Brand doesn’t immediately understand the source of his discomfort as he blinks awake. He still feels warm, even with only a sheet covering him, and he can still feel the fire rushing through his body. Yet there’s something cramped about the angle of his neck against the headboard, even as his feet and fingertips dangle over the edge of his mattress. There’s something pinned under his back, almost like a bunch in his blankets, but it’s firm. He’s certainly had better sleep in his life, and he sits up slowly- or he would’ve, if not for the loud scraping from above his head, the feeling of being caught on something.
It makes Brand alert, at least, and he shifts towards the foot of the bed. When he tries to roll onto his elbow though, there’s something… soft trapped beneath his arm, and moving. Those are… feathers. Now he sits bolt upright, practically leaping to his feet. Even his balance feels wrong, as if there’s a heavy cape draped from his shoulders, and he plops back down to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to steady his breathing. Staring at the floor, he sees long legs sprawling before him, dressed in pants tighter than he’d ever consider. Brand’s hands come up to his waist as he feels air on the bare skin there. These aren’t his clothes… and those aren’t his legs. It seems he’s been transformed, but how? He hadn’t drank any unknown potions, and he’d know if he’d been hit by a spell like that… so what even is he right now?
Brand lets out a hard breath, unfamiliar slender hands pressed against the mattress. They move when he wills it, scrunching the sheet up nervously. He can’t pretend this isn’t happening; he has to know. Cautiously, he raises his hands to the weight above his brow. Two jagged horns protrude from his forehead. His heart catches in his throat, stomach sinking as realization sets in. Maybe he should scream, or cry, but he can’t seem to feel anything but cold, distant dread.
He’s a demon.
The blood and fire that runs through him rushes in his ears, louder and louder until he can hardly think. There’s no reason for this- he hasn’t done anything wrong! He hasn’t made one bad step, given the devil a single inch of ground- he hasn’t. Yet… what can he do? His shoulders sag in despair, the wings that should have been beautiful feeling unimaginably heavy, and he drops his face into his hands.
Perhaps if Brand weren’t living out his worst nightmare -if he could calm down and think- he’d realize this isn’t the body of a demon, but a phoenix, much more suited for him. He could even find many things to like about this body. He’s taller, like he wanted, slender and toned, his face clear and skin unblemished, his connection to fire becoming something tender and joyful. And flight, now that would be a feeling of freedom like no other.
…but that’s a lot to ask of a guy in a crisis like this. Sorry, Zoran, it’s nothing personal.
NP- Brand is a regular human. Notable traits would be an affinity for fire magic, hot aura and being fireproof, and chain-shaped burn marks on his hands. Don’t be weird about him being trans.