Painted Lies and Demon Eyes (SVTFOE Fan Fic)

Amnesiac

I got up and winced from the soreness. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine and my wings and shoulders shuddered from the sensation. I shook my head to get rid of the fuzziness and grogginess. 

I didn't know how long I'd been asleep, but I was grateful for the uninterrupted rest - not to mention the complete exhaustion must've left me too mentally drained to even dream. The only thing I seemed to recall from last night's sleep was visions of a vivid red light, the Blood Moon. 

In the haze of my surroundings, I found Tom's bed empty and his covers messily thrown. I presumed I wasn't the first one up. 

My covers, however, were completely tossed off of my bed, like they were every night. I had kicked them away again in my sleep. The heat was always unbearable, especially during the night. 

I stumbled over my own lazy feet to get to the wardrobe. I only slept in my briefs last night, even having to strip out of my shirt. I didn't usually sleep with no clothes on, considering I share a room with my - I mean, Tom. 

Oh, yeah. That's right. 

I tried to disregard the thought and I grabbed the first shirt I could find in the wardrobe, a grey sleeveless t-shirt. I threw it over my head, tucking my wings through the dropped armholes. That's when something struck me. Putting on a shirt seemed… easier somehow. I had more mobility than I usually did, my wings weren't sore and aching. And when I went to the mirror to see for myself, I had found the proof. 

There was nothing there - no maddening, festering, simmering infection in sight. The root of my wings were clean. Not a single scratch or sign of an infection remained. And if there was any correlation to it, my wings felt lighter - less of a searing burden. They were easier to stretch, maneuver, flex. 

Star had actually healed me - all of me. Not a single scratch was left untouched. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen myself in such a healthy, peak condition before… as strange as that may sound. 

For my whole life, it seemed I just had bad luck with getting hurt. I was more prone to cuts, scratches, and other bodily injuries. Tom was always different, however. Though he could still regenerate and heal himself, he preferred the pain. 

Everything about him infuriated me. 

Every servant, guard, and staff member at his feet, always unquestionably at his service. His narcissistic tendencies to have everything his way. His need to be right, to prove others wrong. His ascension into the throne just because he is the older heir. 

Now just add "immortal masochist" to the list. 

I sighed, yet the burn of the hot, humid air stung my dry throat. I picked up pants next, dreading putting on another layer of clothing. 

Last night, it all felt like a strange, hazy dream. It all felt as if it happened an eternity ago. I couldn't recall a thing. It was just all too much. Even just standing there, in front of the mirror and looking in on my own reflection, brought on an eerie déjà vu. I somehow felt as if I was watching someone else. 

Someone else. 

A boy with no wings. Red hoodie. Dark brown eyes. A mortal. 

I shoved the memory of him aside, turning away from the mirror. 

… 

The grandfather clock heavily ticked, big hand pointed high and small hand pointed not that farther away. It was almost well past noon. 

Damn. Had I really slept that long? 

The casual, routine work for the servants that day were the same as always, despite the commotion and drama from last night. Everything was going according to schedule.