𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠscrew having a name.ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠi don't need one. ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠand no, it's definitelyᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠnot a phase.

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) disappear after you shed all of your feathers?”

You tucked the object into your overcoat pocket. “What makes you different, @INTREPIADE? Why can't you stay in this world instead?”

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) nonetheless; though you're not sure what use it'll be in your hand. You're not a collector.

“Lucifer existed, didn't he? And if I recalled, he was once an angel. So the Bible said.” You fiddled with the feather. “He continued to exist; so why can't you? Why must you (…)

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) For you, a name doesn't really matter. But you always responded when people called you by your profession.

“…Or you can name me yourself.” You'll respond, either way, since you're going to take care of @INTREPIADE from now on.

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) don't really have a name. And everyone who knows you at an arm's length calls you simply as “the Alchemist”.

“I don't have a name.” And you don't really bother to name yourself, either. “People who knew me just called me as the Alchemist. You can call me that.” (…)

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) you can feel his breath.

“…Not when you can still be of use to me. Do you get me now?”

A little bit closer, and your lips might've touched @INTREPIADE's.

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) morals are against that. But you can't promise that you might get physical to him—manhandling him here and there in the upcoming future.

“So you can't disappear on me, Sariel.” You ended up grabbing his chin again. Not only that, you leaned close enough that (…)

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) the feather without care.

“…And there's something about you, @INTREPIADE. Something I couldn't name.” And in a way, it's irritating him somehow.

[𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒚 ᅠ𝒊𝒔 ᅠ𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ @alchemistriust]

(…) curious.”

So you bend down to pick one. The feeling was like a normal bird's feather—different from the one you directly plucked.

“They turn ordinary when you shed them. These are no different than a bird's. Maybe closer to a dove.” You snorted, then dropped (…)