Post by Bronzewing on May 6, 2021 18:55:25 GMT
Open your eyes, child, to the world. Let the colors, the lights, dance in your sight- your barely opened eyes, born from silk and the rustling of wings...
Your parents dip their heads down to you, the firstborn of your clutch. You can see the shadows of other eggs at your sides. You can see their happy faces turn to frowns, touching your fragile body with their long claws, mumbling words you do not understand. You hear the crackling of a second egg, the shell floating to the ground, a peep coming out of it- yet you only stare upwards, at the lights and the sounds, barely conscious of your own breath.
You see them walk to the other one. You see them touch them with their claws, mumble again, smiles on their faces- and you are familiar now with colors you do not know the name for. Blue, black, red, orange, white. Your parents, dappled with white and a soft blue. Your clutchmate, covered in shades of orange and tints of sky.
You look down at yourself. You look like the abyss. Dark, watching, a reflection of your own face, shades of your form running down to your unfamiliar tail. You feel uncomfortable in your own body, met with frowns and an aura of disappointment and worry.
They speak to you, and you understand nothing but tone. Up, down, tilting on the edge of worry and pride, claws running down your back, across the sensitive bits that would some day become wings. You shiver. You feel everything at once: fear, understanding, something lurking at the back of your mind, running your tongue over your jaws and breathing and you are alive, you are born, and something feels very wrong.
It takes you a short time to understand Words. It takes you a longer time to remember your own Name, and then the fact that most dragons do not say Name with the importance that you give it, and that you are Phausis and your sister is Photinini. Repeat it in your mind, child. Do not mistake yourself with that of your sister, you are a new person. Listen to the whispering at the back of your mind, something telling you that you're special. Is it a destiny, a prophecy, something to come up once you are older? Is it Fate, whispering in your ear, the noise at the back of your mind saying come here, come here when you are ready. Come here when you are no longer a whelp barely out of the egg. Resist the urge to scratch at your own head. You want the noises to be there, they will mean something to you, and scratching them out now will remove what you could be.
Phausis. It is your fate to listen. Take your claws off your head. You don't want them to look at you strangely, do you?
"Children!" your mother cries, tail tapping on the ground, your father standing beside them.
You come. Photinini comes. Years have passed since your hatching. You are both young dragons, your wingbuds itching and preparing to sprout beautiful wings the sort of which your parents own. Your sister is the face of feminine beauty, the curves of their neck and the shape of their eyes- a fragile beast, body filled with grace instead of power. You have rejected the concept of gender years ago. From looking at you, you are neither and both, androgynous in face and features. Your parents are shocked by your growth, but they have always been.
You were born dark. Darker than your tribe should be- when you were young, as your father often points out, you could be mistaken for a young HiveWing if not for the lack of wings. The inside of your jaws- pale blue, not the red of blood. Your eyes- the pupils warped- impossible to tell what you are looking at through the unnatural shape. Are people scared of you? You wouldn't know- you have never been in the real Outside in the hive. They claim that they don't want the HiveWings to see the pair of you, but you know better: you are an anomaly to be ashamed of. You asked your sire about this one day, to which he answered no, of course not, your colors are perfectly normal! but that did not shake the feeling of wrongness from you.
"You're reaching a fine young age!" your mother says, excited. This feels real. "Your wings will soon be in- and once they come in, I'll be free to let you go out in the world! You can meet other dragons, see the Hive..."
"Why can't we go out now?" Photinini asks, her voice harsher than would be expected from her features. Sometimes Phausis thinks something swapped their voices, and that their melodic tone should have belonged to their sibling- they sounded like music, she sounded like screaming animals.
"Sirex Hive can...get dangerous. I guess I can tell you now...there was a big attack on the Lady- the ruler of the Hive- and some SilkWing radicals tore everything apart. Of course, we have nothing to do with those, and while it's been years since the attack...around the time of your hatching... well, after a battle like that is no place for dragonets!" She almost followed up with not SilkWing dragonets, at least, but held her tongue. No use telling your hatchlings from such a young age how inferior they really were.
"Once you have your wings, you can start working under a HiveWing- I recommend it, at least if they give you a place to stay. Not the most glorious of lifestyles, but at least you get a place to live and rest and be the best dragons you can be..." There were tears in her eyes, and your father brushes them away with his wing. This is when you realize what they must have seen out there.
