Arthur heaved a sigh, deep and heavy, the kind that carried weight beyond breath. The room was quiet, unbearably so, save for the irregular drip of something falling from the ceiling.
Blood, likely. It slid down in uneven intervals, forming tiny, dark pools that glistened in the dim light. The air stank of iron, thick and cloying, mingling with the bitter aftertaste of burnt flesh.
His breathing was heavy, packed with unpleasant memories clinging to the stench and the new ones that would forever remain in his brain.
Standing motionless for a moment, his cyan eyes gleaming coldly in the dim light as he surveyed the chaos he'd wrought. A slow movement followed, his wings unfurling with an eerie grace, pale and sharp like the bones of the dead. The air shifted as he gave a dry, almost indifferent jerk of his wings, sending the blood that clung to them splattering in every direction.
