Script

In order to regain her sense of identify--her sense of self--the dragon did not go quietly into the fold. It was neither resentment nor anger that prompted her abandonment but the drive to break off from everything that toppled her life over.

She had gone from being an idolized, heaven-blessed prodigy to the puppet of the one who claimed to care most about her. Throughout the long nights studying spellscrolls or the exhausting tasks thrown on her by her dead brother the remnants of her past began to come together; the dragon was neither some divine hatchling of a predestined fate nor the tool of her blood kin who was to be pawned and treated as nothing more than an object. She was her own individual: a dragon who yearned to know who she was and break free of the unrelenting circumstances surrounding her since she first hatched.

No more nobility. No more talk of oracles. No more mentions of seers, or houses, or revenge. No more blessings. No more existences determined by shields or weapons or magic. Nothing but the barest, most vulnerable, and raw essence that had kept her alive for so many years.

She was a survivor, a victim, and an individual driven by the primal need to live and breathe and experience life as something more than everything forced on her since hatching. Neither the child she grew up as nor the 'mirror' of a former self her elder brother imposed on her but someone utterly isolated from the entirety of her past; her own being, her own soul, her own will, and her distinct personality.

To accomplish her first act of self-expression and exploration meant entering an unknown world with nothing but flitting emotions to guide her. So she did; the dragoness sucked in a breath and took the plunge into the frigid and searing hot depths of existence that was far from anything she could understand. She sought out a new haven, a new home, and scavenged the ocean floor and heavens corners until she discovered something that could be her own. And, to her relief, 'it' was not something she was forced or pressured into doing.

Since her youth the old elements of Sornieth shifted faintly in the back of her head. Once--it was Chaos. Another time--Void. The elements of old were hovering on the corner of her mental cliff while she stood on the edge in her mind and debated where to jump.

It was neither Chaos nor Void that won her heart; it was the presentation of something so utterly encompassing a truly desolate and individualistic way of living that took her heart and pinned it to her sleeve. The element of Mind called and offered to choose her; the element neither coerced her into accepting it nor prodded her for answers nor yelled nor shouted nor expected--not even expecting a response.

In the end it was her decision to alter her destiny. It was her choice to become Mind's emissary.

It was her. Her. Her. No one else.

Script was not a prodigy anymore.

Mirror was not an object to be traded away and bartered with.

The dragoness was her own--and in embracing the new--that was, ironically the old--she discovered she was far more than anything she ever thought capable.

When Mind offered to spirit her away it was her choice to follow it into a realm that wrapped her in its arms and offered her safety and isolation. Her mind was her home and the dragon found it to be her refuge. And her body--it would not stir from its sleep; the dragon continued to breathe in and out slowly on the Infirmary cot as the clan doctor paced the bedside...

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In Sornieth a common street game titled the Runestones of the Arcanist exists. It involves the flipping and matching of tiles in pairs. Yet for those who delve into folklore--rumor has it the game is more than a mere way for dragons to pass the time or bet coinage; it is an elderly game said to be rooted in ancient Sornieth clans of both draconic and beasts alike.

The eleven flights are represented in eleven respectively-designed tiles with an inscription of their element in the bottom. Joining the eleven flight's elements are thirteen other tiles with common associations to both clan life and daily concepts and routines; Blood, Venom, Life, Chaos, Metals, Void, Mind, Spirit, Cloud, Spiral, Truth, Pillar, and Clan. Each has its own symbol and inscription featured on the runestones and bears striking resemblance to the elemental flight's runestones. The acknowledgement of all runestones is where the historians and skeptics clash.

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Formerly under the influence of her abusive older brother Doctrine, the dragon known as Script never fully broke under his horrific actions. While she took to his beck and call and frequently accepted blame for his actions or acted as his shield or sword the dragon was never the pawn Doctrine attempted to groom her into being. In the end her brother's inability to control others in Pendulum led to errors in his judgement. Those slip-ups and cracks eventually exposed what had already existed as hazy, flitting thoughts of doubt as Script began questioning what she truly wanted and yearned for.

Due to the precarious years of conditioning forced on her by Doctrine, Script's mental state did not bounce back to what it had been during her early years as a Hatchling. Her brain developed around constant, recurring trauma with one major trigger: the thought of family . While Doctrine failed to carry out his planned his atrocities the effects of Script's elder brother did not vanish; in the end his actions left a lingering, aching effect on Script as she could not look at her family the same way. Grief, despair, self-deprecation, shock, and denial all set in despite the overwhelming relief that Doctrine was gone and her torture had finally ceased.

Indeed, Doctrine was gone--but that fact did not undo the pain and hurt Script fought with. Despite the efforts of many individuals in the clan her own conflicting feelings on herself, her family, and her circumstances quickly overwhelmed her. She fled Clan Pendulum's grounds and wandered the grassy plains of Light, eventually succumbing to exhaustion. In the darkness of unconsciousness and the looming distortions imposed by her fragmented, broken mental state, Script fell into a limbo. Her comatose body was recovered and put in the hands of Angel, Pendulum's Head Doctor. In the confines of Pendulum's Infirmary one could find her sleeping form breathing slowly--in, out, in, out--yet clinging to life by the barest threads.

Her mind was a different matter. Despite the lack of brain activity there was never any more proof Script was alive and well. In the absence of her physical form she found herself entwined in the element of Mind and its graceful grasp. The ancient element offered her refuge in midst of a world of pain and heresy. Script did not have to shy from the cruel truths:

She lost her ability to perform Light and Arcane magic long, long ago.

She lost years from her life due to her brother's evil ambitions.

She lost her sense of self in the pain of everything left behind.

Mind took those truths and melted it down. The element shined and sparked in motivation, kindness, and a realm of ever-changing, flickering lights both far too vivid to be real yet wholly convincing. Mind gave her a new reality. Mind gave her hope. Mind gave her purpose. Mind gave her love.

Mind.

Mind.

Mind.

Peace.

---

(The world was full of liars and blood.

Script did not find Mind waiting at the end.

A choice had to be made.

Mirror or Script.

Doctrine or House Royal-Relicsong.

Mind or Blood.

And so it was.)

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Mother to the empath Sonnet and magical prodigy Diamente.

There are few who hold the shattered remains of her spirit, but her children retain the most pieces of anyone who knows Script. She chose to be a mother, chose to find respite in the Academy of Magi's Conduit, chose to love rather than hurt. She did not have a say in her brother's actions, or in coping with the trauma left in Doctrine's wake, but one of her first decisions was to lay the foundation of her little family, ushering in warmth and love to the starlight.

That choice burns indefinitely; a fading light below shining stars, stalwart against encroaching shadows and the snake coiled around her neck. One day it may flicker and burn out, but until then she acts to keep Diamente alive, and hold tight the dream one day the world rests and the universe does not weigh on her shoulders.

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she/her. nonbinary woman.
tiny-glitched, extra small, rip
early early twenties. bi.
theme song: agony by AZEDIA
notable lyrics: and i sacrificed all that i believe in