They were Vincent’s wings. Featherless, of course, as all Hiaj wings were. The skin was darker than night, so black light curled up and died within them. The talons were silvery white, like drops of moonlight. And… And I had the accents of red. Marks of the Hiaj Heir. Bright, bloody red, running down the wing in delicate streaks, collecting at the edges and along their outline.
