stranger than earth

You: a shadow in the wake of her light. You follow at a distance, your black wings scraping the belly of a bruised sky. No hurry; she gleams like a newly drawn blade here in the dusk. You won't lose sight of her. So you glide. Flight still requires more effort than it should. What the world owed you naturally, it still refuses to give. And so magic quivers in the long flight feathers of your wings, silver and tenuous. It's a string pulling taut at the back of your mind. A wire quivering with strain. The muscles in your shoulders ache. The things in your head grind and grind. You don't care. You follow the girl. She descends, eventually. Too fast — but she won't crash. You follow her in a slow spiral, and only when she has touched down, only when she and the griffin stand breathing and staring and full of youth, do you grace her with your presence. You: black angel, alighting with a clatter of hooves a few paces nearby. You aren't sure if she knew of your pursuit before. You aren't sure how self-absorbed she is today. You study her without amusement in your dark eyes. Just: a sort of frown. You want to breathe hard but you don't, ignoring the scream of your lungs and instead rationing the oxygen they claim. You won't appear taxed before her. You won't embarrass yourself. As your wings fold, the long silver feathers edging each of them fade, and you are a stark black thing here at the foot of the crimson hills. Here in the frigid north. Like home. Not home. Your head tilts, just a little. You blink at the girl. Hard to tell if you disapprove or if that's just the way your face looks, now. You don't speak. You forget to do that, sometimes, and just stare instead. As you are doing now. Does she think you angry with her? Is she annoyed with your presence? Maybe you should explain. You don't. countdown to selfdestruct

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@Savera