Swishie still liked to lie still for hours on end. It was the only thing that comforted him some days. He was weak and capable of very little and he had been made very aware of it. So, he would stay in one spot, pretending to still be the carefree, non-sentient plushie he once had been. Other days, he would try to float away into the sky without using his wings. Of course, he wasn’t able to, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Something about floating just felt right. But he was trapped, bound to the earth by gravity. He hated it.

It had been days since Swishie had sprung to life, but his body still felt stiff and unnatural. He gave his wings an experimental flap. Maybe someday, he would fly. But he hadn’t figured that out yet. If only someone would tell him something other than “It should be second nature. You’re a dragon after all.” He wasn’t a dragon; he was a plushie cursed with sentience. His entire existence was supposed to be filled with cuddles and love, not learning to be something he was not.

Burying his nose further into the fluff at the end of his tail, Swishie wondered why Vitomir had chosen him to be one of his experiments. From what fragments of memory he still held from the soul infused in his stitching, he could remember having quite an unremarkable existence. That is, it was normal up until his capture. Beyond that, he couldn’t remember much.

Soft footsteps interrupted Swishie’s thoughts. He lifted his head for a moment. “M-m-m-ma, ma!” he exclaimed, his mouth still unfamiliar with the concept of words. “M-ma!”

“Y-yes, it is me,” Mendoza replied. She patted Swishie’s head. “Y-you are upset a-again?”

“Y-y-yes,” Swishie admitted, nestling his nose back into his own fluff. “I w-wanna go b-b-back.”

“I am s-s-sorry, but th-there is no w-w-way back,” Mendoza sighed, sitting next to the former plushie. Vitomir had presented him to her as her son and she was going to treat him as such. She recalled seeing how the Tundra mothers treated their children and began to groom Swishie’s fur. “Y-you are like this n-now.”

“I know,” Swishie sighed. He stayed silent for a moment, both deep in thought and comforted by his mother’s gesture. “Wh-when will y-you teach m-m-me to fly?” he asked. “I-I-I wanna f-float again.”

“O-o-once you are st-strong enough,” Mendoza answered, smiling at Swishie’s enthusiasm. “The d-day will come soon, I p-promise.”

Swishie relaxed. Maybe it would take him a while to be ready for that sort of thing. His frustration melted away as his mother carefully untangled the mats in his fur. As long as she was around, everything would be okay.