Maw

She remembers her time with her birth-clan, living along the Leechroot Rim. She remembers the stinging words of disdain by her mother upon seeing her teeth, the isolation, the looks from travelers passing through, browsing the wares and trinkets offered by her kin. She bared fangs so jagged and malformed that the tusks growing up against her snout caused her skull to develop strangely, but what she lacked in appearance she more than made up for in raw power. She was strong, built like a boulder, and she had ties to dark magics that set her siblings on edge.

She remembers the day the ethereal dragon-creature came to the clan and looked upon her with wonder and kindness, a simple gesture that immediately endeared the Skydancer to her. Words exchanged between her and Mortis and after a few moments they both approached her. She would be leaving with the Skydancer, taken away to practice her magics and hone her skill. Unwanted and unloved as she was by her mother, she couldn’t have refused the offer if she’d had a choice.

Even in her new clan she was given a wide berth. Some watched her with curiosity, some stared at her mouth, even the hatchlings asked their own questions to satisfy their need to understand why she was so different. Always looking, watching, judging, she could sense the eyes on her and she knew the thoughts behind them. Isolating herself was the first step, and she took up with Karmiu, one of the Conclave’s more prominent Dark Mages, pouring all of herself into tapping fully into her inherent powers. She learned spells and rituals, ancient incantations and obscure lore.

- - -

An array of wicked tools are laid out before her, each one polished and awaiting their part in the ritual. A circle on the floor glows a dull red, runes traced along its edges pulsing faintly. Her voice is a guttural whisper as she recites the words of a lost art, reaching for one of the tools and raising it to her face. A metallic clamp is followed by a sickening crunch as the first tusk is wrenched free of her mouth and dropped into a carved stone bowl. Another soon follows, bloody root and all, until her jaw is finally free of the wretched things that deformed her and caused her so much agony. The final pieces of bone and blood are spat into the bowl and she hefts a heavy pestle as another ingredient is added, a liquid that causes the surface of the teeth to bubble and break down, and finally the pestle grinds them to a fine paste.

Another dark liquid is added, hissing and sizzling and turning the blood and crushed bone a dull, ashen color, the paste thinning out. The bowl is lifted to her mouth and she tilts her head back, drinking it down as quickly as she can to avoid the taste and for an uncomfortable moment, nothing happens. It’s silent as she sets the bowl back down, tail lashing as she waits, wondering if she’d made a mistake somehow. But then there is sudden pain bubbling up from her gut, her arms are on fire and everything hurts. She can feel the change starting, the unnatural shifting and cracking of bones as they move into place, the shrinking of her form, and she lets out a bellowing scream as her talons dig into the stone. There is so much happening all at once with the feeling of her skin crawling, itching, stinging, and then suddenly she’s retching as the remains of her teeth come back up in a smooth, solid form, perfectly round and covered with a black ichor.

Breathless and weak from the exhausting endeavor, Maw collapses to the ground, clutching her new pearl tightly to her chest.

- - -

Some days later one of the couriers from the Eridanus Conclave arrives at the edges of the encampment along the Leechroot Rim and offers a simple wrapped package to the Guardian Yatul. Opening it reveals an ornate mirror, its reflection a permanent image of Maw’s new form. A letter is included, its simple script written in red ink:

Am I beautiful enough to love now, Mother?