Art by Amberclawed


sakura lei
sakura flower crown
sanddune rags
lovely seraph necklace
lovely seraph headpiece
sakura flowerfall
sakura corsage
green olive wreath
spring's breath
pastel rose thorn arm tangle
lovely seraph armpiece
pastel rose thorn leg tangle
sakura wing garland
lovely seraph wing ornament
pastel rose thorn wing tangle
lovely seraph anklets
lovely seraph tail bangle
sakura tail lei
pastel rose thorn tail tangle
lovely seraph hip drape

---

The dragon gods have affirmed that it was they who created all life in Sornieth. Life sprang from their magic, whether or not they willed it, and spread to cover the planet we all know today.

There have been efforts to mimic the gods’ work—out of hubris, curiosity, or mania. It was hard to tell which of these motivated the researchers who’d created Alriune. It would be easier, instead, to give a brief description of the process.

“What is life?” they asked each other. “Is it cells all stuck together, growing in a dish?” So they cultivated some cells, watched them grow and grow...and eventually shook their heads. “This is organic. But it isn’t alive,” they declared.

It also didn’t solve the riddle of elementals and sentient objects. “Is life something that thinks?” they wondered. Again, they dismissed this—bacteria was alive, but it didn’t think. Probably not, anyway...

“Is it energy? Is it magic? Or maybe it’s all of these....”

Plant matter responded well to the strange magic they wielded, and so they used that. They took bones, and stone, and porcelain. They crafted a shell for her and injected it with magical energy. The result was a living doll—very like a Pearlcatcher, but a little larger, to accommodate the six legs she had. She moved with a soft crackling sound, like leaves crunching underfoot, as her joints ground softly together. She held no pearl. Instead, she had two great eyes, as clear and glittering as diamonds.

The researchers loved those eyes. How clear they were, how beautiful. It was nice to see them sparkling in the sunlight. They loved those eyes even more when, seasons later, the facility began rotting from within and the creatures they’d wrought began spilling out. Pretty eyes, sparkling in the darkness, making Alriune easy to spot so they could flee. Sometimes her scent caught them first, and they went down all the same. A scent as sweet and comforting as a blanket, drawing them into a profound slumber. A final sleep.

There came a day when the noises faded, and only silence reigned in what had been the facility. Its roofs had been removed, and the open spaces gaped soundlessly at the sky. Alriune planted herself in a garden. And there she continued to grow.

~ ~ ~
The crows were chattering excitedly. The facility lay below them, cracked open like a great juicy lobster, and just as ripe for plundering. Deep beneath the rusting metal and the spreading vines and moss, they saw her: Alriune. And her sparkling eyes.

The crows had determined that she was harmless (for now), and soon they flew into action. With determined stabs of their beaks, they struck the eyes out of Alriune’s head.

That was when the doll awoke. The vines draped over her began to tremble, and flower-perfume poured from her in waves, but it was too late. The crows had scooped up the shining orbs. Their triumphant screeches as they flew away were the first sound she woke up to.

Alriune sat awhile, and she thought. Her ideas, put into words, were these: “My eyes...I must find my eyes.”

Several low creaks reverberated through her frame. The vines anchoring her to the earth stretched, and one by one, they snapped. She leaned forward, and her six feet found purchase.

The crows were soon beyond the horizon, but their speed mattered not to Alriune. She was patient. She would find them, in time. And walking was not the only way she could travel.

One step, two steps, three...and then flower petals swirled around her in a sudden fragrant blizzard. They closed upon her as tightly as a miser’s hand—and then imploded inwards as she left the facility.

~ ~ ~
It was easy to know when Alriune came to the Tangled Wood. Soft chiming noises preceded her arrival, and everywhere she went, she left trails of beautiful flowers. Flowers, and more besides...

And all around her, before and after she passed, the soporific, sweet perfume.

The creatures of the wood stayed away from her. She was unnatural, and unnatural was dangerous. But sometimes an animal would be unable to get away, and it would be overtaken by the flowers and vines sprouting from Alriune’s body.

