Damned and Divine
By SMYGO4EVA
They do not name her, not now.
The white dragon with blue eyes had no name before.
From a woman who had a name, Kisara.
They deified her once, as the dragon with sleek wings, osprey eyes, alabaster skin and scales.
They deified her with the ocean's boldness, a locust swarm's hunger.
The dragon with the blue eyes was armored with sixfold wings, seemingly woven from the purest light of hope.
The white dragon held a gaze that portended typhoons, a whisper that cleaves mountains, a sword that holds gods at bay.
Once she was mere flesh, but as a dragon, she only ever outwitted emperors and routed armies.
She only ever ended massacres and fostered insurrection when the Dark One rose from the realm of shadows.
Her deeds they wrote to history, then legend, then myth.
Kisara was a hero, a saint, a sacrifice.
Kisara was a person.
Little by little the world was crumbling, her human form now an ocean, disappearing into this ocean, molecules disintegrating, stretching, becoming nothing but the experiences of other people.
She was not whole.
And she did not know how to bring herself together again.
The white dragon is now merely legend of days past.
They have new gods, now, new rulers that were ever hungry.
They do not name her, not now.
No, they do not name the White Dragon.
They do not dare.