My loyal servants and I just destroyed this pathetic little town. We've slain dozens of people in this place. I tortured hundreds of them with my own two hands. Their screams and pleas for mercy echoing throughout the night. Their blood is scattered throughout the town, splattered on my dress, and dripping off my hands. After putting the town to ruin and leaving it to burn, I heard a faint cry. But each step I took was becoming harder for me. Why? The innocent little whimpers wouldn't let me leave. I returned to the center of the town and found an 8 year old child crying for her mother, who was long dead in the rubble of a collapsed building. Memories of my traumatic past come back to me with the echoes of her cries. I hand her my rose, a symbol for my loyal servants to spare her life. They all saw the rose in the child's hand, and already knew that the child now belonged to me. I extended my hand to her and she quickly took it without hesitation, admiring the rose I gifted her. I took her away with me saying, "My name is Nyxa, little one. I guess you're not afraid of me, huh."
"I want my mommy!" The little girl cried, and I couldn't help except to try to distract her.
"Look at this rose, I picked it for you, little one."
"Thank you." The girl was well-mannered, or maybe afraid of me after all. I hoped she was. How else could I expect my minions to fear me if I was swayed by the pleas of a grieving child? Sure, I at one point had been a grieving child myself, but that was decades ago, that girl was meant to be long buried. "Where did you find this rose? It looks like the one my mom grows in her garden?"
"I made it myself, with magic." I stated, showing my power by forming another rose in my unheld hand as I said as much, subtly aiming to intimidate any onlookers without magic. Or this little girl, if she was one of the plebians who lacked magical talent.
"Wow! I can make dandelions!" The eight year old did just that, only her dandelions appear right where I had been about to step, and I crushed them. "You killed them! You monster!" The girl began crying again, and I knew this was not merely about magic flowers anymore. I did kill them, killed everyone, my hands were stained with the blood of the slain, I had no right to be holding one whose hands were innocent, who could grow dandelions, those weeds that feed, so I dropped her hand, rubbing mine on my blood stained dress. I was a monstrous warrior. I was blinking, trying to ignore the horror on this child's face, trying not to think about why it moved me when millions of other people's disgust and hatred, fury and passion, all failed to.
"My queen, the dragon awaits!" My most loyal servant announced, the shining scales of my beloved dragon companion being led by her harness like a common horse.
"What is your name, little girl?" I asked the girl, preparing to introduce her to the dragon.
"Melody."
"Well, Melody, this is Firestorm. Would you like to ride her with me?"
"Are we going on an adventure? Will you be my new mommy?"
I breathed deeply, knowing the only answer I could possibly give. "Yes, and yes, Melody, if you're okay with Nyxa the Notorious as a mum."
"I don't know what that word means, but I am okay with you, you're pretty. Nobody who has a dragon willing to let her ride them could be evil." Melody would soon learn just how wrong she was. But she would be taken on a joyful ride on a dragon's back first. And I would remember just why I began learning magic in the first place, why Nyxa had once been a little girl of eight years old without any parents to help her survive. Melody would never again need to cry or worry. She would be my heiress. She would learn what true power felt like, what soaring above the world felt like.
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