The branch cracks before she can put her full weight on it, but luckily, she grabs a sturdier one before she can plummet to the ground. Nora winces, knowing her pursuers are now alert to her hiding place.
“Has anyone ever told you how horrible you are at deception?” Evander calls.
At his side, Camille looks up to see the woman they’ve been chasing crouched against the trunk of a massive oak. She pulls an arrow from her quiver.
“Your highness?” Camille inquires. Evander motions for her to wait.
“I’d prefer you didn’t shoot me, Camille,” Nora calls out. “I don’t mean you any harm.”
Camille blinks. Darius shoots her a troubled look. Evander stalks closer to the tree. At his approach, Nora climbs higher. The prince stills.
“How do you know my name?” Camille yells.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Nora counters. These people aren’t her friends. This world is not her home. But they look the same. They sound the same. “How’s Edmund?”
The large man in question pauses in the act of bandaging his arm. With the same look of confusion to the others, Edmund shrugs.
“He’ll live. Have we met?” Camille says.
“I think I’d remember if we did,” Nora tries. She curses her own sentimentality once again. Since falling into this realm, she’s longed for any semblance of home. That’s what led to her sneaking into the palace in the first place. It’s why she went looking for the one person who mattered most. He might look like the same man, but his glower on finding her snooping in his private quarters turned her blood to ice. Her sense of self-preservation finally caught up to her, she ran, and now here she is, stuck in a tree, as the doppelgangers of her friends lurk below.
“Why don’t you come down now?” Evander says.
A moment of silence hangs in the air. An old familiar feeling of challenge unfurls in Nora’s chest. The adrenaline still coursing through her coupled with the bitter feeling of homesickness makes her reckless.
“Why don’t you come up, prince?”
Evander’s eyebrow nocks up.
Ducking down, Camille barely conceals her grin. No one defies the prince and gets away with it. Darius and Edmund share an amused glance.
“Or does it make you uncomfortable to have someone look down on you for once?”
Evander growls. He slips out of his coat and moves towards the tree.
“Your highness, you can’t be serious,” Darius says. As captain of the prince’s guard, he should put a stop to this before Evander gets hurt.
“No, let’s see what happens,” Camille insists. “We’ve been so bored lately.”
Evander pulls himself up one branch and looks to his taunting prey.
“When I catch you, you are going to tell me exactly what you were looking for in my office,” he says.
“I told you, already,” Nora says. “I was meeting a lover.” She winks at him.
Evander rolls his eyes and climbs a few more feet.
“And the moon’s made of cheese,” he says.
“You don’t think I could have a lover?” Nora asks indignantly.
“You are by far the most infuriating person of my acquaintance, lady,” Evander glares up at her. “Only a madman would pursue you.”
“Says the prince climbing a tree,” Nora says as she climbs higher.
Swallowing a curse, Evander renews his efforts to get to the woman.
“Shouldn’t we put a stop to this?” Edmund asks.
“I don’t know,” Camille says, head tilted as she watches the exchange. “I’ve got a good feeling about her.”
“You just think Evander deserves this,” Darius says.
“That too.”
“Come on,” Nora taunts. “Is that the fastest you can go? You do plan on catching me before nightfall, yes?”
With a final burst of strength, Evander hops up hand over foot. Nora’s eyes widen at the speed he’s approaching, and she attempts to move further up the tree. An iron grip catches her right calf, threatening to pull her down.
“Easy! No need to get us killed,” Nora says. Evander only releases her leg when he’s got a firm hold on her belt and a sturdy branch.
“Got you,” he pants.
“Admit it,” she teases, “this is far better than sitting behind that desk collecting taxes and swilling expensive wine.”
“I do not swill.”
“Where there’s a swill, there’s a sway.” Nora leans carefully away, but the prince yanks her closer.
“What were you doing in my study?” His breath stirs the fine hair that escaped her braid. They stare at each other for a moment.
