Clear water was still as glass that dry morning, and Cera used it in quite the same fashion. He had been drawn to it, as he found he was quite a lot these days. Once gangly legs had finally straightened, and every day he seemed to shoot up farther towards he skies. No longer did he trip and go crashing over lengthy pillars he couldn’t control, though he would always retain a naturally clumsiness matching his boyish demeanor. Even so he remained tiny, skinny. Altogether frail and vulnerable- breakable. Cera had never thought of himself as this. Pain was a foreign concept to him, the horrors of the world hidden on the opposite side of the veil of innocence that covered his eyes. However ever since his violent confrontation with the demon in the woods, he had realized that he truly was prone to attack. He had been unable to defend himself in any fashion, though it wasn’t his fault. Somehow he knew this, but he found himself nearly glued to Midas after the incident. Sneaking away only to end up here, at the looking glass that kept them all alive. Staring down at himself, though never concentrating on his face. Familiar aspects were all blurred in his mind as he concentrated upon the badge he would wear for the rest of his mortal life. It was hardly fancy in any way. Jagged, long, and puckered. It stretched from one shoulder to the other at a slight angle, no longer red but a pinkish white.

Crushed green eyes stared down at this stripe along his chest, wings low and muscles loose. Ilaria rested between his shoulder blades, half dozing. His heart swelled with love as he thought of her, but even that could not dispel the dark cloud of thoughts that took over his head. Would anybody be able to meet him without having their eyes drop down to that scar? Would he ever be able to meet Mystique again and not be terrified of her reaction? Why had it happened to him? Were the Gods angry at him? He felt tainted, dirty. Every safety net had been burned out beneath him and he was terrified to ever leave the safety of home. D’Artagnan had taken more than a strip of his skin. He had taken every blanket of safety, had even taken away his ability to indulge in his favorite past time of exploring. Now, he found himself jumping and skittering away from every shadow and darkly painted stranger. Fearing the horns upon every crown he saw. It was an irrational fear, and though he told himself they would never hurt him he still ran from them before they even thought about turning his way. Cera knew he was being foolish, but he was already noticing the effects. Hardly able to bear Midas leaving anymore. Ever since Midas had quite literally taken him beneath his wing, Cera had understood that he had duties and that he wouldn’t be around a lot. He loved Midas, and accepted that. Never once complained, watching him leave with a smile and greeting him with affection. Always aware that he was tired and couldn’t play sometimes. But now, he had to fight himself in order to keep from screaming, crying, begging his father not to leave him alone. Cera was so frightened that d’Artagnan was going to return to finish the job, that Midas wouldn’t be there to save him once again. And who could he turn to? Bazilisk, his cherished mentor, had deserted them. It had left a welt along his heart, and it killed him to abandon his apprentice duties once again. Even so he continued to find metal, if only to sustain the dream that Bazilisk had passed on to him. The sketch of the wall remained permanently in his mind.

Mystique? No, he couldn’t drag her into it. He cherished her but didn’t want her to fear for him and certainly didn’t want her to become another target for d’Artagnan. Also internally afraid that he would fear her, as well, for having a horn upon her head. That thought sickened him, made him hate himself. Would his fears truly rule his friendships? Note? Cera adored Note, and more than once thought of turning to him. But no, he was busy anyways and didn’t seem as comfortable with Cera. Lynx? Cera swallowed a lump and remembered that he, too, had left the Throat. It hurt to know that everyone was leaving without ever giving him a goodbye, that they were leaving him at all. His young mind couldn’t comprehend the deeper reasoning behind their decisions, only knowing that they had left him without a backward glance. Sierra? She had been with him during the incident and he’d grown attached to her, but he didn’t know her very well either. That left Midas, his father. Cera desperately wanted to talk to him, reveal to him all these fears. In the end, he couldn’t. He still remembered how much pain he’d put Midas through, remembered how sore and pained he was after the dash to get him to a healer. It had been his fault that Midas had been in a fight, been in pain. If he hadn’t been out in the Deep Forest, he wouldn’t have involved Midas. Cera feared that Midas would try and change their routine to accommodate him, and Cera wouldn’t allow that. He knew that Midas loved his job, loved being a General. Cera could never ask him to give that up over a few fears. Also, deep down, he feared that Midas blamed him. It was never a thought that he had ever imagined he would entertain. He loved his father, and knew that his father loved him equally in return. But none of these thoughts were necessarily logical.