"Soon, before the next cycle of the moon, you will have your wings. And once that happens, I'll have to let you go- and hope not a touch of harm comes to you! Do you understand?"
And you declare that you understand, although something tells you that you really don't. Only being out there will allow you to understand the sadness on their faces, where the scars on their scales came from, why they lived in a small hut all the way to the side of the Hives.
And about a week later, you ended up going through your Metamorphosis- before your sibling, likely due to age. And as normal, you remembered nothing- not a whisper of what had gone on inside there, only that your back opened up and the bones of wings formed, a horrible feeling developing in your wrists- but that was it. It was only once you emerge that you feel everything: pain more than you had expected, a new weight on your back, and a horrible, horrible itching feeling at your wrists. You pored over them for hours, your parents leaving you alone- before you finally figured out how to get silk from them. And then, disappointment striking your heart, you plunge your claws into your own scales and tear out whatever is beneath your skin. It's a strange lump of flesh, some strange stuff inside it, useless to you now- and pain replaces the horrible itching. It's relief, you begin hysterically laughing at your own blood, holding your ruined claw before setting to work on the other one.
Your sister didn't take it as badly as you do. She loved her new silk glands, her wings- and you could only think about the itching under your skin.
This was the least of it.
Close your eyes, child, to the world. Let the colors disappear- let them fade to black, let your knowledge of the world disappear. And remember the voices, the feelings, the ones in your head since you took your first breath? Those are yours. They want you now, they call that it's time- as you metamorphize, they do too, forming something greater than any dragon has ever had.
You walk in dreams, Phausis. That is your home. You awake a second time at night, your soul in new form, the universe open to you- and on that first night, you walked in the dreams of your parents- nightmares of war and fighting, you hiding in the shadows, terrified as to where you woke up, until you learned nothing at all can hurt you. You own the world, the world of people's minds, dripping the blood from your torn claws all over the earth- is this right to you? Do you feel at home? Are you alive now, in the realm of dreams, your own small reality, your own creation of life and existence?
Do you know that nobody else can and ever should do this? Do you know what you've done, not scratching the noise in your head out as a youngling, not realizing that you're an incorrect creature who deserved the eyes on your blackened scales?
You're an anomaly, Phausis.
Your parents dip their heads down to you, the firstborn of your clutch. You can see the shadows of other eggs at your sides. You can see their happy faces turn to frowns, touching your fragile body with their long claws, mumbling words you do not understand. You hear the crackling of a second egg, the shell floating to the ground, a peep coming out of it- yet you only stare upwards, at the lights and the sounds, barely conscious of your own breath.
You see them walk to the other one. You see them touch them with their claws, mumble again, smiles on their faces- and you are familiar now with colors you do not know the name for. Blue, black, red, orange, white. Your parents, dappled with white and a soft blue. Your clutchmate, covered in shades of orange and tints of sky.
You look down at yourself. You look like the abyss. Dark, watching, a reflection of your own face, shades of your form running down to your unfamiliar tail. You feel uncomfortable in your own body, met with frowns and an aura of disappointment and worry.
They speak to you, and you understand nothing but tone. Up, down, tilting on the edge of worry and pride, claws running down your back, across the sensitive bits that would some day become wings. You shiver. You feel everything at once: fear, understanding, something lurking at the back of your mind, running your tongue over your jaws and breathing and you are alive, you are born, and something feels very wrong.
It takes you a short time to understand Words. It takes you a longer time to remember your own Name, and then the fact that most dragons do not say Name with the importance that you give it, and that you are Phausis and your sister is Photinini. Repeat it in your mind, child. Do not mistake yourself with that of your sister, you are a new person. Listen to the whispering at the back of your mind, something telling you that you're special. Is it a destiny, a prophecy, something to come up once you are older? Is it Fate, whispering in your ear, the noise at the back of your mind saying come here, come here when you are ready. Come here when you are no longer a whelp barely out of the egg. Resist the urge to scratch at your own head. You want the noises to be there, they will mean something to you, and scratching them out now will remove what you could be.
Phausis. It is your fate to listen. Take your claws off your head. You don't want them to look at you strangely, do you?
"Children!" your mother cries, tail tapping on the ground, your father standing beside them.
