Diaval sighed, flopping dramatically on the ground with a tired groan. He leaned his head back against the tree, one hand coming up to wipe his face blearily. It was the early hours of the morning, and even the blinking lights of faeries dancing in the Moors had gone. The cool rush of the waterfall was the only song on the night wind.
Diaval had spent most of the day exploring his new home, the Moors. His mistress had not needed him today, but had not allowed him to return to his original form. She didn't trust him, Diaval could tell. The way her lips pursed in a fretful little bow when she looked at him. He had been her servant for almost a week now, yet she still considered him at a distance, her eyes penetrating. Those iridescent eyes seem to unravel his soul. She was searching him for something.
He wished he knew what.
For this entire week, he had only been granted his original form when it pleased his mistress. Only when he was spying for her did he receive his wings.
Even then she watched him, quiet and cold as marble.
But oh, his wings! He missed the weight of them on his back. It was an ache that never faded. To have wings was to be free and innocent and careless. His wings were a storm cloud, black as pitch, azul shimmering at the tips of his sleek feathers. They were never failing. Tireless. Strong.
He was a force of nature, boundless.
But now he crawled the earth.
Luckily he had found himself operating his new body with ease. It came with the transformation, it seemed. He shapeshifted like a dark shadow elongating, using legs or wings without stumble. He could change skins with the fluidity and grace of a seal entering water.
Diaval had roamed the Moors by himself all that day, his hands disappearing into the folds of his dark traveling coat. His mistress had forbidden him to talk to any of the creatures he stumbled upon, but that was all right by him. Diaval wasn't much one for words anyway. Instead he had followed the river bank, disappearing out of sight when it suited him. The faeries didn't bother him much in return. News had spread about him, Maleficent's chosen attendant.
They scattered when they saw his dark presence approaching. The water gliders flew through the air, opal manes flowing as they fled.
But he didn't mind too much. Or maybe he hadn't gotten a hold on his human feelings yet. They were awfully tricky things and in the area of emotion, Diaval fear he wasn't nearly as graceful as he was with his transformations.
There wasn't much to feel, he supposed. Nothing seemed to be in the place emotions should lie. It felt hollow. He could almost feel the cold breeze in his chest. Nothing. Diaval looked around, instinctively biting his lip tensely. There were no lights.
Diaval drew his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly. He sighed again, his eyes glancing about unseeing, like a child afraid of the dark.
But he wasn't afraid of the dark. The dark hid his scarred face, enveloping him into its ebony abyss.
Diaval tugged his head between his knees, the beating of his heart resonating through him. The dead leaves around him shifted in the night air. The hollowness in his chest seemed to expand.
Alone.
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