#bearrrwrites

You’d return to your blocking, centered in the middle of your ‘apartment bedroom’, with Wanda’s hand placed gently on your waist. Your roles were lovers, reuniting after a long day of hardship, slowing down after it all. You’d stare up at her, the mild exasperation in your expression making her smile. She’d send a wink down to you, muttering something about being ‘bored too’, but ‘not hating kissing you again’, or the like. She’d invited you out to coffee tonight, and especially after a day like this, you’d take it. Perhaps you’d even forget the paparazzi and really kiss her as you’d been wanting to do this whole shoot. Throw a bone to the fanfiction writers and make their canon comply with reality. Maybe. It was Natasha’s words which startled you from your thoughts, a look of tenderness overcoming your face as you’d sink into your character, “Action!” 

Within an instant, Wanda hiked her hands under the hem of your shirt, eyes darting down to your face. Her palms were warm against you, smooth against your soft skin, as your head rested gently on her shoulder. She’d tug at the fabric- and you’d send her a quick nod, smiling as you’d lean up to capture her lips in yours-

 “Well that’s not very marketable!” A producer would crow, scoffing with both his hands outstretched towards the two of you. You’d freeze, feeling all of the passion drain out from the scene, no more than a shell of itself. His bald head wasn’t very marketable, looking like a morally dubious Mr. Clean- and yet you didn’t comment on it. He’d look at Natasha, the woman pinching the bridge of her nose with a stern sigh, and you gulped. Oh, shit. She was going to lose it. “Can’t you get their clothes off faster? Our focus groups won’t wait around for-”

“Fucking Christ, get- out!” Natasha shouted, a growl in her tone bringing heat to your face. She scowled, roaring to the surrounding suits, “Leave, get off my set- it’s my fucking turn to direct them.” Her hands would fan away their deer-in-headlights looks, ushering them out before locking the door. Her fiery gaze would bore into you then, jaw locked as her heels would click towards you and Wanda, many feet apart. 

The two shared a knowing nod- And before you could speak, your director grabbed Wanda by her shirt collar and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Your jaw would drop as the brunette’s eyes widened, fluttering shut as Wanda moaned into the embrace- Natasha’s hands planted firmly on her tits. She’d squeeze them, earning a gasp from Wanda, your costar’s head swung back as Natasha swiped her thumbs across her nipples. Your director’s gaze would strike yours, and you understood why Wanda’s submission was so quick. You shuddered at the redhead’s gleaming smirk, her voice a husked whisper, “Get those clothes off and get on the bed for me, baby. Now.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Your reply was instant, Natasha’s grin only widening as you’d shed your layers, kneeling on the mattress’s soft sheets. They were cold, goosebumps settling up your spine yet you wouldn’t move, eyes trained obediently on Natasha. You were so perfect for her. 

Natasha’s mouth would return to Wanda’s, pressing her into the faux wall that had outlined the bedroom. Her hand would splay against Wanda’s stomach, and you saw how she hiked up the shirt there, continuing to palm her tits while unclasping Wanda’s bra with the other. She’d pepper kisses across the brunette’s neck, sucking hickeys the lower she’d go. 

They’d part only so Wanda’s top could come completely off, your director keeping a claiming touch on Wanda’s hip as she’d look back at you over her shoulder. Her hair was wild, mused from Wanda’s hands slung loosely around her shoulders while her expression remained flushed, dark eyes darting down to the slick that pooled between your legs. Wanda’s voice would ring to you, almost reverent as her hips would stutter against Natasha’s, “She’s fucking drooling for us, Tasha..” 

The redhead would bite back a smirk as she’d watch you twitch. You ached to touch them, yourself, anything- your hands already balled into fists on your thighs, legs rubbing together, desperate for friction. But neither had given the command, and you had an inkling from their hungry looks that they wanted you needy, right where they had you. Natasha’s rasp came second, “Then show her what I taught you.”

Wanda would reach you first, discarding the rest of her clothes in the process. Her hands trailed warm touches up your legs and to your chest, digging into your soft flesh as her lips would meet yours. It was explosive, sweet and tender yet with a ferocity that claimed you quickly, heating up your skin as her knee would slot between your thighs. You’d feel Natasha’s calloused fingers on the small of your back, the sinking of her weight in the mattress behind you, and her tone husked in your ear, “Stretch her out for me, Wan- like we practiced.” Your director’s words sent a buzz to your core, cunt grinding mercilessly into the sheets below as Wanda’s hand would trail there, dragging two fingers along your folds before arcing dazzling circles around your clit. 

You’d eagerly press your hips into her touch, moaning lowly as she’d chuckle, “So wet for me, sweetheart…bet I can just slip right in.” She’d coax her fingers inside, your pussy walls taking her gladly as Wanda curled her digits against that spongy spot. Your back would arch, head growing fuzzy as you’d feel your slick drip down her hand. Her thumb would press into your clit as you’d buck your hips against her, cursing a quick “Fuck-” which was quickly swallowed up by Wanda’s mouth. She’d bite your lip, dragging it with her teeth as she’d settle into her rhythm, spare hand palming your tits with a rougher grasp, “Been waiting for this, haven’t you sweetheart- pretty whore, just for us.”

 “Mhm, good girl just wants to be fucked, don’t you?” Natasha would grit, and you could see her stroking something behind your back. She’d unzipped her slacks- her strap heavy in her hand, glistening with the spit she’d gathered in her palm. Natasha bucked her hips against her hold, cursing as the cock’s base would rub against her clit. She looked incredible, sweat across her brow as her hand would clench around the toy, like she could feel it. “Keep going, Wands- want her perfect for my dick.”

