Mireille

-- MAKER OF DRAGON CREAMS, PASTES, AND OINTMENTS --

Prefers her own company > Surprisingly considerate > Incredibly patient

Being born to a high duchess meant the demands on Mireille were high since birth. The ways of a woman were to stand tall but be quiet, speak your mind but be gentle, and best of all, be beautiful.
That was the high society of their kingdom, aesthetics. If you had good genes, you made it in the world. If you didn't, it sucked to be you. She was born behind the curve, rare genes, but they didn't match, her only saving grace was that she stayed within a specific set of colors. How thing the line was between desirable and untouchable, and she was constantly reminded of it, how her wings didn't have the same iridescent sheen her body did, how the reflections on her wings were just too sharp to match the rest of her, that her wings were far too bold for such a soft colored body.

Constantly. Constantly. Constantly.

"Well we would've thrown her out if her colors were off." her parents would laugh, all in good fun,
because they did match and she wasn't thrown out. How many high families threw out children,
treating them as nothing more than accessories.

It continued through adulthood, where once you reach of age, breeding is the next best thing a woman could do beside looking pretty. Suitors came, and the skydancer refused to bear children born to the same fate as her, snapping, being too brash, or ignoring suitors completely. She refused to fall into the game her parents seemed to enjoy. Her day room was filled with suitors, her room filled with their letters, and her drawing room filled with their flowers. Constant offenses of their shallowness.

She refused, her family would end with her. She swore it.

And it didn't, her parents squealing and excited at finding her a husband. An unconventional one sure but they understood her need to not associate, and they lost her attention there. One had said yes? One she hadn't met? They had gone beyond her and made decisions for her like she were a pet, and oh the rage that followed, rooms ruined and curses spat out, talons and claws out in full force on her own birth givers.

She was pacified with magic, and lulled further with force-fed food.

"She'll be fine tomorrow." her mother tutted to her father. "It's just the pre-wedding jitters. I wanted to run away too!"

"Glad you didn't!!"

They took extra precautions that removed trust in her eyes, finding herself bound with magic to her home to prevent running from the marriage.

"You're too old to be living a free lifestyle. You're not a girl anymore."

So she walked down the aisle, staring at the stout nocturne who looked a word away from fleeing himself. His colors clashed, but his genes went together, unlike hers. They were trying to fix her genes with his. He was supposed to be a cure for an illness she didn't have, for a fate that was beyond her control. Did he know what disgusting mess he put himself in?

Their honeymoon she refused to sleep in the same room, but whatever magic was in her feathers forced her to stay in the same area as him. He tried to talk, to make chat, she learned his name was Cannoli and he'd worked at a lawyer's office before this marriage. She worked to avoid him,
to avoid his friendly chats and empty words, and dear eleven his family. Loud, boisterous,
but just like hers, the same jokes.

"We kept him because his siblings were just so much worse!! he was the best of the bunch."


She saw him lose his appetite, and she understood, how bloodthirsty the middle class were to become high class. What a stroke of luck, this marriage. Disgusting.

Disgusting.
Disgusting.

Another talon-induced rage at her parents when they mentioned children, but more magic had her subdued, her brain hazy. She'd heard of such magic, filled your head with cotton and your body with such painful fire. But that was all she could remember, waking up in the same bed as him,
and he was frightened, keeping his distance from her, his eyes never looking at her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." he kept whispering, his words making her think he murdered someone.
"I'm so sorry."

She learned later why he apologized, and that damned it all magic forced her into submission,
unable to attack the ones that forced her into such a predicament. The children were ugly like their father, with wings too harsh for such soft bodies.

"We'll just give them away." the parents said, no joking in their eyes.

It was painful, knowing she reared children, and knowing where they were going, to struggle like Cannoli's family had, to grow higher, to be beautiful.

Each nest was as painful as the last, and when the nest had the nocturne sobbing, crying for his children, Mireille tamed. She still didn't like him, but, she felt pity. Unknowing how to respond to such emotion and tears, she left.

Maybe she would hate him more if she were envious of his family, of his parents, but they were so similar to hers, with their need for perfection and their cruel jokes, the only difference is that they craved it moreso than hers. What else had you to crave when you had it all? They wanted it all.

Good behavior got you on parole, a phrase she never understood until magic was removed from her, her mind still sober when it happened. "Your next nest will be good, Mireille, we're sure of it. We'll make you some good dinner for good luck."

And she nodded, leaving and continuing her day, her arts, her disdain. She counted the hours until dinner, until nightfall. Cannoli was late, work had kept him over, and that was her chance.

It was a fleeting thought, just a moment, one that so many ignored, and she took it, spreading her wings and leaving, beating them into the air to gain wind. It hurt, she'd rarely flown for more than to show off skills and grace, tricks and dives that made crowds ooh and aah, but she was going to leave. She would fly until she couldn't.

She prayed that ugly, wobbly nocturne wouldn't notice, but he did, and soon he was flying under her.

"Where, where are you going? Where are you going?"

What an ugly stutter, it grated her nerves. "I'm leaving."

"Right now? With nothing?"

"With nothing." It was impulsive, she realized, home but a speck of light behind them. She had nothing. No food, no water, but her pride kept her from turning back. She wouldn't get a second opportunity.

"You need something if you're running away!"

"I won't wait for you if you need something." She almost hoped he would leave, gather supplies.

"Right now?"

Yes, right now, but his silence stayed between them, and soon he was flying beside her.

She fell twice during their journey, a harsh landing only softened when the nocturne moved beneath her to get the impact. They would rest and he would chatter away, filling the air with his babble. During a heavy rain, where she ha fallen asleep under the shelter of a tree, she woke up inside a building with other dragons, most of them talking to Cannoli. He had found them a home,
and how quickly he found work, delivering this way and that.

She had the unfortunate circumstance of living with him until she earned her keep, but he had been kind and gentle, giving her space, letting her decorate the home so she could be comfortable. It was.... appreciated. She made sure not to stay, going out to try and find something to do, and it started with a bogsneak and a spiral, out too far from the others.

"It itchessssss"

"The ointment will work in a moment. You need to be patient, Winny."

"it doesn't work anymore I need more!"

She remembered back home, powders and ointments for preening and grooming. Stepping into the establishment. "Do you need help?" The bone startled her, almost pushing Mireille back out.

"No we're fine-"

"Yes!" Came the wail. "Help me!"

Mireille knew her beauty regiment when she was back home, and looking at the messy but labeled chaos, she moved to make something similar, listening as the tiger-striped bogsneak told her what was wrong. A rotting disease without the rot, she called it. Skin and scales were lost, and she'd heard whispers of others with whole skeletons exposed. It wasn't contagious, but it was damn near torturous.

Fat paws and thin claws soon spread the homemade paste on the body, and a bath was run as well.

"This feels so niiiice." Winny moaned, smiling. "I feel like a queen."

Mireille tried it at home too. "Come here, Cannoli." A name she rarely said, if at all, but she yanked him by his wings, inspecting them. "Try this. They're drying out."

"oh, okay."

An ointment to moisturize and relieve dryness, which led to itching, and two weeks later, someone else was at the door, a small fae.

"I saw Cannoli's wings and they're soft. He said you helped him."

And like that, business started. Everyone deserved to feel like royalty, after all.