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Puffs of air tumble out of Rila’s bloodied, cracked lips.
Her hands hover shakily above the motionless corpse of her sister, sprawled unceremoniously on the cold, dirty ground. Limbs were askew and painted with grime, yet the most disturbing feature was the bottom half of her face, which was caved in.
If Delilah hadn’t been slaughtered before her eyes, Rila would never have identified the mangled mess.
She twitches as the sound of footsteps crunching over debris gradually increases in volume. A small whimper causes her to lift her heavy head, weight down by remorse.
Looming over her was a woman with an immaculate appearance, yet the young brunette she had trapped within her arms seemed to ruin her pristine image.
“Benny,” she murmurs wearily, voice low and breathless, her wings folding into themselves in shame.
“Do you understand now?” the woman, Zinnia, says as she tightens her hold on Benny’s throat. “A creature like you could never bring peace, not unless you join me.”
Rila’s wings ruffled involuntarily in response. Her eyes slid over to Benny, whose toes were barely grazing the ground. Benny’s hands clawed at Zinnia’s feebly, her mouth agape with slivers of drool leaking out.
“Please, don’t do this,” Rila pleaded, trembling in distress.
Zinnia raises her unoccupied hand as smoke and ash flitter towards her. They begin to spiral around her forearm, accumulating in dark masses that spark sporadically with flecks of orange and gold.
Palm stiff and ramrod straight, Zinnia positions the tips of her fingers at Benny’s chest.
“No!” Rila cries, surging forward with an outstretched hand, but grunts in pain as she slams into the dirt. “Mum, please.”
“Come with me,” Zinnia stares down impassively, words icy cold in the scorching tension. “And I’ll let your friend go.”
“D...Don’t…!” Benny rasps, a horrible harsh noise bubbling from her throat. She chokes audibly as Zinnia slowly pierces flesh between her ribs.
“Stop!” Rila exclaims. She scrambles to her feet, wobbling as she attempts to steady herself on legs burned beyond repair. Like the rapid fire of a machine gun, pain shoots up her calves as blood dribbles down, pooling around her boots like discarded bullets.
“Stop. I’ll do what you want, okay? Just, please,” her voice cracks, “let her go.”
Swirls of smoke begin to dissipate as Zinnia drops her arm. Donning a satisfied smirk, she discards Benny with a languid flick of her wrist.
A choked gasp erupts from Benny as she slams onto the ground. Stumbling on weak legs, Rila shouts her name frantically; hoping to reach Benny in time to feel her warmth, feel her pulse, feel reassurance that she was still alive—
But it seemed, she was just out of range, fingertips brushing the hem of Benny’s battered blouse. Strong arms coil around her torso, locking her in place; they wrap around her jaw, muffling her cries as they drag her away.
After hours of yelling and purposefully being a brat, Rila found herself atop a cold, hard bed at a nurses’ clinic.
She watches with sharp eyes as the nest of snakes on the nurse’s head poked their tongues out periodically, curious at her nature. Her gaze flickers back and forth at each movement of the snakes, as well as the careful hands of the nurse crouching by her leg.
He held a polite smile and never initiated conversation. He worked slowly, wrapping bandages around Rila’s damaged calf, propping her foot on his knee as he did so.
It certainly felt safe.
“What a shame,” Zinnia hummed, a pout on her face. “Yarrow should have gotten rid of both your legs.”
Not with her around, however.
“You’re very lucky, Rila.” Yarrow warmly smiles up at her, his voice silky smooth. “You have first degree burns, which will definitely hurt, but at the very least, you will be able to keep this one leg.”
“Great,” Zinnia sneers, sauntering over to Rila with a single crutch in her hand. She holds it out expectantly, followed by a quirk of an eyebrow when the girl before her doesn’t make a move.
Zinnia scoffs and rolls her eyes, then leans the crutch against the bed beside Rila. “Hurry up, will you? We’ve got a long day ahead of us, and your debut is tomorrow.”
“Debut?” Rila furrows her brows, gripping the edge of the bed tightly. “What does that mean?”
“Hey, now,” Yarrow frowns, crossing his arms as his snakes separate from each other, reaching out in all directions. “I haven’t cleared her just yet—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Zinnia snaps. Huffing, the older woman turns on her heel and trots over to the exit. “Get moving, Rila.”