“I was trying to get the measure of you,” Nora says.
“And what did you find?”
“Honestly? You fall short.”
Evander’s head tilts and something dangerous flickers in his eye.
“Who are you to speak so to your future king?”
“A future king’s subject. Is that not enough?” she snaps. “You tax your people into poverty and waste your days on hunting and feasting. Your throne is corroded with blood and extortion, and one day, you’re going to take your seat only for it to crumble underneath you.”
His fingers at her waist dig like claws into her skin.
“You’re impertinent,” he seethes.
“I’m honest. You’re vile,” she says. Her deep blue eyes pierce him with accusation.
“And what, exactly, were you hoping to find instead?”
Nora’s expression falls, and she looks away.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just a spoiled prince. Now, let me go.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No,” Evander says. “I’m not letting you go. You invade my study to spy on me, lead us all on a merry chase, make me climb up here to catch you, and then insult me to my very face. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”
“Don’t make me push you out of this tree, highness.”
Evander smiles darkly.
Before Nora can react, the prince kicks her foot out from under her. Her body falls for only a moment before being caught by her belt still in his fist. With a deftness she had not seen on his ascent, Evander drops branch by branch until they both land solidly on the ground. Before she can escape his grasp, Evander locks both arms around her midsection and, over Nora’s thrashing, looks to Camille.
“What do you make of her?” he asks.
“She’s definitely up to something,” Camille says. “But I don’t think she’s a threat.”
Nora tries to kick Evander’s shin, but he lifts her flailing body just before the blow. Her heel glances off his leather greave.
“Play nice or I’ll have Edmund knock you senseless,” Evander warns.
“Edmund’s too kind for that, and the only senseless one here is you!” Nora struggles to get her hands free.
“You seem to know a great deal,” Evander squints. “How is that again?”
“Argh!” Nora twists her body again in an attempt to break free, but unfortunately this Evander does have one thing in common with her prince: unyielding strength when he has something he wants to hold on to.
“I have an idea,” Darius says, “but we’ll have to sneak her back into the palace.”
“That should be easy enough. We’ll take the tunnel,” Evander says.
With Darius and Edmund’s help, Nora finds herself with wrists bound and mouth gagged. The people who wear the faces of her friends drag her back into the underbelly of Madras castle.
Charles picked the boy up by his collar and pulled him away from the crew. He couldn’t be more than sixteen and looked as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in his entire life. Bruises and cuts in different stages of healing littered his skin. That in itself was a common sight for sailors, but it was the purple bruise shaped like a large hand on the boy’s throat that turned Charles’ stomach.
The boy didn’t give the slightest resistance at Charles’ manhandling. He kept his eyes and head downcast the whole walk.
On the Iron Dragon, George surveyed as his men transferred the goods to their ship. His brow quirked as Charles dropped onto the ship's deck holding a cabin boy by the collar of his shirt.
“An odd quarry, Charles,” George said. “Do you intend to store it with the other crates?”
“I have a request, Captain,” Charles said.
George looked over the boy once more. Glancing around the ship, he noted others had taken notice of their exchange, though they pretended to be absorbed in the task at hand.
“I think we had better speak of this privately,” George said before leading the way to his quarters.
George closed the door once Charles and the boy were inside.
“You may have a seat,” George said to the cabin boy. With a gentle nudge from Charles, the boy shuffled over and dropped into the simple chair in front of George’s desk. He was rail-thin and sluggish. His eyes never lifted from the floor in front of him.
George retrieved the remains of his breakfast, dry bread and cheese, where it rested on the table closest to the window. He had wrapped the food in a kerchief to keep for later, but seeing the boy in such a shape curbed his appetite.
“It’s barely palatable, but you should eat,” George dropped the bundle on the desk in front of the boy. His thin shoulders tensed in surprise, but the hesitation was momentary. He dug into the rations. George poured a cup of water for the boy as well and then turned his full attention to Charles.
