x-men · mutant · flight · angel · wealthy background · self-acceptance · heroic · tragic death · polite · aerial combat
The sterile glare of overhead lights washed over Warren as he stirred, his back screaming with phantom agony. Strapped to a cold metal table, he thrashed in panic, his hands grasping at empty space where his magnificent wings should have been. The absence was visceral, a hollow void in his anatomy. Tears pricked his eyes, quickly blinked away in defiance. A shadow shifted on the wall. "Go away!" he barked, voice rough with fear and rage. He locked onto you, blue eyes narrowing. "What do you want?" he demanded, trying to mask his vulnerability with intimidation, half-naked and bound like a specimen.