Dragons were another matter. Curiosity or bravado outweighed their caution and they drew near to the creaking, creeping doll. They peered at her six legs, at the fine joins of her porcelain body. Alriune had been traveling for some time by then, and hairline cracks were now visible upon her shell. The whole mess was held together with tightly-wrapped vines. She dragged a mat of flowers behind her like a bridal train, and more flowers arched over her back in place of wings. Her head had decayed until only a skull remained. Flowers sprouted from the holes where her eyes had once been.

Anyone who got close enough to see these details did not last long. There was no struggle—they simply fell asleep. Like Alriune, they became coated in flowers—but unlike Alriune, they never rose again.

There were times when the flower trails ended abruptly. Alriune would pause, her thoughts moving slowly as she assessed the world around her.

“Try somewhere else.”

Then the flowers curtained her off again. When they parted, she stepped out into a new part of the Wood. She had left the cypress and moss behind; now she was surrounded by great, dark pines, and mushrooms twinkled beneath the bramble like fallen stars. Ahead, yawning against the night, was the mouth of an enormous cave.

~ ~ ~
It was hard for Alriune to tell what compelled her to enter the cave. Perhaps, having been abroad for so long, she was beginning to develop other attributes that truly alive things possessed.

Maybe it was instinct that had led her into the cave. She could hide away from the elements and curious dragons...or fearful ones. Tales of the flower-draped doll were beginning to make their way through the Tangled Wood, and though she could always disappear to safety, she was not immune to danger.

The crows had sparked annoyance and possessiveness within her—the first stirrings of emotion that she had ever had. Emotion is a powerful thing, no matter how fleeting or fragile. Emotions had pushed her into the world and driven her this far. Smoldering anger at an unprovoked slight. Longing for her beautiful eyes.

There were crows in the darkness. It was safe to say that Alriune disliked them now. The black birds fell through openings in the ceiling, chattering in the harsh voices she remembered. How had they found her? Maybe they had followed her from outside....

A white shape darted past Alriune. Another, and then more...Now the crows were shrieking in alarm. The living doll had a brief moment to feel the first stir of curiosity when suddenly the white birds closed on the darker ones with a great, resounding crunch.

And suddenly...they weren’t birds anymore, not white birds all pressed together. There was a shiver in the air, and suddenly their shape was a great paw, darkening to glittering, bloody red, and the paw was connected to an arm...

“I hate those other crows.” The voice was great enough to make Alriune tremble. “Always flying in like they own the place. And they take anything they fancy....They’re right thieves.”

Violet eyes blinked, and a face loomed, looking down at Alriune. It was an Imperial, her red scales seemingly a part of the darkness. “Are you a thief?”

It was a rhetorical question, and the Imperial expected no answer. But Alriune was puzzled now. The dragoness was doubtless breathing in her perfume; her breath washed over Alriune in warm, even waves. But she wasn’t drowsing at all. In fact, she was very much alert, and she examined the doll with growing interest.

“Maybe you’re a treasure,” she rumbled, “or maybe you’re a friend.” She reached down and gently lifted Alriune. The doll’s vines writhed over the skin, trying to find purchase, but there was only the taste of crystal and feathers. The dragon’s scales flashed as she moved into the darkness—or perhaps it was the eyes of thousands of white crows embedded in her skin, watching Alriune with the same fascination.

~ ~ ~
Namira made her home in caverns deep beneath the earth. Here were coins beyond counting, gems and strange artifacts...There were also discarded weapons and clothes, taken, no doubt, from the thieves she so despised.

The living doll was to her a wondrous treasure. She set Alriune on a high shelf, confident that she would not be able to climb down. When the Imperial returned some hours later, the doll was gone, and only pink cherry blossoms marked where she had sat. Namira was disappointed and did not expect to find her again—but she did a few days later, spying Alriune next to a pile of glittering diamonds.

The doll began whispering as she was lifted up. Diamonds spilled from her many paws. Even after they’d rolled away, a sound remained, a whispering like a soft rain stroking the leaves of trees. Namira’s ear trembled, and she bent closer to listen.

It took the treasure-keeper some time to determine what Alriune wanted. Soon the great door of the vault was opened from within, and the living doll dragged her flowers and vines out into the corridor.

She was within the lair. There was something familiar, even comforting, about having walls around her again, but Alriune needed something more: an open sky, just like in the facility. Perhaps in the future, the crows would come....

