#cant wait for seabling trauma bonding

[all-the-bones-ever]

His wings are yellow.

They are the color of domestication. They are the color of the peace times in the games. They are a warning. They are the color of second chances. They are dyed by the light he will be led to his death by.

In the coalmine, his wings are tied together. Outside, they are clipped messily, as if by a child.

And when he sings, he holds his breath. He leads them deeper into the mines, where the fire grows low and red.

He sings until his voice won't carry, and he falls from his cage. He sings until they can't find the surface.

Afterall, the canary knows the coalmine best. He plays the games, but he does not lose. He has never been allowed something to lose.

He does not grieve when he is not first to fall. He does not know what ignorance he has lost. He did not know it could be lost.