing your wings after hiding them away for years and years, a whole decade or so. They are still there; you can still feel them, even tucked away. They still ache to be let out when you're scared or angry, when you might really need them.
But you get used to the faint pressure of them under your skin, familiar with the empty space where they should be - at least, Grace did. It's been thirteen years since her sixteenth birthday, and she's never let a single person see her wings.
So it surprises her, when he finally comments, not quite casually, "I just realized I have no idea what your wings look like."
Grace swings her head toward him, frowning a little. The fact of the comment isn't surprising - they have conversations that stretch over days, sometimes, brief exchanges interspersed with long periods of silence - but she can't think of why he'd mention it. Why he'd even thought of it. She almost never does, after all. "What?"
He shrugs, eyes on the blade he's toying with, and that's not surprising either. Grace considers snatching the knife out of his hands, like maybe if she takes the distractions away, he'll have to look her in the eyes, but decides against it. "Just something I thought of. A lot of angels, when it's safe, they... let their wings out. You don't."
She snorts a little. "What do you know about other angels, anyway?"
He smiles without turning his head, so she can only see the corner of it. "Only what I've heard." Another shrug, as the smile slips away a bit. "I wasn't asking you to show me, it just... occurred to me."
Grace eyes him a moment, and except for her lips pressed together, she manages to keep any expression off her face. And you thought it was strange, she thinks, because she knows that was the unspoken end to that line of thought. Maybe it is strange after all; it's not like she'd know, but now that he mentions it, now that she thinks of it, she can barely remember what her wings look like either.
Her shoulders ache, like her skin's stretched too tight, pulled thin trying to contain feathers and muscle and bone straining against it. She shakes her head, rolls her shoulders, and pushes it to the back of her mind, as she always does.
Muse: Grace Cassidy
Word Count: 403
Note: This is set not in Riftverse, but in the universe of my novels... which is very similar to Riftverse. :| I'm still fuzzy on the details of Grace in that verse, except that she exists and is awesome.
It's not that you stop noticing your wings after hiding them away for years and years, a whole decade or so. They are still there; you can still feel them, even tucked away. They still ache to be let out when you're scared or angry, when you might really need them.
But you get used to the faint pressure of them under your skin, familiar with the empty space where they should be - at least, Grace did. It's been thirteen years since her sixteenth birthday, and she's never let a single person see her wings.
So it surprises her, when he finally comments, not quite casually, "I just realized I have no idea what your wings look like."
Grace swings her head toward him, frowning a little. The fact of the comment isn't surprising - they have conversations that stretch over days, sometimes, brief exchanges interspersed with long periods of silence - but she can't think of why he'd mention it. Why he'd even thought of it. She almost never does, after all. "What?"
He shrugs, eyes on the blade he's toying with, and that's not surprising either. Grace considers snatching the knife out of his hands, like maybe if she takes the distractions away, he'll have to look her in the eyes, but decides against it. "Just something I thought of. A lot of angels, when it's safe, they... let their wings out. You don't."
She snorts a little. "What do you know about other angels, anyway?"
He smiles without turning his head, so she can only see the corner of it. "Only what I've heard." Another shrug, as the smile slips away a bit. "I wasn't asking you to show me, it just... occurred to me."
Grace eyes him a moment, and except for her lips pressed together, she manages to keep any expression off her face. And you thought it was strange, she thinks, because she knows that was the unspoken end to that line of thought. Maybe it is strange after all; it's not like she'd know, but now that he mentions it, now that she thinks of it, she can barely remember what her wings look like either.
Her shoulders ache, like her skin's stretched too tight, pulled thin trying to contain feathers and muscle and bone straining against it. She shakes her head, rolls her shoulders, and pushes it to the back of her mind, as she always does.
Muse: Grace Cassidy
Word Count: 403