Chapter Eighteen
Wings.
The word echoes in my mind.
Wings.
How the hell can I have wings? I’m not an angel (definitely not, just ask my adoptive parents). Not a demon, either (I’m not that bad). So why do I have wings?
They’re not like the demon wings I saw during the battle, all leathery and thick. Nor are they like bird wings. No, they’re like... shimmering dust, gathered together until it forms a half-translucent shape. Delicate, like butterfly wings, but even thinner. They’re all the colours of the rainbow, but purple seems to be slightly dominant. I bend my arms so I can touch where they grow from my back. Nothing. It feels like always, just smooth skin, no weird bone spurts, no feathers, nothing. I can touch the wings, though. And put my hands through them. They’re like gelatine
