Information

Asurial has a minion!

Fallen One the Naphal

Asurial
Legacy Name: Asurial

The

Darkmatter Montre
Owner:

Asuwelt

Age: 15 years, 11 months, 2 weeks

Born: May 24th, 2008

Adopted: 15 years, 11 months, 2 weeks ago (Legacy)

Adopted: May 24th, 2008 (Legacy)

Statistics

Level: 228
Strength: 532
Defense: 423
Speed: 332
Health: 495
HP: 495/495
Intelligence: 515
Books Read: 517
Food Eaten: 2
Job: Sales Associate

"How in the seven hells. . . was I reduced to a play toy?" I sent an eye in his direction, peering at him as though he would give me a straight answer. Fingers continued to mess with feathers, petting them as though they were fur. I felt the need to ask again, wondering if I demanded something of him once, if he would ever reply with an honest tone.
"But they're so pretty. . ." I grunted in response.
"You would be the only one to think such a thing" he's face wrinkled, nose bunching up at the thought. A feather had fallen with his ministrations, idle beside me as I did my best to ignore his work. Such caressing, petting. . . it was odd to say the least.
"Why would that be?"
"Hm?"
"Why," he unlaced his fingers from my wing, picking up the fallen black cancer. "would I be the only one?" I'd answered the question many times before, though his continued curiosity never stopped amazing me.
"Because, black wings are a sign of Lucifer's death."
"But you're not dying." he stated as though it was fact, petting the feather like a wounded child. Soft, careful. I watched his fingers, wondering myself how he did not understand.
"To you, I am fine; here, black is not a colour to be feared." he snorted, pulling his knees up. "But where I am from, black wings, black hair, black is a cancer, death. Only fallen angels have such a sentence put upon them." I looked back at my darkened wings, letting it spill out along the span of wind. "Only those who are a betrayer of their God deserve such an ugly, disgusting punishment." His lips curled a few different ways, and I took my eyes off of him, not expecting another reply. He always became so quiet when I would speak, as though he wasn't sure he understood what I was saying.
"I. . . don't see it as ugly."
That statement, in all of its innocence, hurt the most.