“So, I take it your request involves this boy?”
“Yes, Captain,” Charles answered. He jostled from one foot to the other nervously, but looked George in the eye.
“I’d like to take him with us,” Charles said. “They’ve beat him black and blue, and he’s close to starving. I’ll never sleep well knowing we left such a young lad with those brutes.”
George sighed. He looked once more at the bruises staining the boy’s neck and arms. The food was nearly gone by now, and the boy’s shaking hands reached for the cup of water.
“Charlie, you’re asking me to add one more mouth to feed on this ship.”
“Which is why I won’t be taking my cut of this bounty,” Charles said. “I figure in a couple of days the boy will be strong enough to begin earning his keep. I’ll teach him the simpler jobs myself.”
“We can’t take on every stray.”
Charles’ disappointed eyes dropped away from the Captain’s. He knew it was true. But the boy wouldn’t last much longer on that ship.
“He reminds you of Johnny,” George said, seeing through his friend as usual.
“Aye,” Charles answered softly. His son would be about the same age if the fever hadn’t taken him. He imagined Johnny would’ve been taller than this boy, but their hair and eyes were similar. “My boy would never forgive me for ignoring someone that I could save, George.”
George sighed heavily again. He wanted to be callous and selfish and put his crew’s needs above one miserable being. Unfortunately, George had spent his career surrounding himself with men more upstanding than himself.
“If you really feel this strongly, I can’t deny you. But there will be complications,” George warned.
Charles exhaled in relief.
“At worst, I’m sure I can find him a decent job in the next harbor,” Charles said.
“Perhaps,” George hummed. He turned his attention back to the boy. With his appetite temporarily sated, he sat quietly staring at the floor once more.
“Is that agreeable to you?” George asked crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.
The boy’s eyes shifted in his direction, but never raised to meet the captain’s gaze. After only a short deliberation, his head nodded.
“Thank you, Captain,” Charles said with a grin.
“Don’t thank me yet,” George said. “I intend to hold you to your word.” He walked over to a small cabinet beside the desk and pulled out a bottle of amber liquor. Methodically, he poured a single glass, restoppered the bottle, and walked, glass in hand, to Charles’ side.
“What’s your name?” George asked their new crewmember.
“He doesn’t speak,” Charles answered in his stead. “The crew had him working at small tasks, but they say the boy is dumb and a mute.”
George’s brow raised, and he looked over the cabin boy with renewed interest.
“I doubt she is any of those things,” George said with certainty.
The cabin boy’s whole body tensed.
“She? What are you…” Charles’ words trailed off at the pitying look the captain gave him. Charles studied his charge again, then his eyes darted back to George before squinting once more at the seated figure.
“Good lord,” Charles groaned. George silently handed over the glass of strong brandy to his friend.
“If it makes you feel any better, she fooled everyone else too,” George patted him on the shoulder.
While Charles knocked back the drink, George stepped closer to the young woman.
For the first time, her wide green eyes met his. Her hands trembled, but the rest of her sat as still as a rabbit catching the scent of a wolf. George held up both hands, palm forward.
“I know you have no reason to trust us,” George addressed her calmly, “but I take pride in running a crew of the most honorable brigands to ever sail these waters. You have my word that none of them will harm you.”
She didn’t look convinced as her eyes darted from him to the window to the door and back again.
“And what’s more, I intend to honor our deal. You may remain on this ship as long as you wish or leave as you choose. Have you any objections, Charles?”
“You’ve made an old fool of me,” Charles chuckled, “but my offer still stands. Our captain is the best man I’ve ever known. The crew of the Iron Dragon might be foolhardy, but they’re a good bunch. No doubt you know your way around a ship, and you’re obviously clever. I had intended to care for you as I would my own son, but…”
Charles shrugged with a fond smile.
“I never was blessed with a daughter.”
The girl’s breathing had calmed somewhat, and her gaze shifted less to the door. She gulped.
