He says nothing, trailing behind his sisters, fluffing his black little tail at them. He is a boy, normal, if not oddly colored, in a land of wings and horns. And yet, that gay lady.... g- g- grrayyy lady, seems to know who they are.Wicked little thing, she says to him. His eyes widen. He knows that this is his name but does not understand the implications of what this old lady means.
What is wicked?
And so he trails behind, unextraordinary--and purple--behind the only family he has ever known. His mother; forgotten. He has barely seen her in his short existence, and even then, it was barely for a moment. He has suckled his first meal, and then had fallen asleep. Now in the company of this strange old g- g- gray lady, following his older bigger sisters like a good little boy is supposed to. He does not speak. What can he say? This old lady certainly doesn't want him. One who calls him Wicked.
Wicked little thing.
What is wicked?
What is wicked?
And so he trails behind, unextraordinary--and purple--behind the only family he has ever known. His mother; forgotten. He has barely seen her in his short existence, and even then, it was barely for a moment. He has suckled his first meal, and then had fallen asleep. Now in the company of this strange old g- g- gray lady, following his older bigger sisters like a good little boy is supposed to. He does not speak. What can he say? This old lady certainly doesn't want him. One who calls him Wicked.
Wicked little thing.
What is wicked?