Delusion

Relations

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Mate: N/A
Close Friends: Demixia
Enemies: Himself

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Personality

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To a stranger, Delusion comes off as an eccentric, scattered dragon, constantly wandering the lair and touching the walls. He doesn't often seem to respond to questions, offering a flick of the wing at most. Only to Demixia does he open up, and only to her does he give his orders.

No one knows what he sees, but the images haunt him. He can be seen awake late into the night, always staring at the lair's cave walls, body shaking and wings folded close as he talks to the air. If you're lucky, you might catch a glimpse of him sneaking out of the lair on some ungodly errand, leading a dragon by the hand; no one dares follow him, not since a lair guard tried and didn't come back.

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Background

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I am surrounded.

Blinking, always blinking; the walls watch me with a greater devotion than a priest lends the gods, their pupils clinging to my back as I move back and forth, back and forth, walking among and around and into their murky depths. They see me. They know me for what I am.

Fear raised me, fear and inky drops from blacker lips. The Shade peered from my father's eyes, they said. I knew better. He was too twisted for the Shade, too mangled in the head for even that darkness that swarms and bites and claims us for its own. He called my sickness down and pushed it into me, then left my mother to grieve my life before I'd even died. Fear killed me before I was born. He killed me.

The stone whispers to me, sometimes, promises me things. It tells me that I can change this clan and drag it into the light, wash away the plague that makes us and erase our stain from Sorneith. If I don't do as they say, our sickness will spread, and the world will be devoured. I listen to the walls, and they guide me away from the darkness and into the light. Their eyes raise me to the sun and burn my body away, and I am free, so very free, aching but alive and dying and free.

My mother keened for a world she never had. I saw her, her and her letters, clinging to a lost hope and a false family that never answered her call. She wrote them every night, and they never sent back. I was there for her every time, me and my claws, my eyes, my whispers. I spoke of them to her, and she looked away and denied them. One day, their light will reach her and drive the shadow from her back, but not today, not today. One day, another. One more day.

I am afraid, so very afraid. They say their light will kill us, and I do not want to die, but I must do what is right. I must raise us above the darkness that steals the breath from our lungs and the life from our bodies, kill the Nosos in our souls that chains us to death. We will be free. We must be free. The eyes and the walls and the whispers will save us.

What is left of me to save?