Loss of Faith
Rakka stood there, uncomprehending, a spotted feather in her hand. It felt... wrong. Something inside her claimed it knew what this was; she pushed the thought away and went to logical thinking. What could have spotted the feather? Had she gotten soot on it? No, the black spot was far too dark to be anything like dirt or ash. Could it be ink? Or paint? It seemed possible, but the texture of the feather would have been changed.
The spot spread, doubling in size... maybe it was ink, ink might spread that way. She gently stroked the feather, hoping against all hope, but it was dry. Whatever the spot was, it was like a disease. The thought was back; it wouldn't be surpressed, and Rakka could no longer ignore it. She was afraid. Slowly, carefully, she turned to the mirror, and began to extend her wings so that she could see them. She froze... she knew what she would see, didn't want to see it. Wouldn't see it.
Someone downstairs slammed a door, and Rakka, startled, looked over her shoulder toward the sound as her wings extended further. Realizing what she had done, she vainly attempted to look away, but the corner of her eye had seen it, and that little corner was captured. She could not look away. There was nothing in her eyes, the light in her room was fine, and she could see them clearly: dozens of little, ugly spots.
No, she wouldn't believe it, couldn't, it simply couldn't be. She didn't understand it, not really, but somehow, she knew this was bad, and she knew to despair. Maybe if she cut the contaminated feathers off quickly, she could save the rest. Maybe she could be... pure again. Uncertainly, she rummaged in her drawer for a pair of scissors, and sat down to contemplate... maybe she was ill? The spots spread and a panic consumed her. She still held back, cutting a small piece off at a time, but as the spots began spreading she became frantic. This was the last chance. She didn't know why she thought that, or why the spots were so horrible, but she knew she had to get them off. Vigorously, she cut, not sparing a single feather. *Snip, snip* Darkened feathers fell to the ground around her, viciously mocking her attempts, as the spots spread further, faster. The faster she cut, the faster they spread, and the darker they became. *Snip*
It wasn't working. The scissors weren't enough... a thought occurred to her. She gave up the scissors and began pulling out the feathers. How could cutting them work? The shafts that were still in the wings would still contaminate the rest. It made perfect sense. Mercilously, she plucked away, leaving the feathers on the floor, planning to burn them later. She was bleeding... was that from the scissors? At first, a flash of coherent thought seemed to spark in her eyes, but the darkness spread further and she kept pulling, crying out as she did, sobbing as the blackness spread, feather after feather. Finally, the spots were gone, along with the majority of her feathers. She could relax; she was safe. Humming, she began piling up the feathers... but something wasn't right. She knew... no, she was fine. She knew she was. She'd taken care of all the dark feathers. Still...she looked to her wings again, and there they were. She collapsed, sobbing, to the floor.
Reki came into the room and found her there, surrounded by darkened feathers, flecks of blood tipping half of them. She saw, knew, understood. Rakka didn't want to be seen. Ashamed, she edged away and began reaching behind her... to pull out more feathers, but Reki stopped her. Grabbing, Rakka's hand, forcing her to stop, Reki pulled Rakka against her, and tightened her grip as Rakka struggled. Rakka was too exhausted to fight long, and gave in to Reki's embrace. She fell asleep there. Weak, bleeding, leaking tears.
The spot spread, doubling in size... maybe it was ink, ink might spread that way. She gently stroked the feather, hoping against all hope, but it was dry. Whatever the spot was, it was like a disease. The thought was back; it wouldn't be surpressed, and Rakka could no longer ignore it. She was afraid. Slowly, carefully, she turned to the mirror, and began to extend her wings so that she could see them. She froze... she knew what she would see, didn't want to see it. Wouldn't see it.
Someone downstairs slammed a door, and Rakka, startled, looked over her shoulder toward the sound as her wings extended further. Realizing what she had done, she vainly attempted to look away, but the corner of her eye had seen it, and that little corner was captured. She could not look away. There was nothing in her eyes, the light in her room was fine, and she could see them clearly: dozens of little, ugly spots.
No, she wouldn't believe it, couldn't, it simply couldn't be. She didn't understand it, not really, but somehow, she knew this was bad, and she knew to despair. Maybe if she cut the contaminated feathers off quickly, she could save the rest. Maybe she could be... pure again. Uncertainly, she rummaged in her drawer for a pair of scissors, and sat down to contemplate... maybe she was ill? The spots spread and a panic consumed her. She still held back, cutting a small piece off at a time, but as the spots began spreading she became frantic. This was the last chance. She didn't know why she thought that, or why the spots were so horrible, but she knew she had to get them off. Vigorously, she cut, not sparing a single feather. *Snip, snip* Darkened feathers fell to the ground around her, viciously mocking her attempts, as the spots spread further, faster. The faster she cut, the faster they spread, and the darker they became. *Snip*
It wasn't working. The scissors weren't enough... a thought occurred to her. She gave up the scissors and began pulling out the feathers. How could cutting them work? The shafts that were still in the wings would still contaminate the rest. It made perfect sense. Mercilously, she plucked away, leaving the feathers on the floor, planning to burn them later. She was bleeding... was that from the scissors? At first, a flash of coherent thought seemed to spark in her eyes, but the darkness spread further and she kept pulling, crying out as she did, sobbing as the blackness spread, feather after feather. Finally, the spots were gone, along with the majority of her feathers. She could relax; she was safe. Humming, she began piling up the feathers... but something wasn't right. She knew... no, she was fine. She knew she was. She'd taken care of all the dark feathers. Still...she looked to her wings again, and there they were. She collapsed, sobbing, to the floor.
Reki came into the room and found her there, surrounded by darkened feathers, flecks of blood tipping half of them. She saw, knew, understood. Rakka didn't want to be seen. Ashamed, she edged away and began reaching behind her... to pull out more feathers, but Reki stopped her. Grabbing, Rakka's hand, forcing her to stop, Reki pulled Rakka against her, and tightened her grip as Rakka struggled. Rakka was too exhausted to fight long, and gave in to Reki's embrace. She fell asleep there. Weak, bleeding, leaking tears.