His heart was pounding, his back was aching, and his skull felt as though it might split in two. The void screamed in silence around him and though his wings cried out for some sort of relief - forced to fly while bearing a deep-seated, aching kind of pain that felt as though he had been flying for hours - the skin of his face still burned, the sting as fresh as the moment he had forcibly ripped his mask from his own face.
It wasn’t meant to be irremovable.
It wasn’t meant to be a prison.
It wasn’t meant to be like this.
It was just his luck that the godlike beings who had taken him into their care weren’t like the benevolent deities he had first met, weren’t like the curious and clever and somewhat playful individuals who had kept watch over Evo.
Watchers weren’t meant to be cruel, but the ones who had taken Grian weren’t like their brethren. Grian just hadn’t realized it until it was too late.
(…a work in progress, perhaps? And a slightly different take on Watchers too…)