“Why?” she asked them. “Why would you help me?”
“Because it’s the decent thing to do?” Charles shrugged.
The girl scowled skeptically.
“Have you ever heard the story of Saint George?” the captain asked her. She shook her head slowly.
“It’s a good tale. I’ll tell it to you some day if you like. Saint George was a knight. He lived by a code of honor. My men and I do the same.”
“You’re pirates.”
“Well, yes, but only because those we steal from lack chivalry. I’m sure you noticed that in your former crew. They are the ones who gave you those bruises, I assume?”
She ran a hand gently across her neck.
“I’ve had worse,” she murmured.
“Well, not on my ship,” George said. “If you have any trouble from any member of the Dragon’s crew, you come to Charles or myself. We’ll sort it.”
She still looked uncertain but nodded.
“So, you’ll have food and a place on this ship. Charles will assign you duties when you’re strong enough. And you’re welcome to leave at the next port, if you choose.
“But I will insist on two things. One, if you’re to stay on this ship, you will be treated as any other member of my crew. You’ll carry out your duties, and you’ll obey my orders. And two, I’ll not lie to my crew. They need to know our new mate is a woman. Feel free to dress as you choose or conceal your identity with other crews but not mine. We all need to be able to trust each other. Agreed?”
George put out his right hand to her. She looked him over, deciding whether to trust him. Finally, she took his hand with her own. A brief shake and all was settled.
“Excellent! So, what do we call you?” Charles asked.
“Emerie,” she said.
“Welcome to the Iron Dragon, Emerie,” George said.
A pleasant chill ran down her spine. It seemed fortune was on her side for once.
Drifting in the void with his worst enemy. Fantastic.
Sian glared at the woman in question.
“Stare at me all you like,” Kiera said. She glanced all over the walls of the pod, not even bothering to look at him. “Even if you could manage to kill me, you’ll still be lost out here.”
“Don’t act like you don’t hate me as much as I do you,” he snarled.
“Oh, I do,” she bit back, “but we’re stuck here with no way out, so we might as well work together, don’t you think?”
Kiera pulled a panel from the wall, exposing the wires underneath. She studied them for a moment before moving to the opposite wall.
“Then we can go back to happily killing each other,” she flashed a gruesome smile as she wrenched a second panel off the wall.
“What are you doing?” he asked, swallowing his anger temporarily.
“This pod is made of sonitirium. And obviously the power is still on. If we’re lucky, I can use the electricity to vibrate the walls at the right frequency, and if by some miracle someone out there is listening, they’ll pick up our signal and lock on our location.”
“I’m hearing a lot of ‘if’ in that plan,” he said.
“You have something better?” Kiera snapped.
Shrugging, Sian moved to where she was working.
“What can I do?”
“Hold these wires,” she responded. “Don’t let them touch. I’m going to bypass everything but the life support, so get ready for the A-grav to shut off.”
Working alongside the woman trying to kill him was not something Sian had ever thought would happen, but here he was, clenching his teeth and following her instructions.
For Kiera’s plan to work, electric current had to pulse from one end of the pod to the other. Before she cut the power to everything non-essential, Kiera and Sian took their positions on each side. They strapped themselves onto the benches to keep from floating off, and then Kiera pulled the A-grav wire. Sian felt his body get lighter and focused on keeping the exposed wires against the wall of the cabin.
Kiera had her own wires to contend with: one under her left boot, the other clenched between her teeth. Her hands were free to continue working. Knowing how much voltage was running through the cable, Sian wondered again at the state of her sanity.
“Eere go eh li's,” Kiera warned. The pod was plunged into darkness. Sian heard Kiera shift on the other side and then a low, continuous hum pulsed through the entire cabin.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Sian asked.
“Shut up.” Kiera’s reply came from the darkness in front of him.
Both were quiet for some time after that. Sian wasn’t sure whether it was minutes or hours later when he finally broke the silence.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Sian asked. It seemed like a safe question.
