Zayne felt a pang of guilt as he glanced for one fleeting moment over his shoulders. He shook his head. 'She has to learn that there are some things better left unseen.' "Goodnight." He murmured, turning back to the door. "And it's not your fault. I'm the problem." With that, he walked out of the room, out of the cellar, and through the house. The fireplace in the living room was out, and his father was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he had gone to bed. Zayne went up the staircase and into his room, shutting the door behind him. He flipped on the lamp next to his bed, slowly pulling his jacket off his shoulders and throwing it on the back of a chair. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, moving towards it as if he was hypnotized, attracted by some magnetic force. His eyes scanned his reflection; from his hair, to his face, to the black mass of feathers that stretched out behind him. He turned his head. "Your wings are a horror. I swear, if you show them to anyone, boy, you will sorely regret it."