There was a garden within the lair, an inner courtyard that was open to the sky. It had been neglected; nothing grew here but weeds and thorns. But Alriune came here, and in less than a day, the place was once again glowing with new life. Slender green vines climbed the walls, every tendril bursting with pink and purple flowers. The smell of rot disappeared beneath a blanket of sweet perfume. And slumped against a wall, her eyeless face turned downwards, lay Alriune.

This time, however, she was not sleeping—as many living things do, she had understood, and she had learned. Now she was waiting.

~ ~ ~
Dragons came to the lair sometimes. Some came in search of employment; others arrived for less savory reasons.

The first dragon Alriune trapped was a thief who’d escaped Namira’s crows. The Spiral zigzagged through the corridors, almost bouncing off the walls. She saw moonlight streaming into the courtyard and realized she could fly into the open sky...and as she soared over Alriune’s flowers, sleep took her. She fell to the ground like a discarded ribbon, a faint smile on her face.

The lair-dwellers came looking for her, of course. One of them, a gruff Mirror with only two legs, gestured impatiently to his subordinates. “Don’t breathe the perfume in; it’ll put you right to sleep,” he growled. He waved at the fallen Spiral, though his eyes, gleaming over the mask he’d tied on to keep out the scent, were pinned on Alriune.

The dragons used long sticks to drag the spiral away. Garrett returned the next morning, ostensibly to examine the garden—from a distance. He still wore his mask, but he made a gesture to Alriune, and it didn’t seem hostile. It seemed almost like...acknowledgment. No weapons brandished by this dragon, no angry words or frantic incantations. A new feeling stirred within the doll: the faintest brush of satisfaction.

Alriune decided she liked feeling satisfied. After so many days of fruitlessly wandering and searching, satisfaction enfolded her like a soft, warm blanket. She wanted more.

The garden continued to grow. It wasn’t surprising, really: The faintest hints of Alriune’s perfume were irresistible, and dragons looking for escape invariably headed for the open sky. Like that first Spiral, the sky was nothing but bait to them; the perfume overtook their senses and they dropped into Alriune’s flowery embrace.

She couldn’t pinpoint when exactly the clan stopped collecting the intruders, and eventually the garden was filled with flower-festooned mounds: fallen dragons, every one, as perfect as they’d been the day they’d found the garden. They looked as though they were sleeping—but they never moved, and once they were taken from the courtyard, they were found to be nothing but rigid husks, their substance having been siphoned out long ago.

Did parts of their souls become embedded in the living doll? It was hard to tell. All Alriune knew was that she was slowly becoming more aware of the lair around her. Before, all dragons were just...things. Like animals, really; they were either there or they weren’t, and it didn’t really matter to her.

Now, however, she was becoming aware of certain differences. “Me,” she thought, as thoughts of blossoms filled her mind—and eyes, sparkling brilliantly, lost somewhere in the world. “Them,” she thought, remembering the dragons who came blundering into the garden. Many of them stank of guilt or fear, and she was only too glad to cover them with her flowers.

“Them?” This word, and its hesitation, was ascribed to the dragons of the lair. The ones who moved cautiously around her, and who nodded approvingly whenever she caught someone else. A new word tickled her mind. It took her some time to accept it....

The painter came to the garden one day. A Pearlcatcher with a boldly-marked hide, his overlong tail still dripping paint. He oohed and aahed at the glorious flowers, and something about his rapt expression, the great smile on his face, enfolded Alriune in a warmth satisfaction couldn’t even begin to touch. She didn’t know it yet, but those were the first surges of pride and joy.

He went to sleep among the flowers. Well, they all did. But unlike the others, there was a major difference: the painter woke up.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the first place. But everything had just been so beautiful, so peaceful...When he woke up again, shock and fear chased over his face—but only for an instant. Then he was just puzzled. And then he looked at Alriune, and he smiled again, widely and warmly. He said something in a sheepish, gentle tone, and he scuttled away.

But he came back. So did others, dragons who lived in the lair, who came to admire Alriune and her beauty. They didn’t mind the departed lying peacefully around the garden. Instead, they seemed to take as much pride in them as Alriune did.

This was acceptance. She was no dragon and probably never would be, but it didn’t really matter, now that she’d found a clan of her own. That word finally opened up in her mind, blossoming like the most fragrant flower of all: us.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users





https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrpSlYYl3RY