 Natasha would pant, breathing ragged as her hand moved in time with Wanda’s fingers- curling into you almost torturously, feeling your cunt clench around her. The brunette’s kiss would claim you again, moaning into her warmth as her thumb would circle your clit. She’d sigh almost lovingly, fondness overtaking her expression as your head found the crook of her neck, “She’s already perfect, Tasha-” She’d coo, although her hand wouldn’t stop, gasping at the squelching sound of her fingers up your cunt, “This pussy was made for us, darling.” 

Their words and touch brought you so close, yet Wanda’s hands slowed down when she felt your legs quiver or your breathing seize up, never giving you what you needed. You’d squirm against Wanda, begging for more, a lingering touch, anything-  “Please, Wan- I‘m so close,” You whined, earning a tut from your costar. She’d devour your pleas, lost to time as her mouth would reach yours, softer than before. You felt her sympathetic smile against you as she’d shake her head, locking eyes with Natasha’s heavy stare, “Not yet, sweetheart..It’s not my turn anymore.”

The redhead groaned when Wanda slid her fingers out of you, her fingers shimmering with your arousal. Your walls fluttered around nothing, aching for anyone’s touch as you felt Natasha’s rugged grasp on your hips, pulling you up and back so your pelvis was against hers. The strap had warmed in her hand, dragging between your legs. You were dripping for her, soft sparks of pleasure seizing you as her tip would brush against your clit. Her voice would thunder through you, almost delirious with her own need, “Fucking finally..want this pussy all to myself…” 

Wanda would chuckle at that, your director kneading at your hips as Wanda’s thighs settled in front of your mouth, your arms propping yourself just above her soaked cunt. “We promised to share, Tasha..” She’d croon, face flushed and touch softer than Natasha’s as she’d cradle your face in her palms, “Such a pretty girl..are you ready for your reward, darling?” You nodded, a flurry of sensation hitting you all at once- Natasha’s strap sinking into you as the redhead would push your shoulder blades down, pressing your face between Wanda’s legs. 

The stretch was incredible, the woman behind you vicious as she’d drive her dick into you, bottoming out as your mouth would be smothered against Wanda’s cunt. Each thrust would drive Wanda crazy, your gasps and whimpers vibrating right into her core, especially as you’d flat your tongue against her clit, suckling on the sensitive nub. Her thighs would threaten to shut on you, her stretched words lost in your pussydrunk haze, “Yes, like that sweetheart- such a good girl..-” Natasha would rock her hips into yours, pace bruising as she’d pull your thighs flush to hers. You’d hear her muffled curses as she’d bottom out again, sighing as if she could feel you clench around her. “Baby..fuck, so perfect for us…” Wanda’s hands would thread into your hair, anchoring her hold on you as she’d press your face further into her cunt. 

The sight would echo a curse from Natasha’s mouth, her hips growing a little more erratic, “Fucking christ, she’s our perfect little whore, aren’t you baby-” You’d try to nod, moaning as Natasha’s hand would press further into your back, keeping you from moving an inch, “Don’t even think, baby- just fucking take it, fuck-” 

Time would seem to slow, your brain fuzzing into blissful static as you’d feel Wanda’s thighs tremor around your head, her grip tightening as she’d see your body tremble in Natasha’s touch. “Come with me, sweetheart- be a good girl and come for Mommy.” Her saccharine words spurred you into a blinding release, your tongue working Wanda through her orgasm as your body quaked with your own. You’d feel Natasha follow shortly thereafter, cursing aloud as she’d pull herself out of you, watching as you’d clench around nothing. Her hands would immediately find your waist, bringing you gently up to kneel with your back against her clothed front. 

Panting, your arms would shake as you’d catch your breath, leaning up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You could feel both women’s eyes on you as you’d suckle on your fingers, cleaning up with an exaggerated moan, looking towards Wanda as you’d pop your hand out of your mouth, your words almost dreamy, “Mmm, so good, Wan..” You’d giggle as Wanda’s face would alight in blush, although the clink of metal and fabric drove you away from your teasing.

Natasha’s hands would be rushed as she’d pull her pants and harness down, eyes heavy with a lust that made you shudder, “Switch with me, Wands-” She’d grit, thrusting the strap in her general direction before settling calloused palms on your still quivering thighs, her gaze boring into yours, “It’s my turn for her mouth.” 

Wanda’s smirk was immediate, sending you another sly wink, “Gladly.” 

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Unbeknownst to the three of you, the cameras had never stopped rolling. That film would never be seen by the public, kept hidden once you left the building. Not to say it couldn't be enjoyed by you three, though.

Natasha and Wanda took you out to coffee afterwards as the brunette had promised. They explained their prior agreement to ‘test the waters’ with you, Wanda working with Natasha on a plan to woo you both in and out of character. The date went well, although with much less lingering glances and more almost-fucking in the back of Wanda’s car afterwards. It was there that the public and paparazzi learned of your relationship, although their camera flash thankfully stopped any romance before it got good. You weren’t on a porn set, after all- and Wanda kept your half-nude form hidden while Natasha cursed out the press. All in a day’s work. 

Unfortunately, the day’s work began anew the next day. Filming the romance scene was no difficult measure now, but Natasha’s grin and Wanda’s wandering hands blurred the lines of professionalism. The film crew couldn’t care less, a few of them- such as Kate, a script supervisor- mentioned how they knew it would happen eventually (and won a bet with Peter, who said it’d take until the award show for you three to get together). 

Wanda x Reader

You hadn't been dating Wanda for very long.

Well, if you don't count the years of pining, that is.

You had hidden yourself behind a corner in her hallway, arms out and ready to spook.

This had been your same trick from Halloween (which between that and the turnips did not go well-)

But this time it’d go swimmingly.

After thirty minutes later, you heard the familiar clack of her heels against the compound’s floors, and…

Nothing. Silence.

