The dawn is now hours old. The gray skies that filled the
heavens as Sol rose above the horizon have erased the singular joy I look
forward to each morning. A dragon’s world is filled with light and color, waves
of grandeur that paint the lofty heavens from corner to corner as the night
works to fight back the day. A dragon’s world as it should be not what is left
of it. To that end I await word of what has returned to Whitehall. My guards
have let slip their morning routines as I have not seen nor heard their tread
along the lower passes of my prison.
As I begin to rise to look upon this colorless world the
sound of footfalls below call to me. More than a routine visit in my opinion.
As I strain I hear the heavy sounds of iron on iron, the lock of a rusting door
turning, the mechanism old. The hinges now creak beneath the weight of the
wooden planks. I can only speculate; our new guest will take up residence below
me.
I feel my heart beating with anticipation for perhaps the
first time in a month of years. My pulse quickens for more than just an order
from my captor. His mood swings, his flights of fancy control my destiny. His
whims are my reality.
Again I hear the creaking sound of rust as the door below
slams shut and the clunk of metal echoes through the tower. Footsteps now
retreat down the circular passage, their sounds fading into nothingness as I
wait to hear what I may hear, but for now the silence pervades this ancient
stone. I take a deep breath, the moist air that surrounds me like that of a
cavern. I steady myself that I may attempt to reach below with my thoughts, a
practice of my kind I have long ago abandoned in my prison.
I hear a weak cry from below, a whimper unnatural within
these walls. As I extend my thoughts I meet no resistance. Within this mind
there are no words to hear, only utter sadness and fear, the thoughts
childlike. It is depressing. Would that I could calm those fears yet I have no
power to do so. Likely my deep voice would add nothing but panic to this child.
I know nothing of her but her passage to Whitehall.
“Hello...” My voice echoes within the tower louder than I
would have imagined. My throat rebels at the vibration as it is some time since
I have spoken aloud. My words filled the tower before I realized I had spoken.
I am genuinely surprised by my near exuberance. I have not spoken to a human
other than my captors in untold years. I choke back my eagerness as I listen
for any reply. I am greeted with silence.
A dragon’s hearing is superior to all living things. A
sniffle calls to me as it has worked its way up through the stone chamber,
again followed by silence. What would this child say to a voice from above, a
voice that should surely frighten her?
“Hello?”
I recoil at the unexpected sound. Though I can tell by her voice
she is terrified, it is the sweetest sound that has filled this tower in my
lifetime. I feel my blood anew as it pulses through my veins, my senses open to
my confined world. There is an anticipation building within. My life of utter
loneliness is revealed to me with this one word.
“Are you well my child? Are you unhurt?” It is all I manage
to say. I feel my wings unconsciously fold around me as I await a reply. I can
almost hear her tears falling down her face.
“I’m afraid.”
Her voice shakes. I can feel her emotions. They are
overwhelming her.
“What is your name my child?” My voice still sounds harsh. I
inhale deeply trying to control my own emotions even though I have long been
the prisoner within these walls.
“Lily.”
“Ah, such a pretty name.” I falter with what I should say as
conversation has become nothing more than a memory.
“I’m cold.”
“Have you nothing to keep you warm?” I ask. My own skin has
become so used to the pervading dampness. Her silence tells me she is
struggling. My heart is filled with sadness for I can see no world where a
child should suffer. I wish that I had something to offer. I sigh letting my
breath fill the vault that encases me as an idea begins to form. I must be
careful that no harm comes to her. I calm myself and feel the warmth growing
within. It is temperamental, often a last resort of desperation, believed by
men-folk to be only a weapon to be used against them. But it is more than that.
It is a part of us, no different from an eye, yet it is so much more.
My lips part slightly as I begin to exhale, without flame
the warmth of my breath lay against the ancient stone as fog on a mountain
valley, their dark color black no longer as they begin to turn a ruddy brown
exposing the cracks in their facade. It is the heat, constant as I take in
another breath and let the walls of my prison begin to feel the life force of a
dragon. They begin to glow which is no threat to me, but I must be careful. She
is but a chamber below and the walls should do her no harm. I feel the tower
come alive with my breath. For the first time in a long time it is a breath
that brings comfort. I feel the residual warmth now enveloping the room below. I
lower my eye and stare blankly into the crevices I know so well. I am tired.
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