Here's the deal. You're a good kid, going about your daily life, trying to do the best you can in a tough world. You're born with a deformity, but that's alright: you learn to live with it, to laugh when people bring it up. You don't have any badass fighting magic, but it's cool: you make monsters out of rocks. You've got a rough relationship with your Da, but it's okay: your Ma is all you need, even if she's a little busy sometimes. You have sisters, and you love them. You have friends, and they love you. And sometimes shit happens, like you try to fight a giant demon and break your wing. But, hey, look on the bright side- it's not like you were using it!

You're good at on the bright sides. You live on the bright side. Hell, you are the bright side. And you're okay with that! Because really, all you want is to be people's bright side.

So how come they keep fucking you over like this?

No- not like this. This is new. Nobody has ever hurt you like this. Sure, when Ma left, it sucked. And I mean really, really sucked. And it still sucks, every time you think about it- it sucks the way a splinter sucks, deep in your skin, impossible to remove, almost possible to forget until you so much as twitch, and then, oh shit, there it is again. But splinters are passive, they're accidental, and that's how you view your Ma's disappearance. It's not like she meant to hurt you. It's just that, well, shit happens, and maybe it was even your fault, and you got hurt.

But Ma didn't want to hurt you. And you know that. But looking at the-thing-that-was-Mesec, you have doubts, because Mesec doesn't want to hurt you... right?

You take a step back as he - it - stands, a writhing mass of dark and hunger. You try to find a name for it, this thing your friend has become. Wolf seems too kind; Tae has a wolf, and while her companion has never exactly set you at ease, it certainly doesn't fill you with the unspeakable terror brought on by this beast. You shudder, involuntary, fear clenching at your heart, your throat, your lungs. Feathers press tightly against your tail; your wing clings desperately to your suddenly diaphoretic side; the whites of your eyes shine brightly against your dark face. Your entire body is rigid and tight, a jack-in-the-box ready to spring at the slightest cracking twig.

Except you don't run. Even though you've seen this before and part of you knows, knows what it means, you hesitate. You stay. You can't help it. As the monster - Mesec - stretches, you think maybe, maybe, he can still be saved. He wouldn't hurt you. He's your friend.

So you call to him, to your friend, to the man you know must be hidden inside the monster.  Maybe you have too much faith in the world. Maybe you're just an idiot.

Probably both.

“Mesec?" you whimper.

The monster replies.

You jump away from the snapping teeth, but not soon enough. Sharp fangs tear through your left front cannon; you feel yourself scream. You don't hear it: all you hear is the roaring in your ears, the rush of blood and denial as you stumble backwards, scrambling desperately to get out of his - of its - reach. You spin around, a messy affair, and somehow within heartbeats you are facing away and running, fueled by something primal that manages to mute the agony of your incised, bloody leg. You look back to see if it follows.

Then you trip.

You're lucky: you've tripped a lot. You know how to fall. You tuck yourself into the stumble, legs digging for purchase against the dirt, wing snapping back and open- directly into a tree, which both severely bruises the radius of your appendage and brings you toppling to the ground, your left cannon deciding that all of this excitement is more than it can (literally) bear. Not to worry: you're still good at falling, and terror does wonders to keep you moving. You adjust your trajectory, tweak your stumble into a roll. You use your wing for leverage (ouch!), falling onto your left foreleg but pushing with your right everything in hopes that you'll roll all the way over and pop back up. As you're prone your legs flail stupidly, striking out against the world, a half-planned defense from the seconds of exposure as your body flips and turns. It's not impossible. You've done it before. Sure, the circumstances were a little different, but, well... it doesn't matter, does it?

You have to get back up. It's the only way to stay alive.

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