scars

He was growing accustomed to the spire's trend of sarcasm and browbeating. It was all harmless enough, nothing like the way his uncles had treated him. They had looked upon him with genuine hatred and disdain since the moment he was born. You should've killed me, he found himself thinking, momentarily lost in recollections of his past. Your mistake. His lips twitched faintly, mostly in response to that inner thought but also in reaction to the black stranger's unsurprising greeting.

"And a little burnt too," Wicked quipped, running with the joke. He bowed his head to show off the very subtle scarring left by some minor burns. He then took a few steps closer only to stop again and drop to his haunches. "That's what happens when you play with fire: you get burned. Have you ever seen the stuff?" It was kind of a non sequitur but there was a dark fascination written into his youthful features as he asked.