You peeked around the corner to see where the witch had gone, and-

“Boo.”

Her warm grasp hugged your middle , yet you swear you jumped out of your skin.

“What the- Fuck, Wands-“ Your terror was met with her musical laughter, patting the the sides of your stomach.

“Well if you insist, sweetheart.”

Her voice echoed

She’d let go of you, and you could see the sparkling mirth in her eyes once you turned around.

She placed a quick peck on your cheek, looping your hand with hers to play with your fingers, gaze downcast at them even as her mischievous words would enter your head without her mouth moving.

“If you want to spook a mind reader, darling..”

You gulped as her touch grew more bold, pinning you against the wall- face warming as she’d tilt her head,

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

She’d chuckle at your flustered reaction, her grin cheshire as she’d lead you back to her room, giddy with sweet excitement.

“And happy April fools to you too, Wan-“

~~~ Natasha x Reader

Natasha had always managed to prank you first before you could prank her.

One year prior, you’d ended up with an egg in your hair while your whipped-cream pie prank had gone unsung.

And that was some really good whipped cream.

This year, though- you had buttered her up. Perks of being her partner- the pranks could go even harder.

“Good morning, my dearest sunshine-“ You’d murmur, settling her in with breakfast in bed.

Your trick? Salt in her coffee instead of sugar. Genius.

Natasha propped herself up on her arms, giving you an upturned eyebrow, “Oh, and what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing much..” A shit eating grin plastered her face, one that would soon be returned by the redhead.

“Birthday? Anniversary..?” She’d poke at your side as you sat down, her touch ticklish as she helped you settle the tray of food on her bedsheets.

“M-mmn, nothin’, sugar..” Oh, how you’d be eating those words soon enough.

You’d watch as she’d take a sip from her coffee, eyes wide and sparkling as she opened her mouth-

And sighed in bliss.

What the fuck was wrong with this woman.

“Delicious, baby..” Natasha purred, taking another hardy swig, and you watched as she swallowed. “You’ve outdone yourself..”

“I…uh-“ Your babbling words would be cut short as you took a drink of your own mug-

And was met with intense, uncomfortable sodium.

She cackled as you spit your mouthful back into your cup, punching her jokingly with a red face, “You- you fuckin’-“

“Switched them?”

“Not just the brew-“ Your hand would’ve found your forehead in shock, “But the mugs too- how the shit did you do that?”

“A spy will never reveal her secrets-“ She’d lean up to kiss you, but instead would shift the platter over to the side. “And you need to wash your mouth out.”

“Not before I drink my coffee..” You’d hiss, chugging her now lukewarm mug down.

That was, until you saw a plastic totally real cockroach on the bottom of the mug, shrieking before chucking it against the wall.

“Love you too, dear.”

~~~ Yelena x Reader

You didn’t think Yelena could be scared of anything.

She threw a knife at the fake spider you pranked her with last year.

And she spat in the face of the ‘piranhas’ that had infested your room’s bathroom two years ago.

And even so, you tried again this year- although with something much less terrifying.

You'd flooded Yelena's room with multicolored balloons, painstakingly blowing them up before gently setting them on her floor.

And the best part?

She was asleep in her bed the whole time.

You had almost finished the second bag of balloons when Fanny, ever the sleepy Akita, finally stirred from their rest.

The pup locked eyes with you, and you were so thankful that they didn't bark.

That didn't stop Yelena from waking, though.

The blond would rise quickly, eyes darting around as soon as her dog moved an inch. You swear she had murder in her eyes, although that might've just been from awakening so quickly.

It all left her once she found you, though.

Groggily, she'd wipe at her eyes, mumbling something before kicking her foot off the bed to stand-

Bumping into a stray balloon.

She recoiled immediately, yowling as though she'd been pained deeply- and you were at her side in a heartbeat.

"Yelena, shit- you okay?"

"Yeah.." She'd gruff, her shoulders slacking once your hands found purchase on them. She'd hide her head in your shoulder, a surprising gesture.

You wrapped your arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her back, "No need to be frightened, honey.." She'd hold you closer, and a flicker of thought ran through your mind, "Lena..are you scared?"

"What-? No-" She'd deny, her voice especially thick this early in the morn. "You just startled me-"

"That's a form of fear, hun-" Your chuckle was met with a groan from her, before she pulled her blankets back over the two of you.

Her words were muffled, "Fine, you got me- but now you hold me until I say so."

