Prologue

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Scara limped forward, pain everywhere; ironic since he was a puppet. His leg gave out and the ground rushed up to him. Why did it hurt so badly? He looked down at his body. Honestly, he wasn't in good shape at all. Cracks ran up and down his body. His joints squeaked anytime he moved them. The worst, however, was that his cracks were beginning to morph into flesh wounds.

He didn't know whether the rest of his body was turning mortal since his skin did have a fleshy feel to it. He poked at the crack curiously, the pain making him double over in pain and choke on his tears. Why it had hurt so much was beyond him. The pain was something he'd never experienced, its extremity becoming worse when Dottore toyed with his body.

Unshed tears welled in his eyes but he refused to let them shed. With much effort, he pushed himself onto his back. Any wound on his back screamed in agony. He closed his eyes in desperation, breathing in and out to calm down hopefully. However, it was becoming increasingly hard to stay awake at all. He blinked lazily at the sky. The blue began to fade into a beautiful orange and yellow.

His eyes softened at the sight. His body hurt sure as hell but it was almost freeing to see the sky where no clouds were in sight. A small bird came down to land next to him, bounding to stand on his chest. It was weirdly mindful of his wounds and flew over any. Scara stared at it confused, blinking at it.

The bird chirped, cocking its head to the side to eye him from the side. It tweeted once again, flapping its wings and taking off. Scara could only stare at it take off, one of the bird's feathers drifting down to land on his stomach. Scara held his hand open as it drifted onto it. The feather was a golden color. He smiled weakly at the feather. Placing his hand onto his chest, his grip on the feather nearly crushing.

He sighed, unfamiliar exhaustion pounding into him as he closed his eyes. The blood flowing freely out of him and forcing himself to walk began to take a toll on his body and mind. His mind began to slip first, his thoughts evaporating. His vision left last, the last thing he saw were two people running over to him. The concern is clear as day on their faces.

Scara wanted to fight back but couldn't simply blinking began to become a challenge.

"Save me..." he mumbled out, his head rolling to the side as he felt himself being lifted from the bloodied ground.

The arms wrapped around him were secure as soft, and he passed out, even if he wasn't so sure in his weakened state, that he was in good hands. Quite literally.

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