You come. Photinini comes. Years have passed since your hatching. You are both young dragons, your wingbuds itching and preparing to sprout beautiful wings the sort of which your parents own. Your sister is the face of feminine beauty, the curves of their neck and the shape of their eyes- a fragile beast, body filled with grace instead of power. You have rejected the concept of gender years ago. From looking at you, you are neither and both, androgynous in face and features. Your parents are shocked by your growth, but they have always been.
You were born dark. Darker than your tribe should be- when you were young, as your father often points out, you could be mistaken for a young HiveWing if not for the lack of wings. The inside of your jaws- pale blue, not the red of blood. Your eyes- the pupils warped- impossible to tell what you are looking at through the unnatural shape. Are people scared of you? You wouldn't know- you have never been in the real Outside in the hive. They claim that they don't want the HiveWings to see the pair of you, but you know better: you are an anomaly to be ashamed of. You asked your sire about this one day, to which he answered no, of course not, your colors are perfectly normal! but that did not shake the feeling of wrongness from you.
"You're reaching a fine young age!" your mother says, excited. This feels real. "Your wings will soon be in- and once they come in, I'll be free to let you go out in the world! You can meet other dragons, see the Hive..."
"Why can't we go out now?" Photinini asks, her voice harsher than would be expected from her features. Sometimes Phausis thinks something swapped their voices, and that their melodic tone should have belonged to their sibling- they sounded like music, she sounded like screaming animals.
"Sirex Hive can...get dangerous. I guess I can tell you now...there was a big attack on the Lady- the ruler of the Hive- and some SilkWing radicals tore everything apart. Of course, we have nothing to do with those, and while it's been years since the attack...around the time of your hatching... well, after a battle like that is no place for dragonets!" She almost followed up with not SilkWing dragonets, at least, but held her tongue. No use telling your hatchlings from such a young age how inferior they really were.
"Once you have your wings, you can start working under a HiveWing- I recommend it, at least if they give you a place to stay. Not the most glorious of lifestyles, but at least you get a place to live and rest and be the best dragons you can be..." There were tears in her eyes, and your father brushes them away with his wing. This is when you realize what they must have seen out there.
"Soon, before the next cycle of the moon, you will have your wings. And once that happens, I'll have to let you go- and hope not a touch of harm comes to you! Do you understand?"
And you declare that you understand, although something tells you that you really don't. Only being out there will allow you to understand the sadness on their faces, where the scars on their scales came from, why they lived in a small hut all the way to the side of the Hives.
And about a week later, you ended up going through your Metamorphosis- before your sibling, likely due to age. And as normal, you remembered nothing- not a whisper of what had gone on inside there, only that your back opened up and the bones of wings formed, a horrible feeling developing in your wrists- but that was it. It was only once you emerge that you feel everything: pain more than you had expected, a new weight on your back, and a horrible, horrible itching feeling at your wrists. You pored over them for hours, your parents leaving you alone- before you finally figured out how to get silk from them. And then, disappointment striking your heart, you plunge your claws into your own scales and tear out whatever is beneath your skin. It's a strange lump of flesh, some strange stuff inside it, useless to you now- and pain replaces the horrible itching. It's relief, you begin hysterically laughing at your own blood, holding your ruined claw before setting to work on the other one.
Your sister didn't take it as badly as you do. She loved her new silk glands, her wings- and you could only think about the itching under your skin.
This was the least of it.
Close your eyes, child, to the world. Let the colors disappear- let them fade to black, let your knowledge of the world disappear. And remember the voices, the feelings, the ones in your head since you took your first breath? Those are yours. They want you now, they call that it's time- as you metamorphize, they do too, forming something greater than any dragon has ever had.
You walk in dreams, Phausis. That is your home. You awake a second time at night, your soul in new form, the universe open to you- and on that first night, you walked in the dreams of your parents- nightmares of war and fighting, you hiding in the shadows, terrified as to where you woke up, until you learned nothing at all can hurt you. You own the world, the world of people's minds, dripping the blood from your torn claws all over the earth- is this right to you? Do you feel at home? Are you alive now, in the realm of dreams, your own small reality, your own creation of life and existence?
Do you know that nobody else can and ever should do this? Do you know what you've done, not scratching the noise in your head out as a youngling, not realizing that you're an incorrect creature who deserved the eyes on your blackened scales?
You're an anomaly, Phausis.