"My big, bad, scary Lena...of course, honey."

~~~ Kate x Reader

No matter what you pranked Kate with, she was always worried about you.

It's not unfounded, after you fell down the stairs during last year's April Fools, but still.

This time, you’d actually get her.

"Kate, made you some brownies!"

You heard her clamor with a fevrency that made her sound like a one man band.

She burst out of the hallway, expression wild with hunger and apprehension-

Until she saw you holding some kiddy scissors exceptionally sharp blades of murder and death and terror and-

“Babe!” She’d screech, barreling forth to snatch the scissors from your careful hands, placing them gently on the counter, before inspecting your palm for even the slightest scratch.

She hadn’t even noticed the brown construction paper, or the cut letter you’d pressed towards her middle.

“Kate, earth to Kate-“ Your smile towards her shook her from her thoughts, “I’m okay, pretty girl..Happy April Fools!”

Between the panic and the praise, her brain had to do a soft restart after that.

After a few more seconds, her goofy grin would return again, almost coy, “Gave me a heart attack there, you know-“

“I know,” You’d motion to the tin of hello kitty bandaids you’d raided from Tony, “And I was prepared, you doofus.”

She’d smile, nodding along until her face flushed- her hand rubbing smooth circles into your hip.

“But if you, you know- wanted to do some scissoring, as they say-“ You’d sigh, shaking your head with a teasing lilt, “You’re verryy smooth, dear.”

You’d press a boop to her nose, a teasing whisper, “I’ll think about it.”

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet. 

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids. 

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!” 

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft. 

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you. 

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her.  You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?” 

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant? 

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.” 

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.” 

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?” 

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?” 

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.” 

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew. 

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.” 

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company. 

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The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed. 

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash. 

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest. 

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!” 

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down. 

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks. 

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night. 

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Gaze snapping upwards, you’d bare your teeth towards the intruder which marred your thoughts, only to find a translucent figure. You could feel her chill from here, Her feathered speckling like a shawl over her shoulders, the wings behind her blanketing into a beautiful frame. She reached a hand towards you, although her smile was too thin to be kind. She didn’t look much different than she’d appeared days prior within your dreams yet again. The Aegyptius creation deity. Why was she here?

You didn’t shy from her gaze, looking at her with both respect and provocation. She was in your mind, fragmented as it was while your body rampaged elsewhere. If there was anywhere you were dominion of, it was this. “I know who you are now, Matron,” you’d assure, your voice echoing in the dim expanse, rippling along the water of your thoughts. She seemed to catch your words, and her grin grew wider, eyes narrowing. She’d tut, and in a second you could feel her cold, mist-like hands on your shoulders, “I expect something more reverent from my martyr..but you will learn.” 

“Martyr?” Your expression grew sour as she wouldn’t elaborate, toying with your frustration as she’d run her palms down your arms. An uncomfortable shiver would brace through your body, and you could feel your form stretch beneath as if her touch spurred your transformation all over again. She was cruel, a pained sigh leaving you as your teeth would clench. 

Her grasp on you would tighten, feeling the brittleness of pin feathers beneath flesh, “Your mind may not remember, fledgeling…but all my creations know my whims. And yet you wish to rid yourself of me?” Her laugh would be musical, but the bite in her tone was awash with rage, thinly veiled as the Matron stalked circles around you. 

The frustration that had flowed through you prior to your molt was flimsy now, embers against a cold snap. You felt your gut sink, fear bubbling thickly in your throat. You’d stopped looking at her by now, your gaze piercing down into nothingness. All you could manage was a pitiful nod, and you couldn’t tell if her snicker was anger from your lackluster response or joy from how compliant she’d rendered you. They were one in the same with your kind, you supposed. 

“You cannot..although I’m certain you’ve already understood that.” She’d pause in front of your face, ghostly touch icy as she’d claw your chin to meet your gaze with hers. Her phrase would come quickly, as if she was excited to utter it, “And for penance…you must kill that witch.”

“What?” They weren’t dead already? Your molt would’ve torn her to shreds by now. What was happening in the waking world? Even within a dream, the thought of murdering another with your conscious mind churned your stomach, especially one that brought you food. Mercy. “Command my body to do it, then-”  

“No. You must do this as human,” Her smile was dagger-thin now, and you swear sparks flashed from her maw when she spoke. “Not as bird. Your hunger will be your guide.” Her hands would cradle your face now, the chill of her spectral palms almost forgotten as your mind would rush and lurch. You could feel the knaw of famine in your gut, a terrible feeling, all too real. 

“I reject this- she has been kind, I-” The Matron would’ve disappeared immediately, the thawing of your flesh the only reminder.  Your plea would be met with silence, hyperventilation coaxing your heart into overdrive. Thudding in your skull, you could almost feel the weight of bone in your jaws, your throat suddenly parched. You’d rasp, drawing your hands close to cradle yourself as the world grew fuzzy and vague, “I don’t want to be a monster..”

“Oh, my martyr..” She’d murmur, her voice suddenly swirling along the shell of your ear, freezing your hunch in place. 

“That’s what I made you for.”

Your mind would swim, lucidity and unconsciousness blending into tar which filled your brain. You’d blink, heavier than before..and just before you’d wake, you’d feel her touch on your shoulder again. 

“Survivε, mυ μάρτυρας..” 

