One isn't sure about Iz - upon first glance, Iz is unremarkable, a person of indistinguishable gender or age. One could assume Iz is a celestial being, someone that used to be divine - heaven sent. One might also rightfully assume that Iz is a college student with one foot in the grave and the other in a bright pink Hello Kitty roller blade. But it doesn't matter because it's safe to assume that after one glance you would know that Iz is nobody.

It didn't always use to be like that though. Iz used to be somebody.

But that was taken - stolen - stolen like their name, like their wings, like their life in a way. Iscariot used to have a name, a song and a scripture that made shepherds bend their knee and a name that preachers sang to their choir. They were a creature that had been weaved together with starlight and song, with six glorious wings that they used to shape clouds. Somebody. Now they have a single pair of wings, that still smell of smoke and ash, that burn whenever they try to take flight. Now they dream for the first time, and experience nightmares too. They breathe and bleed, an outsider wherever they go.They live in the back seat of someone's '97 Lincoln - experiencing the joys of 7-11 slushies, crazy straws and the popular boy bands of the time. This is okay, they think, and in a way, they are right.