“Can barely freakin’ walk,” Rila hisses under her breath. She winces as she drops her foot to the cold tiles, instant jolts of pain prickling her sole. Hooking her left arm around the handle of the crutch, she propels herself forward.
“Oh, careful—!” Yarrow shouts in alarm. He hurriedly takes a step forward, the snakes flickering their tongues about anxiously.
He halts, however, as Rila’s wings expand from her back, flapping weakly to steady her imbalanced figure and causing stacks of paper to topple over.
Yarrow eyes the scattered items for a moment before turning back to his patient. A few snakes curl around his ears and neck, hiding their faces in concern. He observes Rila, frozen in place yet her shoulders heave in sync with her heavy breathing.
Her wings seem to droop in exhaustion, visible empty spaces between dull violet feathers. If Yarrow recalled correctly from Zinnia’s mission report, the heroine had ripped out her daughter’s feathers during their scuffle.
He watches with pity as Rila struggles with the crutch, grimacing at every step. She hobbles past with her head low, golden locks concealing the shame and defeat twisted into her expression. She doesn’t acknowledge him as she leaves the room, the sound of wood rhythmically tapping the floor as she treads further away.
Rila is leaning against the wall, eyeing her mother judgmentally as she rearranges petal-shaped ruffles adorning the shoulders of her top.
A rich red taints the fabric that drapes down Zinnia’s arms, with each overlapping layer painted in a gradient that eventually ceases at the curve of her shoulders, a brilliant yellow. Quite the physical embodiment of her namesake — a flower known as the zinnia elegans. One that blooms beautifully, its petals gently stretching out, wishing to spread its love and beauty.
A sudden onslaught of cheers strikes Rila’s ears, causing her to wince as she pulls her head away from the wall.
“—another transfigura like you will present first, then you’ll follow after her. She’s been a hero for a long time, but you should have no trouble keeping up…” Zinnia prattles on.
“Maybe you forgot,” Rila interrupts sharply. “But I only have one leg. I can’t go out there.”
Zinnia glances over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You have two wings, don’t you? Use them.”
Clenching her jaw, Rila pushes off the wall and balances pridefully on her single leg. “You can’t be serious.”
“Hello!” A new voice chirps unexpectedly. Both heads turn to face the newcomer; a short, plump woman with pointed ears and a pleasant smile. She glides over to Rila, her light lavender locks levitating at each gentle step.
“It’s very nice to meet you!” She beams, the creases on her cheeks emphasising the discolouration of healed burn scars across her face. “I’m Wisteria.”
Rila flushes at the presence of the charming woman, but a scoff is heard before she can reply.
“Well hello to you too, transfigura,” Zinnia mutters sarcastically.
“Oh, sorry, I prefer not to talk to racists,” replies Wisteria, her smile careful.
“You little—”
“Shouldn’t the show be starting right about now?”
Zinnia clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Yes.”
After sending a nasty glare to Wisteria, whose hands are clasped innocently behind her back, Zinnia tosses her hair over her shoulder and saunters over to the curtains.
Without hesitation, she extends her arms and whips open the curtains, accepting the raucous cheers and applause of the audience. The noise ebbs slowly as Zinnia begins to speak, her words indistinct as Rila shrinks into herself.
“I’m really glad you’re here, Rila,” Wisteria’s tender soft voice calls her attention. “It hasn’t been easy, risking my life to save people who despise who I am.”
Like the tips of the petals of a wisteria, her eyes are a deep purple, filled with anguish. Yet there is a gentle glow of gold, akin to the centre of the flower, shimmering with pride.
“I hope that you’ll come to love our job as much as I do.”
With that, Wisteria stands upright and flutters her eyes close. Her chest emits a blinding light, blanketing the entirety of her figure.
Rila shields her eyes with a hand, and after a moment, gapes at the sight before her.
In the place of the purple heroine was a majestic eagle, almost as tall as she was, shuffling over to the curtains. Its head turns once, twice, then its eyes lock with Rila’s.
“Follow me, Rila.”
Wisteria’s wings expand, grand and gleaming. In a split second she is gone, the curtains flung wide open.
A wetness drips down Rila’s cheeks. Hastily, she wipes them away and takes a single, deep breath. She throws her crutch to the floor, the knock of wood echoing, pushing away the noisiness of the crowd and clearing her mind.
“Benny,” she breathes wearily, her wings shaky as they spread open. “This is for you.”