CreatureOfMischief



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    Hawks was born with flame crawling across his wrists like handcuffs, staining tan skin a deep electric blue. As a child— a chick, young and not yet burdened by the weight of the world— he would stretch out the pale fuchsia of his newly grown down, fragile wings going wide. They will be the fire under my wings, he thought, imagining the plumes of hot air sending him skyward. He spent years staring down at his mark, watching— waiting— for the person who had seared it into his skin. The person who would bear his wings in turn, wide and a startling crimson.

    He was wrong-- this would not be the fire beneath his wings but the flame that consumed him.

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    Language:
    English
    Words:
    6,180
    Chapters:
    2/2
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    2
    Comments:
    42
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    930
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    28 Mar 2026