Wings
he thought that what decided his every day was destiny and fate and not the warped decisions of men lost in their ideas of honour.
he knew he was worth not nearly half of what his cousin was and still he saw himself above her since he was what you would call a genius.
but genius cannot keep him warm at night and it cannot keep nightmares at bay and it will never feel like a fond gaze on his proud small back.
a back without wings unlike all the others that he sees all day every day and it hurts so bad to be a bird that is denied the open land of clouds.
it needs endless valour to force his skin to break and his wings to take shape in a haze of fear and blood and he realizes he wants to live on his own feet.
he learns to fly higher than anyone else and to still look out for what happens to all those he resented when his wings were still caged inside his head and bound with fear.