“I’ve picked up a lot of useful skills hunting you down,” she answered. “Engineering, piloting, agriculture, cultural studies...”
“Murder?” he interjected.
Again, there was silence.
“Yes,” she replied. There was no anger or remorse in Kiera’s voice, only cold determination.
“Why?” Sian asked. “What makes you want that bounty so bad that you’re willing to kill innocent people?”
“Bounty?” she scoffed. “I don’t care how much of a price they put on your head.”
That was a surprise. Sian had plenty of bounty hunters on his back. He had assumed Kiera was one of them, if exceptionally talented.
“You don’t even remember it, do you?” Kiera asked quietly. Sian heard the disbelief in the woman’s huff of laughter.
“Then again, why would you?”
“Enlighten me,” Sian said.
“Ten years ago, you came to Ailren, remember? You were after a cure for the Noran virus. Some border planets in Quadrant 3 had been hit hard, but the council had refused to sell it for less than 800 credits. So, you and your crew stole it.”
Sian remembered the job. It was one of their first and, as it turned out, one of their riskiest. But the cure saved millions of lives on those planets.
“The Hero of Del’ren. Savior of Luxoria. You were hailed in the streets of Tilan for all to see,” Kiera recalled with disgust.
“We saved millions of people,” Sian defended.
“You killed billions!” Kiera shouted. The electric hum in the walls sputtered for a second and then resumed.
Sian heard nothing except her heavy breaths for a moment.
“Six thousand people worked in that research facility. You and your crew waltzed into a Level 8 containment and didn’t bother to make sure nothing followed you out.
“Do you know what Hera 928 is? Do you know what it does to people? By the time you hit atmo, Hera 928 had spread to the air supply. Sure, the alarms were tripped, but there had just been a robbery so no one paid them much attention. The council was more worried about credits than damage control.
“Six thousand people contracted Hera 928 and then carried it home. One central planet and four moons. Within a month, the virus spread to ten billion people. Only .ooo1% of the population were immune. You do the math.”
“No…I didn’t…we didn’t…” Sian struggled to make sense of Kiera’s story.
“You did!” she screamed. “You think I’m a monster for killing innocents, but who really has more blood on their hands?!”
Kiera was hysterical now.
“ANSWER ME!” she challenged.
“No…” Sian's blood turned to ice. His thoughts scrambled to reconcile this woman with the murderer that hunted him for years. “You killed Nicholas… you killed my brother.”
“And you killed everyone,” Kiera countered. Her voice was calmer now, thick with emotion. “I had family too, you know."
Sian swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
“I made you,” he whispered into the darkness.
Bright light burst through the pod's window, blinding the pair. They jerked sharply against their restraints as a ship clamped onto their prison. Gradually, their bodies sank down as gravity normalized. Kiera tossed the cables aside and undid the belt around her waist. With careful, measured calm, Sian followed suit.
A minute later, the door hissed open. Still blinking against the light, Kiera and Sian stumbled out.
“I’ll be honest,” Kiera said as she regained her balance, “I didn’t think that’d actually work.”
“It didn’t,” Sian said.
A click came from behind Kiera. She turned to the blurry shape standing behind her. Slowly, Kiera was able to focus on the man from Sian’s crew and then the gun in his hand now pointed at her skull.
“You may have noticed I tend to get myself into trouble occasionally,” Sian explained. “I’ve begun keeping a homing beacon on me at all times.”
He felt the sun beating down on his bare head, its light burning through his closed eyelids and stinging his retinas. His eyes fluttered open to take in his surroundings. A vast, sandy wasteland lay before him, windswept and barren.
Where?
There was nothing on the horizon no matter which way he turned his head. Heat caused the ground to dance in waves in the distance, but there was no true movement and no living creature in sight.
