The winged beauty

The low hissing vulture finally resorted to grunting with a bit of raspiness.

It's anxiety was unconquerable, for the devil it had been following for the past few months, the shadow of whom he had been genuflecting to was now lying listless.

The day at the lake marked the beginning. It was simply overwhelmed by the invincible entity. His aura, his discreet eyes that shot a chilling gaze at anybody who dared to irk him and his subtle yet domineering gesture of permitting the bird to be at ease, had made the bird a true devotee.

It didn't even take long for bird to come to a decision, to ingrain a meaning in it's undirected life which was driven by food, shelter and protection.

Was it fear or instinctual?

He became the master, bird wanted to be a disciple to. Everywhere he went, the bird was sure to follow, though from a distance, never once was he out of it's sight.

But the main issue was still hovering inside the bird's head. It did not plan on being an unfathered bird forever.

It still needed his permission.

However, now the chances seemed bleak. The boy suddenly paused only to collapse after a minute.

The thudding fall was heavy on the land. The vibrations it sent every whither alarmed everybody within a certain distance.

With heavy claws, it took decisive steps towards the lying bod. There was no movement. It looked down at the ants racing centrifugally. The wind that swayed the trees was unable to pester the branches and leaves anymore, as every respiring life paused to witness a dreadful fall.

A strong chill ran down the bird's spine as it slowly approached the boy, maybe it was because this was the first time it was being this close to him.

But the oppressive aura hadn't vanished, the vulture's thin limbs quivered as it leaned to take a look at his face.

His mouth was agape, his teeth all tainted crimson. His ears looked as if they'd been moulded from red clay, the tragus cut in a jagged, unnatural pattern, giving an alienated appearance.

However what staggered the black bird most, were those hair-raising eyes which were unveiled then.

'Yue'

An eerie eye tattoo in italics, at lower sclera of both eyes visibly glinted as his pupils had shifted upwards.

It was no wonder that this boy was mysteriously threatening.

Must be symbolising a 'cult', as the bird thought.

The bird sighed, still adamant about it's decision. Whoever it's master believed in, was it's veneration subjected to.

All that it's master wanted was it's only objective of life.

Because it had devoted itself to him.

The silent bird had grown used to grunting and hissing day and night. Every hunt began with an offering- the first bite placed at it's master's still feet.

It's limitless sinister eyes, strangely shed tears every once in a while, making it realise how much it had devoted itself to him.

Simply because there was no reason to hate him. Nestling itself close to his body was chilling, the bird thought it might freeze to death. However as no other predator dared to approach a fallen menace, the bird could even rest with it's injured wing without any fear.

Over time, the raven beauty grew closer to him. But the guilt of the way it made it's way into his life was unsettling. When it wanted him to accept it clearly as his disciple and be close to him every time, the bird was clinging onto unacknowledged care and devotion as a way to keep him close.

But it was, in no way, a reason to give up. Rather one day, the bird thought deeply about what if it were never allowed as his devotee?

It was daring to assume that he would surely allow it. However, it would never give up even then though it wouldn't be able to be serve him by his side.

In that case, it got to serve him once at least.

After weeks, an estranged tear rolled down the stone-hard pale cheek of the boy which somehow missed the bird's attention.

A series of tears streamed down his cheeks, falling faster with each passing second. The ground on the sides of his face began to get progressively damp by the endless tears.

As the tears percolated through the soil, the bird soon woke up at the feel of damp land.

It knew it's master was alive but not about the condition he was in. What could have made a boy like him cry like this?

Maybe he was in pain? But it never looked like the pain would bother him in any way.

Snuggling near him led to tears now dripping on the bird.

That night, the nature was once again at edge.

The boy was gone. The poor bird was left by its lonesome, twitching involuntarily and violently.

The forest later suffered a thunderstorm, through which continued the poor vulture's fits. At dawn, a blow of squall unwrapped the bird's body from the debris due to unpleasant weather.

The dampness of soil emitted a strong stench, typical of nature.

The forest was back to silence once again. By the time bird recovered from it's state, it saw the boy slouched on the ground at a distance.

His face was once again covered by his damp hair, his wet clothes stuck to his thin body, the white of which showed blanched skin underneath.

Another strong wind blew past him and he vanished along with the departing wind.

The bird rose with difficulty to look for him in every direction.

It slumped and fell again, devoid of energy.

Days after was it able to behold the boy's sight, as he sat beside the bird's weak body.

He watched the bird as it tried to lift itself up. The bird with it's eyes half closed, could get glimpse of his slow and gentle movements after months of waiting.

He removed the right collar away elegantly and turned his head to the left gently. A broad shoulder and a prominent collarbone wrapped in pale, bloodless skin.

The bird watched him signal casually, as if it had been expecting him beforehand. However, it tottered and climbed up his shoulder with difficulty.

In fear of poking him with it's long claws instead of it's own condition.

It trembled with cold. Everything that surrounded him was chilling.

Thrust

A feel of warmth and the stench of fresh blood surged amidst coldness.

Streaks of blood flowed from his shoulder. His hand felt especially cold on the bird. Yet the coldness was not the reason bird quivered.

Little sinful heart of the vulture shattered as it's claws dig deep into his flesh. On either sides of shoulder, front and the back was a pattern formed that bled profusely.

Six streaks of dark red contrasted his pale skin, at the sight of which the bird grunted with sorrow.

Why would he thrust my claws into his skin?

Soon pairs of countless eyes surrounded it and it was distracted from it's remorse. They giggled and narrated a story.

Apparently, they were the ones who worked along with it's master.

Or maybe master worked for them.

Or maybe they worked for master.

He let the bird discern his darkest and deepest secrets and now his shoulder was it's rightful place.

I vow to become a selfless devotee, thought the bird as it fainted and fell from his shoulder, shuffled towards his young growing feet, kowtowing to it's master.

The winged beauty soon passed out from exertion.

*****