The Boy with Unmatching Wings

"Hello there, sir! How are you today?" Rabbilyn tries again, smiling broadly as he usually does. But the hive dweller merely stares, backing away cautiously. "Sir, would you happen to. . ."

"P. . . Pike off!" the frightened man manages to curse through his quivering lips before turning around and scampering into the distance. Rabbilyn watches the man run away, his voice dropping to a sad whisper. ". . . know how I could get home?"

The boy then notices the crowd that has gathered around him. The assorted thugs, harlots, merchants and touts keep a safe distance away from Rabbilyn, pinning him to the ground with their razor gazes. "By the Lady of Pain herself, just what IS that thing?" "I donnae know, but he ain't nothin' from any plane I know of." They'd whisper among themselves. Rabbilyn's large, innocent eyes scan the imposing crowd, all curiosity, hostility and prejudice merging into one nauseating collage of emotions that the boy has never experienced. Like a wounded rabbit, he tries to escape the stares. "And look at that barmy set of wings. . ." Yes, that is the most visible portion of him as he scrambles away, his two wings, each from a different plane. His left wing is black, like an abishai's, with ugly veins popping from the surface of its powerful muscles and a revolting oily glow perpetually on the skin. His right wing is much more attractive - white and adorned with majestic glistening feathers. But together, they are merely a source of endless bigotry as each race sees only the part of him they dislike. The crowd, too, sees only the dissonant wings and not the skinny boy's innocent shock. Yet such is the nature of planar creatures, to lock their attention on the unfamiliar or abhorred and ignore everything else.

Temporarily outrunning the suffocating, intimidating curiosity of Sigil, Rabbilyn finds refuge in an alley and tries to even his breath. He had been too scared to cry. And now, without the attention of a crowd on his shoulders, Rabbilyn's tears trickle in abundance and wet his blue tunic. He covers his mouth so nobody could hear him. Ironic, is it not? that a love-thirsty child must hide himself from the world. Sobbing, the boy reaches into his pockets to feel for the purple crystal he had accidentally cracked during his violent arrival at the City of Doors. That is now his sole, shattered link to home - the portal key that had he not so carelessly broken, would easily bring him back to his mother's loving smile in the chaotic good plane of Arborea. "Mom. . ." Rabbilyn whispers amid sobs and wraps his aberrant wings about him to keep warm.

"I lied to my son." Besides the grief at the death of his wife, this thought has been Kreilor Boolt's preoccupation for the past half day. "Xia and I have responsibility for what we create, but this is beyond my capabilities. The chaotic element we introduced in him to blend the extremities has backfired, and his powers are far beyond any I've encountered. . ." Kreilor paces back and forth, trying to convince himself through logical reasoning that his actions are justifiable. Deep in his heart, however, he knows that it is not. Abandoning any child is not justifiable, not when you've breathed life into him and heard him utter his first word and watched him walk his first step and laughed together as a family laughs together in a picnic by the hills, watching herds of wild animals and raised him to be as pure, innocent and cheerful as the sprites themselves. He remembers Xia's excitement when they finally obtained the Deva's blood. "Finally! We can finally create a perfect being! To Baator with those arrogant Powers in Celestia." He remembers her enthusiasm and her silver bell laughter. . .