What if Midas thought he was ugly and disgusting because of his scar? What if he blamed him for having to go to so much trouble? What if he didn’t want such a troublesome son? Cera didn’t know the lengths a parent would go; he’d never encountered anything like this before. Ilaria stirred at his distress and her eyes blinked open. Emotions flowed through him through their bond, for she was unable to form words. Questioning if he was alright. Cera returned it with images of his scar, of Midas, of the enraged face he’d seen on his father in the forest. She pieced them together and pulled on his mane with her claws, reprimanding him. She was mature, far more than Cera and he found himself being at the receiving end of her corrections. Ilaria was like a stern sister, but she loved him and he loved her. Wincing slightly at the pull, he felt the disappointment through the bond and also the confusion that went through her. She still didn’t understand the complexity of emotions quite yet, but knew that Midas had never been upset with Cera. The cherub shot back at her the image of Midas wincing from his sore muscles, exhausted from his multiple uses of magic. Again followed by his angry face, followed by the mix of sadness and anxiety Cera felt at that possibility. Chittering she pulled on his mane again and love came through their bond like a wave. Ilaria didn’t know how else to respond to his sadness, and instead tried to comfort him through a display of her love for him. Overwhelmed, Cera collapsed into tears. Too many emotions were all cluttered up in a ball, and for some reason knowing Ilaria loved him unconditionally only broke him down from the strength he’d been showing in the past few days.

Midas was always strong, always so sure of his emotions. Cera didn’t want to worry him by crying or breaking down, so he acted strong for his father. But now it was all coming out again and he couldn’t handle all the emotions that suddenly assaulted him. He had never been so afraid of so many things. Had never had a reason to actually fear a person. Wrenching away from his reflection, he realized he couldn’t bear the thought that somebody- Midas especially- would find him ugly for the wretched thing. He felt odd and out of place, lonely. Ilaria cooed softly from his shoulder and he sent back the love she had given to him, trying to stop her from worrying. Turning and fleeing from the oasis. He couldn’t stare into his reflection any longer. Couldn’t see the haunted, tired eyes that had taken the place of the bright and innocent ones he had always had. Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, always afraid that the demon would come slinking from the shadows to kill him. Remembering the agony as the poison had seeped through his body. Ilaria clung to his mane and shoulders, used to moving along with him as he sprinted away from the water. Long pillars working hard until he was in a frenzy, sweat foaming a bit on his flanks and neck under the heat and the glare of the sun. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he hiccupped and huffed, trying to pull air into his lungs. Legs burned but he refused to stop, needing to do something physical to get away from his own thoughts. He felt like he was going insane, having no experience to compare it to. Didn’t know how to handle all of this. Quite literally trying to run from his fears as he pushed faster and faster, Ilaria cooing and clicking from his back worriedly; pulling at his mane and thumping her tail against his spine. He paid her no heed and slowed only when his legs began to tremble and he could no longer breathe. Cera’s walk was just as wobbly and uneven, wings hanging limp by his sides as the tips brushed the ground. Neck and flanks wet with sweat and turning a dark brown so different from his normally sandy color. White had taken over a decent amount of his eyes and he staggered slightly as he continued walking. Ilaria cooed and sent a worried ‘?’ through their bond. Cera couldn’t reply, and she scurried up his neck to sit behind his ears. Back paws clinging to his mane, cooing into his ear as he staggered over the sand. He took comfort in her familiar sounds, giving a few rough sobs that could hardly be afforded in his winded state. "I don’t know what to do, Illy…" whimpering to her, and though she didn’t understand she kept up a steady flow of loving emotions through their bond. Cera clung to it like a lifeline, his life preserver in the ocean of despair and confusion. It felt like she was all he had left.