Below the cut because lots of wurds

SOB I think I might have taken this too far WHY SO MANY WURDS/WHEEZE and it`s not my best ;-;

BUT

Hope you like it, Cyda!

Suffering. She wasn`t exactly a stranger to it. In fact, she`d known it her whole life. And in a strange way…she almost welcomed it.

For surely, to suffer was better than to feel nothing at all? She had lived far longer than any mere mortal should have. She`d felt both of these feelings, and more. Thenceforth, she`d come to the conclusion that to suffer was far better.

For who would want to wander endlessly, for days upon days which spanned into years which in their turn spanned into millennia? She could think of more than a few who might look upon this notion with an eager eye. After all, their weak minds would probably cast their eyes upon it and see it as a chance for adventure.

Adventure. She would scoff distastefully at anyone who suggested this belief to her. In fact, those foolish to even propose that idea to her would be likely to escape with two of their limbs. Or perhaps one of their limbs. No one who thought that to wander endlessly was a good thing was worthy to ever walk again. Not in her mind, anyway.

She wondered-if she was to rip of the limbs of a fellow foolish mortal, would they ever come to discover her true motives for doing so? For sure, they would simply think that she was a monster who wanted nothing more than to watch and cackle as they writhed in pain. Perhaps one day, as they lay sorry fully, pitying themselves, they would realize that she had done to save them.

Oh yes, save them. The dragon doe would have laughed at this proposal, even if it were true. Yes, she was doing this to save them. These weak minded scums of creatures would never understand that, though. They didn`t know what she had seen, what she had done. They did not know what a terrible fate would await them had they in fact, been able to wander endlessly as they once, perhaps wished to. They would not know that their seemingly grim predicament was in fact far more desirable to her than to be plagued with the notion of endless wandering. Let them lay in a nice bed, moaning and crying as their loved ones poured in to help them. Let them whimper pathetically to those who cared for them. Perhaps they would be wrecked with the result of what she`d inflicted upon them. Yet one day, they would come to realize that they were far better off than she.

For not even the wisest among us know the hidden consequences that come with the prospect of endless travel. None know of the way your heart cripples and destroys itself as you wander farther and farther from everything you know-and they most certainly do not know of the great, gray void that replaces it. No-only those who have experienced it know of the pure, raw, emptiness that overtakes one when they are faced with long, endless travel. And the worst feeling of all-the feeling one gets when they look at themselves, perhaps in a mirror or through the surface of a lake-and do not recognize the thing staring back at them.

She had made the mistake of doing so many times in her long, torturous life. There was a reason she choose to live at the topmost branches of the old oak-and it wasn`t merely because of her….nature. It was far easier to live up here, away from the cluster of trees that blocked her view, the wretched creatures that would never even attempt to understand her. Away from the possibility of stumbling upon the pond and coming face to face with her reflection. She feared to ask herself that one question: How did I get where I am now?

So instead, she chose to stay away. After all, who were they to tell her what she couldn`t run away from her past? She`d done so before. She had simply ignored that fickle little part of her mind that told her that she would have to come face to face with it eventually. She ignored it until…well, until she couldn`t.

She`d killed again. This time, it had been a feral doe, nothing special. Or so she thought. For when she`d found that little lump of fur lying in the grass not far away, that was the moment when it all came back to her.

You aren`t meant to care for another. She`d pushed that thought out of her head as she`d taken the fawn in, caring for it as if it were her own. Yet, perhaps that voice was right. Maybe she wasn`t meant to rear children. After all, look what had happened to her the past few times. One gone when she had scarcely had the chance to live, vanished without a trace. And who could describe the feeling that had clawed its way into her gut when she happened upon her own egg, cracked and dead of cold? It was an impossible feeling to forget-and she didn`t need to worry about forgetting. She still had the scars. They were a symbol to her-a symbol of her failure to protect her own young, and the consequences that she had had to pay for it.

Yet still, she continued to raise the little fawn. Continued to teach it and protect it. She had threatened with death those pathetic little whelps that dared to steal the little thing away. It was hers, and no one else’s. And in the end, had it mattered? For her little fawn had disappeared. Just like the first one. And in the unyielding gray wake that had accommodated her absence, the dragon doe had pondered over the notion that perhaps she really was not intended to love. After all, she had been birthed from the flames of the inferno itself. She was not created to love, certainly.

So, then. What was she to do?

She did the only thing she could do. She sang. She sang the oldest of legends in a foreign tongue, folktales that told of great and whimsical happenings. And when her little fawn returned, she continued to sing. She would curl around her child, cooing a gentle song to her in order to calm to her and lull her to sleep. Then she would lie awake, pondering over the false happily ever after`s that her songs foretold.

For some time, she had actually believed in the happy endings that these songs spoke of. How foolish of her. She actually thought that she would perhaps be able to achieve a wonderful fairytale ending, with her beloved and her little fawn.

Then she remembered her scars.