Hellena

THE SPIRIT


"So... let me get this straight. You want me to take care of a bunch of freaks, keep 'em safe, and make 'em get along?" Hellena's lips crack into a lopsided grin, tilting her head at the massive imperial before her. The skull mask betrays no hint of her companion's expression, but they've known each other for... centuries, now, and she can read Scratch like a book. A book written backwards, upside down, and out of order, but a book.

And this book is nervous.

Scratch chuckles just a little. "I can think of none better." Her tail flicks back and forth in perfect time, a living metronome. "The world is on the verge of becoming very dangerous. The dragons may not mean harm, per se, but as their numbers increase- and especially as more ancient species come out of the woodwork- clashes aren't just imminent, they're inevitable. And that's coming from me."

Hellena cackles. "Okay, okay. Yeah, that makes sense. More dragons, less space for everything else, especially when freaks like living solitary in big territories. But there's more than that to think about, doll-- in particular, the solitary thing? How do you expect me to convince a bunch of shut-ins to bundle up in close quarters together?"

"Well..." The mask watches her, dark, empty. "I'm thinking it'll be less convincing and more... containing. Your job is to make them want to stay. My job is to get them here in the first place, and to keep them from leaving."

"You sick, sick dragon, you. Just can't keep from meddling. Never could."

Scratch is suddenly grim, tilting her head, all airs of humor fleeing from her visage. "Death is coming, Hellena. It's coming for dragons, for these 'freaks', and even for you. If you want to make it through... we need to unify."

A prickling chill runs down Hellena's spine. Her grin fades.

Scratch is talking about something bigger than a war with the dragons.

"...Okay. What do I need to do?"