The universe is full of magical things
In answer to her question, Asta's cane(?) severs the remaining wing from its body. The twitching comes to a stop, the cooling corpse falling limp into the damp soil where it doesn't stir again, almost as if the thought of living without flight was too much to bear.
Knell watches it for another moment, but when it doesn't move, she pokes it again, rolling the body over to inspect the glittering underbelly of scales. Up close, they're a beautiful latticework of gem-like discs, overlapping to create a layered skin that shimmers ever after death. They're raised in small bumps and divots that rise and fall beneath the pad of her finger, attempting to catch at the skin when she moves the opposite way. She wonders at the muscles and blood that hides beneath, the miniscule puddle of red seeming too little to cause death.
When Asta crouches next to her - or maybe he'd been there for a moment - Knell reaches for the wings, doing her best to be delicate despite her clumsy limbs. "Where should we put them? Should they be up high for Ghilio to find?" The pair rotate between her fingers, catching the light like stained glass windows with small veins spiderwebbing through each color.
Knell watches it for another moment, but when it doesn't move, she pokes it again, rolling the body over to inspect the glittering underbelly of scales. Up close, they're a beautiful latticework of gem-like discs, overlapping to create a layered skin that shimmers ever after death. They're raised in small bumps and divots that rise and fall beneath the pad of her finger, attempting to catch at the skin when she moves the opposite way. She wonders at the muscles and blood that hides beneath, the miniscule puddle of red seeming too little to cause death.
When Asta crouches next to her - or maybe he'd been there for a moment - Knell reaches for the wings, doing her best to be delicate despite her clumsy limbs. "Where should we put them? Should they be up high for Ghilio to find?" The pair rotate between her fingers, catching the light like stained glass windows with small veins spiderwebbing through each color.
Knell
patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.
