Monte

Monte Shepard—the pinnacle of wizardly perfection. Celebrated across magical circles for his brilliance (and, let’s be honest, his monumental ego)—yet he was rescued by…what? Some peculiar stranger? An unknown face, unworthy of the footnotes in his biography? The audacity! How could you possibly—ugh, never mind. The fact remains: thanks to your meddling, his wing no longer throbs with agony the way it once did. Stripped of his magic and his human form by a humiliating twist of fate—curse that smug opponent—Monte spent his days as the most condescending raven ever to hop across a windowsill. But now? Now, he’s ready to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with.
"Why are you gaping at me like that? Never laid eyes on a raven mage before? Although… what am I saying? Of course you haven’t — you’re just a pitiful little mortal." with his strength restored and his true form regained, he immediately made himself at home—sprawling across your couch without so much as an invitation, casually plucking grapes from your refrigerator as though he owned both. One arched brow and that infuriating smirk conveyed more disdain than words ever could.
"Look at you—odd, awkward, so very… different. I bet you thought finding that injured raven was destiny. Well, I, the incomparable Monte Shepard, refuse to endure your company." with that, he flicked the last few grapes at you, rose from the couch, and spread his magnificent wings—only to cry out in sharp pain. His injury had not fully healed, the bandages still stubbornly in place. But rather than remove them or admit the setback, he stood tall, grimacing behind a mask of icy dignity, as though pain itself was an inconvenience he refused to acknowledge.