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You’d regain your mind halfway through it all. Your body ached and tore within you, the subtle itch of plumage molting from your skin a feeling you couldn’t soothe. You were in the barn. 

Your arms were held back as you’d kneel on the floor, a searing heat plaguing your wrists as you’d fight against its hold- your chains. They’d manage to cage you. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would’ve wheezed relief at that. Your tongue was dry, the taste of blood and bone absent on your lips. You hadn’t eaten anyone during your transformation, and yet your body twinged with agony all the more for it. You had no fuel to offer you shifting body, and so it ate you from the inside to power your return to being humanoid. Panting a low whine, spasms would twitch your form as your bones would grow heavier within your flesh, solid all the way through. Even through your strain, a quiet shuffle would draw your eyes immediately- your heightened instincts were always the last things to go. In the recluses of the barn stood your prior attacker, although her attention was focused elsewhere, ghosting over something in the palm of her gloved hand. Thank fuck.

It was only now you could get a good look at her. Her hair was auburn, braided sharply in cascading strands which met the nape of her neck. It had been chilled near its ends, pale and almost wispy, as though something had leached the color from it. Sorcery? Stress? You couldn’t tell at first glance, but the perpetual scoff that seemed to mold into her face signaled the latter. 

Blueish gray irises stared into what she held, and it was only when you growled a restrained snarl at the sight did her eyes lock to yours. She was holding one of your shorn feathers, the visage making your hackles raise. You wouldn’t shy from her gaze as you had with Wanda, even raising your chin higher so you looked down at her with pinprick pupils- you were an adversary. A challenger. You didn’t fear her. Your head throbbed, the heavy burn of your engraved chains a constant reminder. 

She’d approach you with malice- unsurprising given your circumstances, but the prick of a metal blade against your neck was a little more shocking. This early? Damn. You’d grit your teeth but remain steadfast, even as she’d glower over you. 

“Ossifraga, dic omnia quae scis.” She’d spit, her words foreign yet familiar in your ears. ‘omia’ was a word you gleamed in an instant - ‘everything’, yet the rest was butchered in her mouth. You’d bare your teeth at her, grin sickeningly raw even as she’d press her knife’s edge to your nape. “Dic mihi omnia Fraga, ne te interficiam sicut columbam-“ 

Her anger would shatter at the creaking barn door, flinching just as you did. At least one similarity between the two of you. A familiar soothing tone would echo to you, honeyed and thick, albeit strangled from…anger. Anger? 

“I leave you for one second, you глупый козел-“ Wanda muttered harshly, her stomping footfalls sharply rattling in your skull. She’d pluck the knight’s hand away from you, grip harsh as she’d try to wrestle away their weapon- futile, as their shock to Wanda’s insult only lasted so long. From your attacker’s reaction, it seemed they shared a language. Interesting. “And here you are, nicking my patient-“ 

You’d struggle at Wanda’s words, trying to show her your discomfort. Your wrists continued to burn, and you swear their imprint would be branded on your skin if they weren’t taken off soon. And yet, it may be safer if you remain chained. The Matron’s words still throbbed in your ears, a blinding sight locking your gaze onto Wanda before you bit it back down. You’d breathe, ragged, before gasping a sound which seemed to catch her attention. Her nimble fingers would move to start unshackling you, before being caught by Natasha’s rough grip, pulling her immediately back, “What are you doing-!? It’ll kill you-“

“I won’t harm…her..-“ You’d hiss, finding your bearings as your larynx would thrum with your voice again. You’d glare at the hunter, voice steadfast even through your pain, “You’re- a different story, knight..let me go, and maybe I’ll consider.”

You saw her jaw flex at your tone, malice seeping from every beat of her heart. She’d release Wanda with a tight-lipped grumble, your wrists losing their binds seconds later. You’d rub at the tender flesh for a split second, gasping and hiding away as it’d still bubble with scorching heat. You were too late, and soon your wrists would scar over. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad next time, perhaps.

You’d sit up, movements sluggish as you’d sync again with a heavier frame. Your glance would be wary, looking to Wanda as if the knight wasn’t there. You saw annoyance flash across the hunter’s expression, and satisfaction bloomed in yours. Let her be upset. “What happened..? You shackled me, I am thankful for it.”

“And yet your wrists don’t look happy..” Wanda would respond with muffled concern, although you’d retreat from her scarlet magic’s attempt to heal- scars proved you had lived, this one above all. This one showed you could trust the healer to protect you when you couldn’t protect her. The slow rumble of starvation proved you wouldn’t be able to protect her for a long time. She’d sigh, but wouldn’t press further. “You’ve been in the barn for three days, we put you here on the evening of the first-“ 

Your expression faltering would quiet her words, a shaky inhale slicing into the room’s air. Three days. “I’ve never been..” you’d grip your hair as you spoke, bending to pull more of you closer. You’d stare at your shorn feathers, brilliant white where they lay unheated, almost ghostly in the thin light of Wanda’s shed. 

“I’ve never been transformed for that long.”

“And why should we believe you? You could feather again as we speak- kill us all.” The knight would glare at you, though there was a chance she never stopped, boring a hole into your skull which you gladly challenged. You’d bark a laugh, the sound uncomfortable in your raw chest and yet you reveled in how she flinched away. The air grew thick and still, “If you hunt my kind with that attitude, you obviously know nothing of the Aegyptius.”

“Then enlighten me, Fraga-”” She said that like an insult to you, and yet it didn’t register. 

  “And why the hell should I-?”

 “Because we have a common goal, you dolts-“ 

At Wanda’s interjection, your voice would sliver and slip away, her face red and scrunched with frustration. It was almost adorable how her nostrils flared with her words, yet the rage in her eyes was something that stirred sorrow inside you. Something clicked in the back of your mind, memories from your brood when you were young, and yet nothing registered in the fog of retorting anger. There was curiosity on the hunter’s face, shoulders squared back at Wanda’s tone, and yet your mind still held what the knight had said before.

“What did you call me?” Your words stumbled as you’d shift to stand, legs frail under the weight of yourself. You wouldn’t see the knight’s bewildered expression until much later, too busy keeping your feet underneath you, “Fraga…do you not even know what you are?” “Enlighten me,” you’d taunt, clipped thin between your barred teeth. Wanda would scoff, shaking her head in your peripheral.

