Disclaimer: I own nothing of Spyro but my OC.
I liked Cynder. My emotional attachment to the former Terror of the Skies was plain and simple. Yet, for the life of me I could not figure out why.
I found her black scales revolting and reeking of decay-as if they were housing an undead beast just underneath-just waiting to be released. I found her red chest ill in color, for it reminded me of the mass bloodshed Malefor had caused not a year prior-as well as Cynder's bloody deeds. And her eyes that her dear companion loved so much-I did not want to look at them-hated to look at them. They reminded me of green slime or paste-wretched and vile. It made me sick just to look at them. I hated looking upon her-hated everything about Cynder-even her voice.
Yet...I liked Cynder. I dare say I...even cared for her. Wanted her, lusted after her. But this feeling, this thinking is flawed, I know. I know I would never stand a chance, and that I would never be able to compete with the many suitors she no doubt had. Cynder didn't even know I existed, and that was the most painful knowledge I ever could have possessed.
It almost a year ago since Malefor was defeated, and Spyro and Cynder were more as less hailed as heroes. Many young dragoness' wanted Spyro to bond with them for courting rights, and many males wanted Cynder. But Spyro and Cynder were only focused upon one another, denying their dogged suitors. But if it was one thing those dragons had, it was gall. I was too much of a coward to even try and approach Cynder, and now she had proclaimed her courtship with Spyro solidified not six months ago.
Just looking at Spyro, the Purple Dragon...I knew I could never compete with him. I knew Cynder would never leave him for a nobody. He had all the qualities of a perfect mate. He was graceful, far more graceful than any other dragon I knew-besides Cynder of course. But even she put him to shame. I wasn't graceful at all in flight, and felt much more at home with my paws firmly planted upon the ground. I wasn't even as strong as Spyro-not even in my wildest dreams. As hard as I might try, I would never be able to defend Cynder if she fell into danger. Not that she would need it...
No...No, Cynder would never even look upon a dragon such as me. I didn't like playing in the clouds, I liked playing in the dirt and roots. I didn't like dull, dark colors-I liked bright and uplifting colors. I couldn't stand Cynder...yet I liked her, and found her somewhat attractive despite she being all these things I disliked. Lately, my dreams have been filled of us. Just me and Cynder, that is. Her putrid, decayed scales rubbing against my glistening, deep emerald hide. Her smooth, blood stained chest rubbing against my own jagged, almost crystal like rose petaled chest. Her revolting, toxic filled eyes staring into my oceanic orbs. And every time I have this dream, I cannot look away, cannot push her away. I hate this dream, yet every night I crave it, wish for it.
I know better when I have this dream. I know I should never look into her eyes, yet I do. I cannot help it. Her venom filled eyes pierce into the blue waters of mine, and I am helpless. And every night, I can feel her venom spread, fill my eyes with lust as her disgusting body rots my mind until I can focus upon nothing else. And every time I try, I cannot look away. I have been bitten by a creature of poison, and with her venom inside me, I can now think of nothing more, for her venom keeps me craving for more.
Yet I know this is all in my head. I know Cynder does not care for me, does not know of my existence. She has Spyro, and that is all she will ever need. She would never dare care for me. Not me.
And that is another reason why she would never care for me. Only in the darkest corners of my mind would that fantasy thrive and my delusioned desires be sated.
The reason is thus: My name is Lily.
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