Flight School: Prey

The Gift that Took

"You," She pointed a languid finger at Io.

"It's always you. Tell me, why is that?"

Io would have gladly told her that he did not have the privilege of knowing as well, and that if he did, he would like to relay this to the headmistress in return. Perhaps even find a way to prevent all these events from occurring, at best.

It wasn't as if he had asked for such attention—all these...eyes.

"I-it's really nothing Ma'am," Vijay said on behalf of his friend who did not answer. "Just an accident." He continued in a strained voice. "Nothing happened."

"I'm sorry—did I give you permission to speak?" V smiled sweetly, scoffing as she turned to the storm petrel. Vijay fell silent, backing away with a bowed head.

"Apparently not," She answered the question herself with the satiated smile of a predator. "Well then why don't you give me an answer, sparrow? We won't wait all day. Rather impatient you see, us predators." The headmistress picked at a lump of whipped potato caught on a strand of Io's hair.

He gritted his teeth at the brief sensation of her nails on his scalp, awfully disturbed.

"I was walking, Ma'am."

"Walking?" V mused, "oh how terrifying you must be for Fortune to condone your very feet on earth," She basked in the glory of sarcasm, taking pride in the reactions of the audience.

"He was pushing it, Miss. V," The one who tripped the boy came forth with a smirk, despite the bleeding lip that he sported. "Claiming he wants a rematch of the games." The leer came with a condescending prod on Io's chest—near his heart; where he was already hurt.

"Don't touch him."

The eagle's warning carved itself in the air like dagger to stone; lasting. Attention drew from the sparrow to him, and all seemed to watch with bated breath. It amused the headmistress thoroughly, as though this was all entertaining to her soulless eyes and the hellish world was the only color she adored.

"Yes, don't. Pray don't touch him—you'd have to wash your hands," V dismissed airily. "What's this talk about the games, dear? I didn't know you were so bitter about your defeat."

Several scoffed along the lines of a 'sore loser'.

Io couldn't help but agree.

There was the breaking of his resolve; a sound so treacherous that it betrayed his heart that stood its ground—resolve was weak. Petty. Cursed to dust.

Resolve was beginning to think the heart a burden, for perhaps it ought to yield to the comfort of darkness after all.

"It's nothing."

"Nothing?" The headmistress gladly used his words against him; it was a perfect example to show them where they were; where they stood—

"Silly sparrow. There's no use going back on your words, is there? Let us hear what you have to say."

He swallowed hard.

There was no turning back; the dark path ahead had materialized before his cage.

"I don't think I lost during the games," He cracked. "So I'd like you to reconsider."