Pestilence

She sleeps curled into a ball of deep, glossy black, like volcanic glass, smooth and gleaming. Soothing, even, like a peaceful night without stars.

Then she wakes, uncurls, lifts her head sharply ... and such a deception is revealed! The illusion shatters: her skeletal visage is the stuff of nightmares, putrid green. Her wings unfold to reveal scummy bones and infected claws. Surely she is touched by the Shade, so thoroughly steeped in wrongness is this dragon, once perhaps an elegant creature.

Can she be helped? Or did she go willingly to the dark? Always running, swift as an arrow ... Is it from something, or towards it?

Who dares approach to learn her secrets? She doesn't speak up. You must get closer ...