Slowly, he became aware of the objects in his hands. They had a solid weight, both alien and familiar at the same time. He looked down. His left hand had a firm grip on the warm handle of a silver revolver. The sun reflected wickedly off of the long barrel as he studied the weapon. Turning his head, he saw in his right hand a second gun, a near copy of the first except for its darker color.
What?
Bringing his hands up to his face, he studied the weapons. The gun in his right hand was made of black steel which seemed dull and ordinary when compared to its polished counterpart. His reflection stared back at him from the barrel of the gun in his left hand.
Who?
He gasped. There was nothing there. No memories. No name. Panic seized him as he racked his brain for any scrap of information. He was alone, but uninjured. His clothes were dirty and well-worn but sturdy—leather boots, pants, a shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a vest.
The guns. He studied them again. Both were oiled and kept in working order. The chambers were full, so it was safe to assume they hadn’t been fired recently. They were the same model and caliber. A flood of information sprung to his mind when inspecting them, but how did he know all this?
His fingers felt comfortable on the grip.
...
Colt was the name he chose for himself. It had taken him the better part of a day to find his way out of the desert and back to civilization. Instinct had been the only thing he could rely on, and as it turned out, his instincts were good. A town lay to the southeast just below the horizon from where he had “awoken.” Unfortunately, no one could help him with his identity, but he was given a decent meal and plenty of water. The townspeople were empathetic at least. Within a few days, Colt made a place for himself working with the blacksmith. He was paid a small wage, food, and a place to sleep.
The town received many visitors, bringing with them tales of the northern cities. Many nights, Colt joined the other townsfolk as they gathered around a traveling merchant who regaled them with stories of buildings reaching into the clouds, cars that moved faster than any horse, machines that carried a man into the wind, and people in hundreds of shapes and a rainbow of colors.
Colt dreamed of the cities sometimes. They were not pleasant dreams.
One group of travelers in particular caught Colt’s interest. They never spoke of the cities in such a dreamy manner. For them, the city meant oppression and secrets hidden in the shadows. The townspeople refused to listen to these travelers.
Colt left with them.
...
They called themselves Scorpions because of the way they moved in the shadows and underground as they sought out the way to strike at the Republic.
In a way, Colt found a home with them. The storm of confusion, emotion, and frustration in his mind calmed somewhat in the routine of helping others. And he was good at it. He had a natural affinity for shooting, especially with the two guns he knew must be his even if he couldn’t remember. His hands held all the memory of cleaning and care. His body remembered how to shoot even if his brain didn’t. Colt never had to question how or when to care for his weapons. No matter where he was, he just sat down and did it.
It was a matter of speculation to his friends how well he could shoot. He had an almost inhuman accuracy. Some said he had been born with a gun in his hands. When Colt thought back to that day in the desert, he wondered if maybe they were right.
...
Colt awoke in sweat for the umpteenth time. With a shaking hand, he attempted to rub the images from his exhausted eyes.
Lately, the Scorpions’ missions required him to travel deeper into the city. The stench of stagnant water and millions of bodies triggered nightmares of white walls, steel bars, and the smell of blood and chemicals. At first, Colt was relieved to see glimpses of what he assumed was his past, but the more he saw the less he liked. And it was getting worse the longer he stayed.
Pulling his coat tighter around him, he shifted in a futile attempt to get more comfortable on the cold cement. Hundreds sought refuge in these underground tunnels. A dirty, ragged beggar was the best way to go unnoticed in the city. Tucking one arm under his head, Colt drifted off again with the reassurance that tomorrow he would be leaving the city to return to the Scorpions.
...
After cleaning himself up in his own room and a short nap in his own bed, Colt joined the group for the debriefing. It was a rather small group, fifteen at most, of only those absolutely necessary.
Colt had been commissioned to steal a list of the names of missing people from the last 5 years. A list which had now been narrowed down to some 100 people assumed to have been taken by the Republic. Each name was another chink in the government’s armor. Some of them had witnessed certain crimes against humanity and were then eliminated. Others had been taken as leverage or even payment. The majority of these people were still alive, imprisoned in a secret facility the Scorpions had discovered only recently.
