Mild blood warning. Potentially depressing topics.
My scales registered cold. Freezing even.
I paid no heed.
My mind was rather occupied with drowning.
I remember laughter from above the ice through which I had fallen, and after a second, a sigh, and sharp claws tore across my middle, bringing me up to seemingly-colder air. I sputtered and gasped for air, crying for my mother.
I was too young to understand.
My sides were bleeding, cut from my father’s razor talons which so rudely yanked me from crossing the inevitable bridge of light we all go to in the end. I yelped from salt in a wound, upon which I was smacked- also by my father- and told to go away and stop embarrassing him in front of “important friends”. I went alone to my palace.
I was greeted by servants, gasping at yet another of their master’s marks of cruelty. They were better parents than my own. They fed me, taught me, helped me through tough times.
My father, a high ranking noble? Please, he needed to attend his First-Circle business.
Not worry about his child, the product of a dragon who he would rather forget.
Besides, my heritage was hidden. Both in my mind and my scales. Besides, I looked pretty much like a pure, perfect, noble IceWing. The only mark of a hybrid on me was gold specks on my tail, which was easily covered by some special powder the color of frost. I didn’t even know I had them. I was blindfolded while I was washed. Only the most trustworthy dragons could see me.
The ones most loyal to my father.
I pressed their bandages against my wounds. Moons, they hurt. Like a million little icepick scars, the ones that dotted the talons of servants who had taken up this better-paying job. The ones who usually kept me on the site of my father’s isolated mansion.
Until tonight.
I relive this memory to tell you, dear reader, the truth about me.
The truth about my father,
and especially, the truth about my mother.
Tonight, I escape.