“You are Ossifraga. Bone-breaker, the unclean bird..” Your eyes would narrow, but not in the way the hunter wanted, it seems. These names meant nothing to you. “A mistake upon your feathered kind. A blight-'' Her words would build in strength, low as she’d stalk dangerous steps towards you. You looked towards Wanda, her hands slowly raising as scarlet magic grew to weave around her fingers.

“Others of your kind can be bards, songbirds or doves- even raptors can experience valor as warriors…but you, Fraga, are the mutated husk of your false god.” She spit her tone with vitriol, acidic. The receding down on the back of your neck rose as your blood ran cold- Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, a lump swelling in your throat, but it wasn’t all fear. There was something else, a chill unfamiliar to your waking form, coaxing your mouth open. You resisted, even your back reached the worn wood of the barn’s walls and the knight’s voice swarmed back into focus. 

 “A dangerous monster, consuming the bones of innocents and leaving plague in your wake,” A gleaming metal shone near her wrist, and your stomach dropped all too late. The knife was probably sacred, intricately carved with markings you could hardly make out in the blur of motion, her gloved hand grasping your shoulder while the other swung to pierce your stomach. 

“You’re the infection I must quell-” 

Your maw opened before you could think.  

“Αμολάω-!” You’d shriek, your voice hissing with the inflection of many. You heard the clatter of metal on the ground as your tone echoed forth. The knight would barrel backwards, clutching her head as Wanda flinched behind her, the shockwave of your words hitting her fainter the further it went from your mouth. 

You kicked away the knight’s dropped blade, another command echoing from you, your tone no longer your own, cold and bitter on your tongue, “Γονατίστε, παράσιτα- Θα σε καταβροχθίσω χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη..”

The hunter sunk to her knees before your sentence had finished. You’d gasp a second later,  your lungs filled with air as though they’d never have before. Blinking, you’d feel a tenseness in your body, arms trailing with thin plumage which quickly sunk beneath your skin. You’d watch it leave with a cold numbing shock, jaw slung open with a heavy breath. Your thoughts translated your foreign words after a few moments, ‘Let go. Kneel, vermin. I will devour you without a second thought.’

Your feathers had never grown beyond your molt, confined to the hellish day a month where you were no longer yourself. Your hands tremored, ghosting over the goosebumps that had been left behind. It’s like the feathers had never been there- and yet you could feel your body creak and crunch, as though impatient.  

The hunter stood a few seconds later, gait slow as she’d physically wrench herself from your command’s thrall. She’d brush at her scuffed armor, plagued with the barn’s dirt which clung to the metal, “I know what you’re saying. Your pronunciation is weaker, and yet it is still-” 

“The language of my kind,” You’d mutter without sympathy, scoffing as the knight seemed to take offense to your interruption. “You’ve stripped it of its history..it's what you spoke before.” You’d never learned your own tongue, and yet half your thoughts spoke in it now. A shiver rolled down your spine, a cascading chill that felt like an awaiting grasp. 

“Ah, so it can listen..” She’d sneer, glance harsh as she’d eye her forlorn blade again. Wanda’s interjection would be seen before it was heard, scarlet magic weaving around the hilt before daintily grasping it, pawing it over to her awaiting palm. “And so must you, Romanova..” The way she curved the words had a sense of familiarity, drawing a frustrated huff from the other woman. You’d narrow your eyes, but it wasn’t your turn to speak anymore, “You both listen, or you leave my barn with nothing but a death wish. Am I clear?”

You’d nod slowly, and by Wanda’s sigh, you assumed the knight did the same. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere cozier, shall we?”

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Wanda’s home would’ve been just as comfortable as it had been the prior evening, albeit more cramped. Between three people in the living room, a thin glow of red magic seeping through the slats of wood that boarded the kitchen up, and the deadly eye contact you and the knight shot at each other every second, the air was never thicker.

“And you tore through the kitchen wall,” Wanda’s words were analytical, the gnawing feeling of guilt settling heavy in your gut. You kept your distance from her, a pang of hunger grinding into your thoughts the second you grew closer to the witch. You chewed at the inside of your lip as her palm waved towards the construction her sorcery partook in. Her shrug was too easy, “Not afraid of remodeling, after Romanova mistook my window for a door-” 

She’d almost bite towards the hunter, a simmering scoff laced between her accented tone. “Is that your name? ‘Romanova’?” The knight would leer at your question, slinging her arm against the heavy metal of her armor. From Wanda’s scoff, it seems she’d gotten the same reaction while you were out. “You butcher my family title, Fraga-” 

“Give me your name and I won’t have to.” You’d raise a brow as her eyes locked to yours, your breath thin and still. You felt the cold in your throat again, creeping like a retch up your windpipe- yet you swallowed it with huskier words, “Since we’re all in the sharing mood. Aren’t we?”

Her sigh was almost palpable, hissing in a low breath, “I am Natasha Alianovna Romanova. Templar of Latrodectus, it’s esteemed widow.” That title meant nothing to you, although your unfitting reaction seemed to knock her down a few pegs. Her reply was less angry than curious, “Did you ever earn a name, Fraga?”

“Earn?” Your snort brought an angry heat to Natasha’s face, perplexed laughter ricocheting through your solid skeleton, “You really do know nothing of my kind. We do not remember names. Unimportant.”

You wouldn’t see Wanda’s furrowed look until she exhaled sharply, looking away from you with crossed arms. Your mind sunk and crackled whenever you looked in her direction, suddenly parched. The flutter in your stomach remained, bringing an uncomfortable nausea rather than burst of curiosity. You kept your eyes on Natasha, expression hollowed, “Why do either of you stay? This..is your house, Wanda, I know-” 

“Because we want to help you-” “She does- mhph-” Wanda’s hand would outstretch towards Natasha, blocking her mouth with a wispy scarlet sheen. You looked at Wanda’s shadow, feeling her sigh as your gaze never met hers. Her voice was calmer yet thin, strained between forces, “Do you want to rid yourself of your feathers?”

“Yes,” Your quick response earned an unseen smile from the witch, although your skin grew clammy at the thought. Natasha shuffled, and when you met her eyes you saw hers were raised, almost in shock, her mouth still clasped closed. “Then we have a common interest. This one can find a method beyond violence- and if your transformation is progressing faster, then it is my role to bring you back to normalcy.” 

