CYAN | ONC 2022

05

He hadn't meant for the words to spill out of his mouth in such a manner — full of desperation and anger and sorrow.

There was nothing to indicate he could even trust her besides the humming underneath his skin when she lessened the distance between them, standing before him in an arm length's away. As if her mere presence was enough for him to unload his thoughts onto her and receive care. It was peculiar. She was constantly on his mind from the moment he had met her and she was still breathtakingly magical when he did see her.

Her cyan eyes scanned his face, and for one dreadful moment, Aryzath considered drowning himself into the lake just so he could contemplate what he had done.

Wishing to never be a Dragonkind was a betrayal to his own people — to his own species.

Yet, he couldn't deny how right it felt to want to shed this skin of his. Like a noose on his neck, every second he was forced to live in this life that others sowed for him, the tightening grip on his body increased.

Until he was helpless.

Just like right now.

Ilayda remained quiet. Her silence was deafening.

"Sorry," Aryzath said. "I didn't mean to blurt that out."

"You certainly made an impression," she said. "And you broke through my concealment again."

This time, he was quick to defend himself. "You probably should strengthen your wards then. They're not very strong if I can end up in here even with minimal thought."

Just as before, her face contorted and scrunched up; the skin at the bridge of her nose bunched, her eyebrows furrowed and a deep frown settled on her lips. It was almost amusing; the picture she made. His lips quirked upwards and just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared when she rolled her eyes and sighed, the look of annoyance morphed into a blank expression.

Ilayda's wings fluttered from behind her, catching his attention. They were translucent now that he was able to witness them move under the sun. But even with the slight transparency, their colours shimmered and morphed into one another with every slightest move. His fingers twitched — a sudden urge overcame him to touch them.

To glide his hand down the edge of her wings and watch them try and move away from him or maybe lean in closer.

Would she even feel that? Would she like that?

"You're staring again," she said, snapping him out of his reverie with a burning face. "You do that a lot, don't you, Dragonkind?"

Aryzath glanced away, curling his fingers into fists but mindful of his claws that could potentially slice his palms open. As tough as his scales were, he was still half human with the front of his hands covered in thin layer of skin. He flitted his gaze at her before he looked away, deciding to focus his attention to a grass patch near his feet.

Not that they were any interesting but it was better than entertaining his thoughts that were becoming odder the longer he was in her presence.

"I apologise," he said, clearing his throat.

"You apologise," she said, parroting him almost. After a beat, she added, "You have wings too, you know. Why is mine such a fascination to you?"

He snapped his head up, looking at her in the eyes. His face was probably as hot as the surface of the sun if one were to touch him now. Flustered, he opened his mouth and then closed it when he couldn't find the right words to say.

How would one even begin to explain that her wings were special?

That they seemed softer and far more malleable than what he had and he would like to touch them to confirm or deny his assumptions?