Raven

Ink was applied to my arm, a group of birds in which I was not familiar with the species. They would lay flat and black until hidden was no longer trapped. When they flew, the command of mine guided them. However, I did not.

They left my arm from time to time. They would return, but always with more blood on their beaks than the last. Though they feel my emotions change, they remain impulsive, waiting to take flight again. Whether I knew it or not, I'd find out eventually. With every new stain of blood that wasn't mine, they would fade, and I didn't know how they'd attack. I didn't know until they turned on me.

I had realized their nature is of a crows, talons like a falcon, determination like an eagle’s, and yet somehow they learned their attacks from me.

I'll know when they're done, they will be perfectly faded from my skin. However, the next application will be in a different form, but with the same intentions. It will blindly be me, as I am oblivious still to its actions. It will be connected to me, like the birds. It will be temporary. It will be familiar, it will act as my "familiar," and I will stare, seeing it as an unfamiliar reflection.