Its feathers were messy and blackened—not pure black, but a grimy black mixed with gray.
Some of its feathers had fallen out, exposing the skin beneath. That skin was not avian skin, but dark red, textured skin resembling human muscle.
The texture was not made of feather follicles, but human fingerprints and palm prints, twisting and winding like tiny rivers.
Its wings were malformed and twisted. One wing was broad and thick, like a door panel, its surface covered in muscle-like textures that contracted and relaxed as it flew, like real human muscles exerting force.
The other wing was small and shriveled, like a dead branch, with sparse feathers and a protruding bone at its base shaped like a shoulder blade.
Its head was slightly tilted, like someone forever pondering a question yet never finding the answer.
Its right eye was a normal crow's eye—black, round, and gleaming like obsidian.
Its left eye was a cloudy human eyeball. The sclera was pale yellow, the pupil gray, and red veins spread across its surface from the corner of the eye to the edge of the pupil like a dense web.
That human eye held human madness and confusion. It looked upon the world like someone who had just awakened from a nightmare and had yet to distinguish dream from reality.
Tiny human-like teeth grew along the edges of its beak—not the serrations of a bird's beak, but pointed little teeth covered in real enamel.
Together, those teeth and its beak made clicking, clacking sounds.
Its claws were thick, and the spaces between its toes bore patterns like human fingerprints, winding in concentric loops.
It stood on a branch, its claws gripping the bark tightly, nails embedded deep in the wood.
Its body trembled slightly, not from cold, but because two forces