How awful it is to see yourself in the mirror and to see only the uncanny valley staring back–with every inch of him seeming normal and human and white–except those eyes. Standing back from the mirror, nothing seems “wrong” with them, but leaning in as close as the young Wilhelm is, he can see that dreaded touch of draconity that his former abusive mother was so quick to point out: the fact that his pupils are not perfectly round, but rather slightly pointed at the tips to create a curious oval-like shape, that the texture of his eyes instead of amorphous like a human’s was interlocking patterns like scales. Oh, look at those raner’s eyes, his white siblings would jeer, and their mother would join in. You think you’re some sort of hot shot because of your past life, huh? Newsflash, kid: Nobody cares who you were before, because they’ll never want to hear the music of a Raner. A filthy, common Raner.
Such terrible things to be thinking, so close to the premiere of his newest opera. Well, not one entirely new, as his past life had composed it in the afterlife long before he’d fallen out of favor with Art’s court. To not even have reached puberty, and to already have full-length works under one’s belt…should that not be a joyous thing? But there’s the thing: It was, technically, his past life’s work. If he composed anything other than the four operas his past self had written in Art’s court, would anyone even be interested? Would they see the music of a genius like his predecessor, or would they only see the musically incoherent ramblings of a raner–a derogatory term for Draconids? He’s certain at this point he has only a sliver of Draconid blood despite the fact he’s been told he’s a quarter; those people mixed so much that there was hardly a pure one left, so he wouldn’t be surprised if most of his quarter Draconid heritage were actually white. Yet, he thinks, it only makes his lot in life even crueler that he should be denied self-pride and the respect of his fellow man (certainly not fellow humans, though, by the standards of his abusers) by that sliver of draconic blood that others claim he possesses. (Well, he’s also Chinese, but most times–like now–he’s quite comfortable in denying to himself that that part of him even exists.) Crueler still, he thinks, to have such greatness within him–yet for others never to see it because of such a minute thing as the shape and texture of those eyes…
He’s on the verge of tears when his mother knocks at the door.
“Wil? My son? There’s someone who wants to see you,” she says.
“Tell him or her I want to be left the FUCK alone,” he grumbles.
“Gender-neutral pronouns, dear,” Franzi reminds him gently, and he scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“For the hundredth time, Mom. Gender neutral for what? Aren’t there only he’s and she’s in the world? Shouldn’t there be?” he snaps.
“You’d best not go repeating those opinions in front of your new guest,” she says. “She’s very important.”
“Who is she? The ruler of Germany herself? Depending on who it is, she might actually agree with me–”
“Someone far more important than that. She’s, shall we say…” Franzi thinks about how to break the news to him. “Well, there’s no way I can say it that’ll make it easier on you. She’s an interdimensional dragon dignitary from a world called Urobia. She’s the ruler of all dragonkind in every universe, in fact. And she is very interested in you and your work.”
Suddenly his breath catches in his throat. If it had been any other type of all-powerful multiversal god who had caught wind of him, he would have gone on a power trip so grandiose it would make Richard Wagner look like Djedi Abai. But hearing that she’s a dragon ruler…People always say that he’s a dragon, right? His stepmother had said so, and now his new mom said so–but in a much more affirming and uplifting way. And he had never believed he was for a second, but what if it was true? Would that put him under her jurisdiction? What if this infinite ruler of dragons isn’t here because she likes his work, but is actually here to punish him for spending his entire short life denying the truth about his heritage? Again, it all turned on those eyes: where he’d felt fear and despair, he should have felt pride in them, but it’s too late to take it back now. The cruelest fear of all digs into him, based on the same thing that first caused him pain: but for all of his anguish about those eyes, he would have lived to be the great artist that he had always felt destined to be…
“Tell her she can’t come,” he says, throat tight and tears springing to his eyes in his last desperate hope to save himself from the doom he feels is sure to follow.
“She’s the ruler of dragons across all time and space. I don’t actually know what her rules are, but I feel like it would be wrong to say no.”
“Who would you rather listen to? Some weirdo claiming to be the queen of dragons, or your son?” Wil burst out. “Don’t let her in!”
“I don’t understand,” Franzi says softly. “She is one of the multiverse’s foremost divine beings. More powerful than even the Primordials of our world. Isn’t this the sort of recognition you’ve always craved?”
“I don’t care if she rules the multiverse! She could be the only god in the multiverse and I wouldn’t care! I’m not fucking seeing her!”
And with that, he sprints straight out of his room and hurries out the back door. He would have hurled himself into the woods headlong in his desperate sprint to escape what he can only assume to be his fate, if not for the sight of said fate standing right in front of him.
The dragon before him stands tall and unfathomably strong, scales a ghostly white, flanked on each side by wings many times the length of her body. Not a particularly unusual appearance for a dragon (save for those abnormally large wings), but a magical being such as he can sense the unmistakable–running into her so suddenly and feeling the immense power wash over him is like getting hit in the face with a door. And the fact she’s here, and not at the front door like he was expecting–it’s as though she knew beforehand he’d bolt out in an impromptu escape, and came here specifically to intercept him. She doesn’t radiate a threatening aura, but as any abuse survivor knows, aren’t the biggest threats the people who try to hide that they’re threats? His terror increases tenfold.
“W-what do you want with me?”
