Ibolya

Warning for mildly graphic descriptions of disease and the symptoms of plague
From the moment Ibolya took her first breath she knew she was different, she knew that shocked gasp that had slipped from her mother’s maw wasn’t normal, something deep inside of her knew she wasn’t right. What had her parents expected when they had a nest in the Plaguebringer’s domain; had they been expecting perfect little balls of fluff and joy? They certainly hadn’t been expecting her. They hadn’t expected the grotesk, pulsing mess that grew from her face, they hadn’t expected a child who was blinded by the sickly green mess where her eyes should have been. The plague which had such a firm hold of her small form was bound to never leave.

Her mother had been right to gasp in horror at the sight of her, her siblings had been right in avoiding her as they grew, for if anyone had loved her then perhaps she would have cursed them as well. While her siblings grew she stayed as she was when she first hatched, minus one little detail that is; the plague that she had been born with had slowly begun to corrupt more than just her eyes. As the days past she could feel the nerves in her paws weaken, her tail drooped more, whispers of her dull fur followed her wherever she went. She was dying, that’s what this was, right? It felt like she was at least. Perhaps the Plaguebringer, who had cursed her with this terrible blemish, was finally allowing her to be free from the plague that had made her life so unbearable. Or perhaps she would not be so lucky.

As she lay there in the sun, waiting for the plague to finally take her, she felt her tail twitch and move, something it had not done in ages. The plague that had destroyed her nerves, the sickly warm feeling that had crept down into every inch of her being, it had finally begun to lessen. It seemed that some unseen force had seen it fit to spare her that day, something had decided she was worth saving; it had decided that the plague would not win today. As the weight on her limbs subsided she slowly stood, pulling her small body out of the dirt. She would have given anything to see the sunrise tonight, on the night she had thought she would die, but that wish would have to wait, for she still lived.

Her body had finally begun to fight back against the plague and while she was still hideous she was strong. The disgusting growths that had been with her since the day she was born would not leave, that she knew, but the plague that they had infected her with would no longer control everything she did. She was different, she was unlike any dragon she had ever met, but she would find a way to survive, she would live and thrive because despite the plague she still walked. She was cursed by most standards but she was not dead, not yet.