”I try to convince myself that my muscles aren’t sore, that I do not ache to lie down, let sleep ensue. Deep down, I know this to be untrue, all because I caught a glimpse of you.”

It began with another Mirror chewed up and spit out at the heart of the Scarred Wasteland. Nothing appeared to be wrong with the young dragon pulling herself up in a panic from the Wyrmwound she had been thrown into. Seething with rage, as bewildered as the dragons that stared back at her, she made her escape, past the Wandering Contagion that reached its long tendrils towards her, nipping at her legs with a sudden sharp pain as they attempted to impale her. Her second mistake was spreading her wings to catch the rank, humid air of the wasteland, only to immediately shriek as another tendril shot out, piercing her wing with with a sickening tear.

Her first mistake? Murder.

The cruel irony of what a different outlook on life can do to the relationship between you and the ones closest to you. Suddenly, the closest become the farthest away, across the flat plain of dirt, you glare at them, and the simple gesture of a glance sends you into a frenzy. It didn’t matter how much smaller you were, how much they’d protected you, enough unbridled rage can pierce though anything.

Of course it was a mistake, of course it was an accident. Of course, no need to worry, everything is alright now.

No outbursts like that are to be had again, she’s found that she much rather enjoys watching dragons succumb to the strain of disease that courses through her veins, they seem to panic just as much.

”Vile has claimed my wings, I hear the others discussing what they will do. I am doomed, I am doomed, it’s because of you.”