Scott Travis you are my favorite non canon Icarus metaphor. Fly as high as you want the sun won’t knock you down this time. They can never make me hate you or Icarus
Ronin wouldn’t ever admit that he had gotten too attached. After all, he never once spoke out about the struggles of being a archaic figure’s descendant who had been cursed to bear the struggles of their ancestor. But all he thought was how stupid he looked.
He eyed himself in the mirror, wings splayed out from behind him with a judgmental expression. He hated his wings, but at least he could hide them. It didn’t feel right in all honesty; how they tucked under his chest and practically melted into his skin.
Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes it didn’t.
But Ronin never cared for that. He just wanted to be normal like everyone else. Beautiful and praised by the masses… something he never was. At least to himself.
He always hated how waxy his wings were. How they ruffled up when they were out and he was angry. How much he hated being the way he was. How he ignored the signs of burning from the goddamn sun that plagued his every step.
Ronin knew he was different, everyone said he was different. And gods did he hate it, he hated it so goddamn much. It drove him insane at this point.
Maybe Angel was right, that he’d always be trapped in his own mind and spiral of self-denial and his aching anxieties that screamed into his mind that he was being forced to be the way he was. All for some ancestor who probably didn’t even care about some random person who got cursed for their existence. It made Ronin mentally retch.
He folded his wings back in, wrapping them around to melt the waxy feathers into his skin. It stung, practically searing his skin as he hid all that was him… it made him feel oddly guilty. Even if it wasn’t much, it didn’t feel right.
Either way, Ronin shook it off with a soft sigh. His gaze on the floor as he shrugged on his shirt and signature jacket. Adjusting the rainbows on his wrists ( even if he was still lying to himself, he wouldn’t know why ) and fixing his beanie onto his head.
He had removed the horns ages ago when he got his wings, it didn’t feel right with them. Hell, it felt rude in all honesty. Even if it was for his own sake, people saw him as something to be feared. ( Even if he was a murderer, it wasn’t a good feeling. )
But Ronin shrugged the feeling off, looking over at a framed photo of him and a person he had known in Angelwood. Long before everything. Long before they died…
