Starsword

Please don't exalt this dragon! If you no longer want them, please feel free to send them back to themewtwolady's exalt rescue lair!

The Sculptor was a dragon equally blessed and cursed. Her skills with carving far surpassed anyone's; her work was known across the world. She was the author and the architect, and as thousands of pairs of eyes looked in awe at her work every day, she sat in her studio alone by candlelight with only marble and stone to keep her company. She had a mate she loved deeply, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. She wanted hatchlings, desperately, and she could never have them - not ones of her own, anyway.

One night, in desperation, she shaped an infant tundra out of marble, whispering desperately to it all she had ever wished for in a child - a good, sweet child, an obedient child, an apprentice. She fell asleep in her studio that night, but when the morning light filtered through her windows, her sculpted tundra was no longer there. In its place lay a sleeping, real tundra hatchling, its flanks rising and falling with the indisputable intake of breath.

The Sculptor was delighted beyond belief, as was her mate, but Starsword - each parent having picked half of his name - was not like any other hatchling. He was sweet, and kind, and he always obeyed. He never cried and never fought, never playing with other hatchlings, altogether behaving like an adult in the body of a small dragon. But there was no love in his eyes - no malice either, just a cold, placid expression, like a block of marble.

The Sculptor soon began to realize that he was hardly a child - hardly her child. She grew desperate, attempted to goad him, but Starsword never grew angry - she hadn't given him such a concept at all. And why would she have?

She cast him out one night, not unlike the one on which he had been created. The Sculptor could not settle for the facade of a dragon. Starsword couldn't feel animosity towards her, of course, but he could feel a tiny, pushing feeling - grief - as unexpected tears rose to his eyes. He knew grief and he knew guilt, at any sign of disobedience he might show, and so he could only turn away, ears low.

The Sculptor could try again, and again, and again to create a child. Starsword would have to find his own path.

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I didn't write this bio, I adopted starsword and he came with it but I'm not deleting it cuz it's kinda nice