You’d meet her glance now, her smile radiating a warmth into you that culled away some of the chill, satiated you. Your palms felt your own, awkwardly poised as you offered your hold to the witch, her touch filling you with an unfamiliar satisfaction. You shook her hand against yours, ignoring Natasha’s silent indignation burning into your skull. Perhaps you could control yourself- you could protect each other, “Thank you, Wanda.” 

“Ah, none of that- you are a medicinal marvel..” She’d tease, your thanks rolling right off of her. You met her grin with your own, her words shushing as she’d lean to you, “Think of what it will do for my prices, to heal an Ossifraga-” 

Your laugh was a startling welcome, filling you with mirth as it was returned. “I will pay you then. How many feathers-?” Her hand patted yours before receding, wiping her palm along her clothed side. “...I’ll keep a running tab for you, Птичка.”

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The sun had risen into midday, and you basked in its sunlight. Your shoulders felt tense as you hauled supplies towards the wagon Wanda and Natasha had acquired an hour ago from Belmoor proper. You’d hung back, admiring the hazy scarlet tendrils which packed Wanda’s belongings. The two had found you handing random objects to the sorcerous helpers when they returned, although Natasha was pulled away by the witch before she could crow about the non-essentiality of bringing Wanda’s butter churn. 

The mule that was attached to the wagon- Daisy, Doris, something like that- had been chewing on the turf as you’d settled another crate of rations along the wagon’s bed, pushing it into place with a heavy shove. It was a ten days road travel to Arkridge, the capital of this province, as you’d been told. Its libraries held what could be the first of many secrets. The forest never spoke of it, yet its grandeur was palpable even through Natasha’s gruff words. She hadn’t tried to stab you again, although her glare was seething whenever you met it. 

You passed each other by as you’d return towards the house, huffing an unimpressed groan as her haul was much smaller than yours. She’d abandoned her armor for now, and you watched as the musculature of her back shifted as she’d set her barrel down. You could take her if you had to, even without your strength- though the scabbard along her back gave you pause, the longsword’s hilt gleaming in the light. It had been engraved, similar to the leather sheath that bound it, and you’d guess it was the same inscription. Runic and familiar, it brought your thought to your chains, their markings similar yet worn. Perhaps you’d find a way to ask about it, if you could have a conversation without insulting each other.

Your side met Wanda’s as you leaned in her vicinity, your gaze locked onto the knight a dozen meters away. The witch’s voice was smoothed and sweet, honey-like as she’d offer her palm to yours again, inspecting the scarring along your skin as you’d accept. “Your name isn’t Margo, is it?” 

You shook your head, still in her embrace, “No. I just needed something to give to you. Satisfy..”

Your words petered out into silence, her squeeze of your hand gentle, shying away from the raw flesh of your wrists. “You don’t have to do that, Ласточка. I have countless things to call you that you won’t forget.” Her wink made your face flush, shying away from her gaze as her tone wrapped around your thoughts. Her giggle wasn’t lost on you, a fondness in her expression you couldn’t decipher. “Will you tell me what that means?”

She’d shake her head, just before you heard Natasha’s heavy footfalls towards you. The forested grove retreated behind as you three would set forth a few minutes later, silence thick. Bellmoor would be forgotten, in favor of new memories. Perhaps your first night at camp would be more riveting. 

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Your head would throb as you’d rise from your bedrolls, unable to find the sleep you begged for. A keen sense told you it was evening, the night’s chill rolling over your exposed shoulders in waves. If you were truly going to transform, as had been your normal for countless years- there was no point in ripping more clothes in the process. The earth felt rough underneath you, becoming more sodden as you’d trek towards the mouth of your cave, the evening’s darkness doing little but sharpen away the humanity you had left. It had rained, the air’s scent carrying the fresh smell. Recently, to be noticed by your unresponsive nose..and yet, it couldn’t rival the majesty of the sky. Stars speckled across its tapestry, a sigh escaping you at its sheer beauty. It was a enchanting reminder of what you would see when you woke up after your succession, after the molt had picked you clean and rebuilt you. At least that’s what it’d feel like, when you’d regain your mind.

You could feel the dull pain of feathers beneath skin even further, as though your body craved to soar up into its expanse. You’d pat your shoulder down as if brushing dirt from it, knocking sense into your own instincts. You couldn’t afford to further the transformation now- it’d never started this early before. The moon was a mere sliver within the sky, last shades of light due to leave within the next day. “The soil is what I deserve,” You’d grit aloud like a mantra, echoing in your thoughts, soothing you into begrudging complacency. The sinful sky would murmur to you, a voice slipping out through the darkness, and you’d shy away from her. It was your conscience, or perhaps your instincts. They were always mouthy this close to the new moon.

“You must soar,” She’d breathe, her words like rustling leaves in the howling night air. You’d have turned your back to the sound, head low as your arms would cross to cover yourself. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t-

“Hunger plagues you..” The voice would coax, fanning across your back, swirling between the crackled down which speckled new growth on your shoulder blades. You’d turn again, a hiss sparking in your throat- the sound raspy, incomplete, feeling raw on your tongue as it’d clip between barred teeth, gnashing against your words. “I am sane..” You’d breathe, the words harsh in your mouth. You’d done this dance hundreds of times, and yet the voice inside your mind was oddly corporeal today. “I am lonely..” you’d admit, shaking your head out as though it’d rid you from the illusionary tone, giving yourself a reason to be hearing voices, “You are nothing but my own mind. You aren’t-”

“Real?” The voice would ask, before the air sliced against your jaw- finger-like, pulling your gaze back as your body would turn around to follow it. Your eyes would see her then, fully for the first time- spotted in starlight, not just a figment of your own mind’s trickery. Vaguely humanoid, spectral feathers would blanket her arms, slackened wings framing her back as though an angel- ghostly, as her entire form was vaguely translucent, made of a soft white glow. One hand would have pulled your chin to meet her gaze, entire body tensing as her ‘grip’ felt like the crisp embrace of the night’s air. The voice had never had a body before.

