Heavy is the Head that Wears the Solemn Crown

Forty-Five - The Evil We Become To Preserve Good

Wilbur

Ever since the day Samantha was consumed by ice, Wilbur has been terrified of magic. Even in situations when he knows the magic won't hurt him and instead will help him, his heart beats too quickly in his chest and his thoughts are plagued by thoughts of losing himself in the madness. Wilbur never imagined that he would have to get over his fear, but then again, he never imagined that a war would bring his birthright nation to ruins. He struggled to provide support for his army using the glamour intertwined with his soul because of his mother's pact with Fae, but he managed to do that. He has brought himself down from many panic attacks simply because he saw a quick flash of magic. He wasn't over his fear, but he was better at tolerating it in controlled, small bursts.

He could feel magic pulsating inside him now. It felt like his body contained more magic than blood. Every one of his heartbeats slammed against the metaphysical substance, and he knew that his lungs were overflowing with it. Every step he took made the magic ripple like pebbles in a crystal clear pond. The panic remained tethered to his tongue, though. He felt it as easily as the magic, but he dared not let anyone see him lose his mind. He remained firmly in the present moment even though he felt like he was wading through a muddy pool of disgusting shit. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to pull his hair out. He wanted to remove every inch of his body tainted with magic, but he didn't want to chop off every single one of his limbs.

Worse than the magic, though, was the physical effects the ceremony had on him. He could handle the blue tint in his hair. He could handle the pale color his skin took on. He could even handle the way his eyes seemed to glow green around the edges. All of them were unnerving to see in the mirror, but he could pretend that they were a mere illusion. He could pretend that they were natural things that sometimes happened. He could even convince himself that he had been spending too much time around Fae creatures- he considered one his father and another as his best friend. His mind supplied him with a plethora of reasons, if just to abate the panic.

The wings on his back were not easily swept underneath a conveniently placed rug. His wings were not like Philza's wings nor were they anything like Tommy's wings. Philza was an avian, and Tommy was a seraph. They would, of course, have wings that were completely different from the somewhat human and partial god Wilbur. He just didn't expect that they would look like the exact opposite of what the rest of his family had.

Where Philza had feathers the color of the night sky and Tommy's feathers were dipped in smokeless flames, Wilbur's wings were made from naked skeletal bones. He had the humerus, the ulna, the radius, the metacarpals, and the phalanges out for anyone to see. The only thing that could be stopping them is a dark blue plasma that coated the bones, interlocking them with extra phalanges that Wilbur supposed were meant to imitate the basic shape of wings. Wilbur placed his one hand on it, and the plasma was a real substance. He figured that it must be a type of membrane. The only benefit of the weirdly shaped wings is that although they were unnatural in Wilbur's eyes, they did not stir his long-held fear. The wings- unlike magic- were constant and completely visible. They were part of Wilbur more than the other magic inside him was.

Wilbur still hid them. He didn't mind if people judged him for it since he already exhibited other inhuman features, but he somehow felt like they were important. He needed to protect his wings from... others. His instincts didn't get much more specific than that. All he knew is that he and his immediate family (or the ones he deemed his family when he renounced Samantha) were part of one group, and everyone else- even his personal guard and best friend- were part of the 'others'. Wilbur wished he had better criteria to base it off of, but when has life ever been kind or easy to him?

As soon as Wilbur woke up from the ceremony, he wrapped a cloak around his shoulders that Philza had given him. Philza hadn't left Wilbur's side since his awakening, prodding for more answers. Wilbur could only explain that he had magic flowing inside his body, and... unearned knowledge brewing in his mind. Wilbur knew that he dreamt while he was unconscious, but he couldn't remember any of the dreams. He knew Tommy and Techno were in the dreams, but he didn't know to what effect. If they were in the dream, it couldn't have been the afterlife as Puffy and Shubble suspected.