When your wings
Are pure white
But they really shouldn't be
When the fire
Swirls around you
And burns like unshed tears
You pick up a sword
And go drown
The quiet rustling of scales
In dark, deep blood
Spilled instead of tears
Blood of your beloved enemies.
You remember the time you got the tattoo. Everyone thinks that you did it to catch Lucifiel's attention, if only for a while. They may be right, to a degree, but your main reason was different. You needed someone ho wouldn't laugh, wouldn't leave. And who better than an ancient soul of a dragon, patient like you can never be, enchanted into glittering blue scales under your skin?
You remember how Raphael looked at you, when he saw you for the first time. Pity. It was oh-so-much worse than hatred could ever feel, but in time, he understood, just a bit. You are grateful that he hasn't actually asked, but you know he has his suspicions. You don't confirm them, but then, neither do you protest. But then, you've always been able to count on Raphael. He's the only one not afraid to get burned.
You remember a human girl, from a doomed place, with dark eyes and a darker smile and shining faith, whose last breath was 'Thank you'. And when you try to scrub her blood off your hands, millennia after her death, and your eyes burn with a different, salty kind of fire in a darkness that has no place in Heaven, when you're afraid to go to sleep, an old dragon whispers/sings an equally old lullaby. Softly, so very softly, and you fall into a dream in which dragons have the eyes of a dead human girl, young and old at the same time.
It's a dark solace, but it works. For now, at least. So you are not going to ask Raphael to remove the tattoo, although you are certain that he could do it with a mere thought and really, you've outgrown the rebellious phase a long time ago. Not that anyone would know.
A/N – Somehow, I got the idea that Mika's tattoo is a lot more than it looks. And the girl came from Gomorrah.