It has been two days.
Two days since Luke left, and two days since I completed my first awakening—fully.
Ever since then, I could see a red mark appearing on the back of my hand each time I practiced magic, and my eyes were always more purple than green. Tutu said it's a magic crest, one that every one of the Wings would have.
The crest showed a pair of wings, red—as in fire—the middle part a diamond, the exact shape of our magic core. Outside the wings was a circle, burning in a red as fiery as the wings themselves and topped with a halo—the one that you would find above an angel's head just above the core.
Do they think of themselves as angels? The Wings, I mean.
I don't quite see myself the same. I am, I suppose, just someone entangled by fate, destined to be the solace of the damned world. I'm still unsure of how I'm going to do it, but I'm trying my best to fit the role.
