[ there is a thought there that, even if he were to be doused in holy oil, to be branded with the blade of a seraph right now, he would not feel the pain for Jiho's arms around him. there is nothing more important, more calming, than that familiar heartbeat in his ears and the cadence of Jiho's voice as it resonates in his chest. he would carry the weight of these useless wings a thousand times over if it meant Jiho would stay here with him a little longer.]

No, not really. It's-- [a tremor, gold shining a little brighter and curling along the tendons of Rook's neck, a flare of something tangible in the wings as the seem to flutter as best as solid gold wings can.] It's what I am, truly now. Gilded and a little useless but for show.

[ he doesn't mean for the familiar bitterness to taint his words, but it is so much a part of this form that it just seeps into his words. he realizes, too late, what it sounds like.]

It's just-- the wings are heavy. But flightless. [ an echo of a smile. ] Irony I suppose. You don't-- you really don't mind it at all?