It was a long way down.
He didn't have to use his wings.
There was no point. There was nothing in him. He was nothing. It didn't matter. He didn't matter.
Za'haran shifted closer to the edge, automatically curling his feet against the wall n preparation for a takeoff.
Dive or just pin drop?
It didn't matter. The result would be the same. A terrible mess, just like his life. He didn't matter.
Through the numbness, pain. Gnawing, grating, demanding. He bit his lip, tried to ignore it. It wouldn't be ignored. He fought down the reflex to raise his wings in preparation for flight, kept them firmly pinned to the ground so they could aid the push off. If he had been taking off, it would have seriously messed it up, possibly even dangerously so. What did it matter? He didn't want to live anyway. What was the point?