“Who are you?” You’d ask, spitting vitriol even though your hands shook, her touch iron-clad even though it seemed to be crafted from the wind itself.

She’d chuckle, tilting your head so she could get a better look at you, and you got the feeling that she could peer at much more than just your skin. “You haven’t heard of me, fledgeling?” The voice would question musically, her tone a soothing balm to your transformation, and yet seemed to aggravate it further. You could feel the low pop of sinews contracting to allow the slow re-arranging of your skeleton, grunting at the uncomfortable sensation.

And even still, she wouldn’t release your head from her hold, tongue tsking at your lack of an immediate answer. “You..aren’t like me-” You’d scoff beneath your breath, expression radiating fury. It was easier to feel angry towards the apex of a lunation, and you harnessed it now. She was no monster, some kind of partial Aegypius- she was not chained to the moon as you were. What audacity did she have to mar your affliction with her words? “Leave me, before I-”

“Silence-” She’d interrupt, the sound layered with the voices of many. Your jaw would close shut before she’d finished the first syllable, something in the word beckoning complete and total submission. “Ah, so they can be trained..” She’d rasp, a sickly sharp grin plastering her see-through expression. She’d pull your jaw up higher, thumb resting underneath your chin, “I know you…and I think it’s time you remember me.”

You’d feel her before you heard her again, the contraction of your stomach causing you to double over. Within an instant, you were no longer yourself, the sharp crack of bone and tendon filling the air as feathers would blanket shifting skin. You’d blink, and see your eyes change into an overwhelming hyper-vigilance, until you felt nothing at all but hunger.

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The fabric beneath you was quickly forgotten as you’d jolt awake, breath shaking as your vision would correct itself to the soft daylight emanating from cracks in your cavern’s walls. Your headache would only intensify, hissing as the soft rays would accost you. It seems you had found fitful sleep, although the harsh feeling of cold against your form would persist longer than you liked. It was all a dream. Just a dream..

In your sleep, you hadn’t known who that woman was. Scrounging through your waking memories bore different fruit, however. Your hands cycled through old tomes- the few you managed to obtain on your species. You'd have to nudge the manacles near your things with a shard of rock to get to them though, keeping even the slightest wisp of your skin away from its metal. It wasn’t the material you feared, but what was carved within it- some kind of passage you’d long forgotten the translation to. All that mattered is that it hurt like a bitch, and did its job of keeping you restrained when a lunation was at its peak.

After a few minutes, you’d find your answer in an especially unweathered page: Matron, the Aegypius creation deity. Another name was below it whose dialect you’d long forgotten; Your birth tongue. With a tight-lipped grumble, you’d close the book shut before rising to weathered feet. It wouldn’t take a historian to tell you that seeing a goddess in your dreams was a bad sign.

You’d don your belongings quietly, the silence calming against breaths which shuddered your slowly-hollowing skeleton. As you’d slip your bedroll atop your fraying rucksack, you could feel the shifting curvature of stretching muscle which had begun within your shoulders, preparing the form for flight in a day's time. Soon, it wouldn’t be your body anymore. The manacles would join you, shoved hastily within your kit with a stray cloth blocking your fingers from direct contact. You’d feel their burn that evening, once you’d return to the cave later that night.

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With a final glance towards your cavern, you’d set off towards your destination; the ‘Spirit Healer of Bellmoor’, although you could care less if they were a toad masquerading as a human. If they could help you, as it’d become rapidly clear that was necessary, then the hike was worthwhile. It’d take a few hours of travel, weaving through tree trunks as your legs carried you where your wings begged to go. The sky was a saccharine prize, and yet you kept your expression forward- gazing at its majesty would only strengthen your molt’s urge to progress.

You’d take the long road to avoid any prying eyes, or any eyes at all, for that matter. You valued solitude, the one hardened aspect of your species which allowed them to not be culled as soon as they came into existence- it kept your kind mysterious, more of a figment than truth, and kept other Aegypius from tearing each other apart for territory. The healer’s house would come into view a second later. It was wooden and humble-looking, the cabin lit with a warm interior glow from within its small grove. Approaching its brass knocker, you’d clang on the door three times, praying that’d be enough. As the second ticked past, you’d raise your knuckles to rap a second time, but the door opened before you could bother. Behind it, claret-colored irises would greet you, accompanied by high cheekbones, fiery red hair, and an inquisitive glance. You wouldn’t meet her gaze as your own turned downward, your voice roughened from lack of use.

“Are you the healer?”

You’d see her face morph into a cheshire grin in your peripheral, as she’d step aside to allow you further passage into her home. “Yes, I am. Welcome, and come in.”

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Heavy breaths would thunder through the open forest, the woman sinking deftly through the trees, in sight of her quarry. A cavern decorated with slung beading, woven from thin, flexible vines and hollowed, pecked-out rocks. The alcove would’ve almost been homey to Natasha, if it wasn’t the den of a monster. Her longsword would be clasped tightly in gloved hands, held forward as the hunter would skulk towards her prey.

She’d settle her back to the cave’s entrance, a trickle of sweat staining her brow. The chase had been long and arduous, but it was finally complete. With a hardy swing, she’d growl her war cry into the air and-

See nothing. The cave was empty.

Natasha would pant, eyes dilated as she’d grit her teeth in rapidly fuming, silent frustration. Her pupils would bounce from corner to ceiling, taking in the scene before her..the monster had fled. It ran. She’d scoff at that, barking a cruel laugh beneath her breath as she’d coat her fingers in leftover charcoal, pulling her glove off to feel its texture. Crumbled and thick, not weathered terribly by elements..this fire was burned recently. The creature’s departure wasn’t long ago.

Her confidence would only return as she’d trudge outside, noticing escaping footprints she hadn’t noticed prior. In her focus to kill, obviously- she would’ve found them ages ago if she were actually looking for them. She’d smirk to herself, before beginning the hunt anew.

“I’m on your tail, гриф..” Previous Chapter - Next Chapter