The assembled group discussed strategies and tactics into the early morning hours. Finally, all were forced to retire from sheer exhaustion and reconvene after 12 hours.
Colt was one of the last to leave the room. During the council, the list of names pulled his eyes to the screen. They scrolled slowly upwards as a constant reminder of why the Scorpions warred against the Republic. Colt’s eyes scanned each name as it became visible. He had tried to look away countless times, but his gaze inevitably drifted back to the screen. It felt as though he were missing some vital clue hidden in the list.
Colt stepped closer to the monitor, squinting against the brightness. His eyes were drying out quickly, but something compelled him to look closer. Name after name repeated in his mind as he read them. The list scrolled forever upwards.
His hand shot out to slam flat against the screen, triggering the computer to stop the looping script.
Colt’s breath seized in his lungs when his chest tightened involuntarily. His hands shook as his wide eyes zeroed in on one name in particular. Lissa.
Memories crashed into him like a bullet train. Years of wandering the planet as a gunslinger for hire. The moment everything changed as mischievous, green eyes met his from across a poker table in River Bend. He could still hear the rain pattering on the roof of the cabin they had sheltered in that night. Colt’s fingers ached for the touch of her brown-red hair.
He could vaguely hear someone call his name, but he was lost to the past.
Her screams. Lissa screamed his name as the men dragged her away. Colt chased after them, his feet unable to keep pace with their vehicle. He attempted to shoot out the back tires. He lost precious time retrieving his horse.
He gave chase. He tried. He failed.
An explosion erupted through the middle of the vehicle, flames engulfing it entirely. Colt watched in desolated silence until the fire fizzled out. He burned away. Nothing but ash was left behind.
Colt jolted back to the present as someone shook him violently. He ignored them and focused on her name.
“My name isn’t Colt,” he growled through clenched teeth. His eyes stayed locked on the screen. Rage boiled his blood. Fury burned his skin. His hands pulled the ever-present weapons from their holsters and cocked the hammers back in one fluid motion, making his companion step back.
“We’ve fought each other many times,” he said, “and not once was I able to defeat you. You are the strongest dragon I have ever faced, perhaps the strongest of your kind. It’s why you survived when all the others did not.”
Even locked in a dark prison cell she carried herself with animalistic grace. Her hair formed a shroud over half of her face, but her eyes shined through to pierce him with an unnerving gaze.
“Much like humans, not every dragon is created equal,” she said. “I am a superlative among my kind, yes. But I am not the last.”
Me: (explains to doctor that I have a ton of symptoms of POTS but I haven't bothered to even try to get a diagnosis because ain't nobody got time for that)
Him: Well, to get diagnosed with POTS we'd have to rule out everything else by doing orthostatic blood pressure and an echo and an MRI and blood work etc. It usually takes 6-12 months.
Me: I FRICKING KNOW THAT'S WHY I'M NOT DIAGNOSED WHY ARE DOCTORS THE DUMBEST SMART PEOPLE OH MY GOD
Occasionally I think of that time in third grade when our assignment was to write down our favorite things and I didn't know how to spell "medieval" (talking about stories I like to read) and the teaching assistant, rather than help me learn to spell an unfamiliar word or just plain admit she didn't know how to spell it either, told me to replace it with "written a long time ago" and honestly if anything would be my villain origin story that would be it
I hate the question, "what do you do for fun?" Because I always give an honest answer. "I read." And EVERY TIME the person scoffs or rolls their eyes or looks at me like I've grown a third head.
No more.
So I'm coming up with a new answer. A few options :
"I've dedicated my life to the hunt for the Sasquatch."
"I breed and raise hamsters for their meat."
"I don't have time for fun. I'm too busy preparing a bunker for the inevitable rise of Skynet."
izzy806
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