[ breathes in smoke and then spreads his hand over his own face, holding it down. he lets go of Phoenix's hand as the gloves and skin crack and flake up off of his arm like shedding an exoskeleton, and he runs the talons down his front and peels himself open, his skin and clothes parting like a cloak for his "wings" to unfurl from beneath, a latticework of thorns and ivy with feathers threaded over the top. his torso itself is a cage of bramble and bird bones, but the translucent sack of organs suspended inside is untouched; what's missing is about a third of his left wing, rended smaller and boxier than the other without the tapered end of it, neatly severed off and burned along the slice's edge.

he folds himself up again before he can ooze sap everywhere, and lets go of his face to smooth his gloved arm back down into a human hand. ]

You tell me.