Tom told me that winged demons grow their wings at a young age. He said that my wings will keep on growing until I am three hundred years old, saying they'll start to drag out behind me because they're so big.
But really. What does he know? He doesn't have wings.
"It's just going to help with the swelling." He said, rubbing in the lotion around the area of my wings until the medication stung. I clenched up and dug my darkly faded nails into the wooden kitchen table. "Stop moving them." He grumbled.
"I can't. They do what they want." I argued back. I sighed heavily and turned to face Tom, who looked like he had just seen a dog die. He was looking at me, his eyes were pitiful.
"Are you done?" I asked impatiently with a face. He didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at me with that same look. "Hey. Underworld to Tom?"
"What?" He blankly responded, blinking his eyes as if to awaken from a daydream.
"Are you done?" I repeated, more impatiently than the last time.
He put the lotion down and dropped his stare. "Uh... yeah. I-I'm done."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine. Really... I am." He smiled yet I could see right through him. His smile was fake and forced.
Tom went off into the corridors of lit torches that lead to our bedroom, leaving me in the kitchen. With the top half of my body resting on the table, I picked myself up, my wings still just as sore as they were for a week now.
My eyes caught my figure in the kitchen mirror as I stood up straight. My vivid green eyes stared back at me. My red horns descended from an already dark red, like my wings, to a black point, like my fingernails. My ears were also standing to a point.
Unlike Tom, however, not all my teeth are jagged. A pair of fangs hang out from the front of my bottom lip, slightly revealing themselves instead of hiding like the rest of my flattened teeth. They may be difficult to see at first, but once I talk, they are hard to miss.
I turned away and found myself looking down the hall where Tom had gone. Out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed my reflection transform. In the mirror, colors blurred together until finally creating a new, different person.
I yelped out loud, causing my body to stumble and crash into the wall behind me, my wings beginning to feel the same jolt of pain from their infection. The boy in the mirror followed my actions. With his mouth open in shock, his fangs were gone. He had chocolate brown eyes and matching dark hair but without horns. His wings - he had none. I may have been wearing no shirt at the time, yet the boy in the mirror had on a light red hoodie.
He had the same fear burning in his eyes as I did. The fright was not of not seeing my physical self, yet the feeling that I knew him but didn't know where exactly I had.
"Tom!" I shouted, panic driving my voice to a loud volume. "Tom!" The boy in the mirror copied me, mocking me, teasing me, perfecting me.