Marked

She stands with her hands on her tiny hips, which are barely concealed in skintight blue leather pants. Her lustrous blond hair fell in waves to her shoulders, tumbling over her unzipped tan leather jacket, exposing her low-cut V-neck T-shirt. She looks fantastic for her sixteen years; I’m sure she knows it. Her blue eyes shoot daggers through her glare. Her two winged companions, Mist and Prima, follow suit when she crosses her arms across her chest. The three of them standing together almost looked like they were cut from the same mould and had decided to dress in the same clothes. In reality, it was the uniform of the winged warriors.

Tiny beads of sweat pooled on their shirts right under their heart. It looked as though they had just come from combat training. Jealousy roars through me as I gaze at those beautiful white wings. I am only too aware of my lack of wings protruding from my shoulder blades. For so many days, I cursed the day I was born without wings. My fifteen years of life would have been entirely different if I were born with wings. Rota glances over my scattered books, and something catches her eye. I cringe. Instantly, I know what it is. I scramble to my knees and dive for my books, trying desperately to gather them quickly together. A click of a heel sounds near my ear, and I grimace. I’m too late.