The Powerless

The ceremony

      You've waited for this moment for so long. Daydreamed about it for days on end. You can smell the ceremony from here. And it smelled like freedom.

You've studied how the ceremony goes. And you're prepared.

All you have to do is be calm. You can't scream. You can whimper but it's not exactly something that is smiled upon.

You look at the person in front of you. An acquaintance, The Bloom. They were walking up. Soon. On stage. Next will be you.

"Are you, bloom, ready for war and unlimited magic?" The Priest, he wore robes whiter then the clouds that fit the sky. Their black hair pulled back. Their wings slim and reflecting a rainbow of light.

"Yes,"

"Are you willing to do any and all trials that may come your way?"

"Yes,"

"May you be blessed with wings of gold," the priest mentions. At this time. You look away. For a spilt second. A squirrel had caught your eyes. When you look back. Their wings were out. Weak and frail. The red liquid dripping off of it. A smile across Bloom's face. Two other people go and help them away. They're going to start training once the heal. Rest.

You walk up to the priest. Showing them your new knife. They nod. "Are you, Powerless, ready for war and unlimited magic?"

Yes,"

"Are you willing to do any and all trials that may come your way?"

"Yes,"

"May you be blessed with wings of gold," the priest repeats once more. They pick up a dagger. You face towards the crowd. The blade digging into your back. Tears fell down your face as you bit your lip to contain a scream.

"Maybe their wings aren't in the typical location?" A guard whispers. The crowd stares at you. A confusion rising in the air. The dagger falls into your back another time. You can feel blood trickling down your pants, ruining them. You clench your fists. The priest makes another slash. This time you screamed in agony. Falling over. Crying. Shaking. Blood pooling up around you. The priest kept slashing your back.

"They're a dud, take them away." They hiss. Grabbing the knife and breaking it in two. No one dared to go near you. Not wanting to have the lack of wings. You're shaking. Cold. Defenseless. Better off dead. You see a familiar face. The Smith. Along with the Oracle. The Oracle passes you. Whispering to the priest.

The pain, you want it to stop. Except it won't. Not even as The Smith scoops you up into their warm embrace. Your blood staining their soft linens, the ones they wore for events. The leather smock covered in red stains now. More tears falling from your eyes. Trying to stay awake with all your might. The Oracle looks back at you and and Smith. Giving a nod. That was the last thing you've seen. As everything went black. Leaving you defenseless and limo. Phantom pains still hitting your back.

But now, you're unconscious.