I'm an invisible monster,
and I'm incapable of loving anybody.
You don't know which is worse.
Life was adventure made for those who were bold enough. Scylla was by far bold enough. The invisible monster had pretty much followed her older brother for most of their lives. After all, he was far more any sort of parent than anything else she had ever encountered. It seemed almost silly to the monster that she would continue her quest to follow him. She flew above the lands, looking for a good place to land. Landing had always been the tricky part. When she had acquired the a few years ago, the starting part had been the easiest. She had climbed to a high cliff, teetered on the edge of it with a heart of exhilaration, the adrenaline making her heart pump faster and faster until she thought it might pump out of her chest. The muscles had tightened, released and tightened again. Her wings had almost involuntarily, instinctively opened, and she could feel the wind catch into each individual feather only increasing the feeling of an almost manic euphoria.
And then she had jumped.
The gravity had pulled her down, and death was a fleeting feeling that covered her like a womb. Death had never scared her. Death had been part of her since her earliest members. The first feeling she could remember was rejection. When your mother debated bashing your brains out before you were able to stand, well, death feels like a warm embrace. It feels like a mother's love. Dahmer was the first kind touch she had felt, the first steady hand in a world of bites and kicks. She could not forget his kindness. Thus, the minute she was out of the clutches of those that viewed her as pretty thing to put on a shelf she had searched for him. Always a trace of him. Always a familiar scent. Those blue eyes burned into the back of her mind the same time that their mother's were inevitably burned into his. He was the prince, and she was the means for the future that had mother had, and the future she had planned out for her son. She was the price to be paid for power.
Her brown eyes now scanned, the wings gliding her lower and lower until the ground was closer than the clouds. She was tired, and the muscles that gave those wings fatiguing, burning with use. Scylla refocuses her attention and she lands, galloping at first while the wings open wide, fighting the wind instead of working with it. But within a few strides she slows and the wings fold against her sides easily. She looks around, her sides heaving, her nostrils flaring. She would of been a beautiful creature if she wasn't so dirty. Grass stained her hips and knees, dirt left her looking off-white instead of the pristine grey that she would of been. Only the feathers seemed to be well kept. She preens herself, first the right wing and then the left before adjusting her wings against her sides and heading towards the river. She waded through, the cold river feeling good against her skin, until it just barely touched her belly. Only then did she drink, long and deep.
It was a snap of a branch that stopped her peace. An ear twitched, and her head rose, with the crystalline droplets falling off her whiskers.
