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Personal Style
Hatchling dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.86 m
Wingspan
1.29 m
Weight
30.10 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Metallic
Metallic
Charcoal
Butterfly
Butterfly
Black
Veined
Veined
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Coatl
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
7
VIT
5
MND
6
Lineage
Biography
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The first snowfall of the season is forecast for tonight. Sunflower and strawberry patterned socks clung onto your freezing feet, shivering at the sight of the impending fall from the twelfth floor. The sounds of the city hum and reverberate off its skyscraper walls. You take in a deep breath of the icy evening air, it was suffocating, yet it tasted sweet, like a nectar. Frozen in time, you sigh, feeling as idle as a painted figure upon an artist’s canvas. You notice that the warm glow of the golden sun had seemed to slip just beyond the reach of your grasp and so your eyes drift. You let them drift as your mind drifts. It was a nice view, you remark. Certain nights you’d feel yourself become lost in this maze of mirrors and glass and come here to reflect. You make out the dim shape of another figure across the sea of bright lights in this big city. Their silhouette is backlit by their apartment. A radiant halo seemingly wraps their form, and you feel yourself become a husk, filled with emptiness, or with a sadness that wouldn’t stop. Snow begins to drift from weeping clouds as you feel yourself being swallowed by the city. You look back to the dimmed figure in that tower of mirrors and glass, and hopelessly wonder who they could have been had they never entered this big maze of bright lights. You should be happy and yet there you are, out of reach across that terrifying sea. The sounds of children playing in the snow causes you to get struck by a moment of sonder as you gaze down. Fatigued, you feel a certain surrender. The surrender would be forgetting yourself, and the cold parks pretending to be warm, and the swings that can't look at the sky on their own. The snow is silent, but you hate the silence. Every week you wait for the rain. Your closest friend visits when it rains, quietly tapping on your balcony window, asking you if you’re doing well. The chilling night causes the tips of your fingers to go numb whilst fallen snowflakes send sparks into your palms. You notice how pale they’ve become in the moonlight. “How long has it been?” you say to the Moon as he peaks through a hole in the night sky, his shining brilliance illuminating the edges of the cityscape. “What is this fear?” His all-seeing gaze draws you in closer. “Why am I so afraid?” There is only silence, there always was. Perhaps your questions will be answered another night. “You are a shadow.” Your head snaps up towards the Moon as you let out a small gasp. You’ve never heard a voice so ethereal. Beautiful, haunting, like a violin cutting through the night. Were you in the midst of a dream? “How humorous! You called and I answered Little One.” “What are you?” you ask whilst feeling an intense gaze that takes your breath away. “I am Man in the Moon and I have heeded your pleas. I shall tell you a tale each night to regain a shard of your lost self. Endure long enough to find light, like light from my Moon, within yourself. And to mend the fragments of your soul, fragile and weary it seems, from fitting into a mold that isn’t shaped hold all that you are.” You nod in silent agreement at the Moon’s declaration, seemingly caught in a trance by the strength of his moonlight. “Good. Now Listen. “Claire was born into an ordinary home, to an ordinary mother and father, in a small town by the sea. Her father was a writer, or at least that's what he dreamed he'd be. So when his own dreams didn't pan out, he began to dream for her. But then, she got sick, and was forced to stay inside for an entire year. In that year, she began to worry that she hadn’t lived enough, so she made up a story, a wonderful story filled with the stars and her dreams, a story of the great life she thought she wanted to live, which only made her forget the great life she already had. How she had filled a home with light and joy and promise. And how, even when she was sick, she still gave her parents faith in a miracle. How she reminded them exactly who they were, after they had almost forgotten. So when she knew she was going to go, she was okay, because she'd already lived a great life. A full life. And she was everything she needed to be. Just as she was.” Years pass as you listen to every tale told by Man in the Moon. His voice grew to become your favourite sound and each of his stories felt like a missing piece to an elaborate puzzle within you, sliding into place to make you whole. It could have continued on like this for eternity until one passing night he says, “I will bid you a final farewell after this tale.” You don’t listen to his story tonight. You listen to the sounds of the city hum and reverberate off its skyscraper walls, and the kids all grown up. Even as the Moon speaks his tale that you long for each night, you don’t listen to a single word. You refuse to accept time passing, or rather you can’t, or don’t dare anymore, to allow for time to pass. For so long, you have lived petrified by change. After Man in Moon concludes his last story, you feel something deep inside you ruined, and slowly you fill up with an overwhelming sadness, an elusive gaping worry. Will you wait for the rain again? “It will be alright.” His words sound as sweet as they are wistful. You reminisce of the first tale the Moon told and realise that the dimmed figure across the sea of bright lights also listened to his story that night, and with you, as you listened every night. You were never alone. “Do you realise now, Little one?” You do. You look at your reflection in that tower of mirrors and glass and notice at the centre of your being is a faint light, a warm and soothing heat. Is it shining from within you? You close your eyes as a bright and burning radiance engulfs the twelfth floor. You look up to Man in the Moon, but he is already far, far away. Perhaps he will come again on one summer’s day. |
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