I've Never Been Good at Titles (1st Rhylin Post)

Here you go Chris, it's not all, but it's what I've been able to write so far and enough of a stopping point to post it. I'm hoping its understandable, but I know there are probably a few places where what the reader gets out of it is not exactly what I was thinking of, but everything will be further explained later.
Also stuff about wings... yeahhhh... just let me know XD

Um, for the new people I don't know at all... hi, I'm Katie aka Rhylin in the story.

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The wrought iron was overrun with vines that darted in and out of the twisting metal work, multiplying the intricacies with which the eye had to dance around in trying to read the simple lettering of the sign: FARLEY’s. Rhylin stood beneath the immense archway, forehead pressed against the rough bars of the gate, her hands curled tightly around the spires as they narrowed into a rusted joint. The air was thick, heavy with silence and a heat that had settled into Rhylin; her wings drooped beneath the cloak she wore, appearing withered, the expanse of them crumpled at her feet and coated in a fine layer of dust.

Just inside the gates, a bird alighted from its perch, startling Rhylin’s eyes open. She took a shallow breath, not wanting to take the stale, still air into her lungs, not wanting to fill herself with an emptiness she did not have the means to defy.  Wearily, Rhylin nudged open the small door inlaid in the gate and began her trek across the cemetery grounds.

As she neared the unmarked grave, Rhylin recalled the small mutilated body that lay below; its misshapen face beyond recognition. It had no nose. A flap of skin stretched from the forehead to cover the gaping hole. Snot dribbled from the spaces between stiches and crusted over on the top lip. The cheek bones were sharp peaks that threatened to split the taut, tissue paper skin. Green eyes, sunken into the face, had once roamed its surroundings intently, determined to reap all the benefits.

Reaching the edge of the plot, the muscle infused to the thin metal of her wings began to stretch and tear away from Rhylin’s back, sending tremors down the length of her spine and drawing out a long piercing scream that reverberated in the quiet that followed. Rhylin’s wings burned; it felt as if their own weight had been magnified and were now being ripped from her body.

Rhylin collapsed to her knees before the grave, tears flooding from her eyes; the ground beneath her hungrily absorbing them. Pounding her fists against the dirt and trembling with the effort to ignore the increasing spasms, Rhylin implored the deformed flesh underneath, “Release him.”


(I would also like to point out that the time posted lies, it is currently 4:36 am >.< )