Author's Note:
This chapter marks the beginning, and is a fairytale look into what the series will cover. Warnings are as follows; child sexual abuse, child trafficking, child abuse, bestiality, blood, descriptions of animal injury and abuse
Please remember that this is meant to be fictional! I write it to deal with my own trauma. Please head the warnings, and if you are here to, ahem, get "off", I ask that you please remove yourself from here. This isn't for you. This is for me, and for survivors like me, who want to scream our pain to the heavens. For those who just want to read for the hell of it, please enjoy, but take care for your mental health
There is a dragon, whose sharp scales are black as night, who sits proudly on a throne of silver, a throne that was once not his. There is a dragon, feathers dressing his head and neck like a mane, who bows to none but a dragon of white and eyes of blue. There is a dragon, with eyes of violet, who was once not a prince, but the dirt beneath even the most filthiest of men.
There once was a rabbit, whose white fur was softer than the finest silk, who sat among the commoners. There was once a rabbit, who wore a red cloak and hood, that frolicked in the woods without care, away from caring eyes of blue. There was once a rabbit, pure and innocent, who knew nothing of the horrors of the world.
There was once a wolf, made of the thickest smoke, who sat on a throne of lies, deception, and the dead. There was once a wolf, prowling deep in the woods, following the smell of something sweet, of something not yet touched by harsh reality. There was once a wolf, cruel yet ingenious, who trapped a rabbit, whose white fur was softer than the finest silk, who wore a red cloak and hood, innocent and pure, in his jaws.
There once was a dragon that was a rabbit.
There was once a dragon of white and blue, who cared for a rabbit, whose white fur was softer than the finest silk, who wore a red cloak and hood, innocent and pure. There was once a dragon, eyes sharper than glass, who growled at all who came near, who came to bully the rabbit. There was once a dragon, who loved this rabbit like a sister, who wailed in agony on the day she disappeared in her life, comforted only by an oddly shaped toad, who told him it was all because of the wolf of smoke, who controlled the woods, who was too powerful for the dragon to take on. There was once a dragon who challenged that idea, and with the toad's help, accepting every whip upon his wings, every insult, every night without sleep, to become strong.
In the labyrinth of thorns and bones lies a throne of gold, a rabbit laid grisly on top like a sacrifice. Her cloak and hood were torn, the cloth scattered between her thighs, glued to the fur by slobber. The wolf of smoke, eyes dark like the abyss, trailed down his prey's small body, to the wet fur of her thighs, and felt the primal urge to dominate, to mar her with his scent until she was known by all to belong to him. He nudged her open, relishing in the scared whine from her unconscious body. She was the finest rabbit he had ever come upon, so young, so perfect and ripe. He could imagine the droves of predators coming to his den, begging for a smell, a taste , of this fine wine. Perhaps they would bring him the fruits of their hunts, and in turn, he could allow them to mark her thighs the same way he does.
In the labyrinth of horror and pain, lying in a bed of leaves, was a rabbit with red smeared on her thighs, violet eyes hazy as a figure emerged from the shadows, a lion with the thickest mane she'd ever seen, stalk towards her. The wolf of smoke watched, as he always did, while the lion consumed her, moaning and groaning as he enjoyed his meal. He paid his due, left, and another predator emerged. The routine never changed, never stuttered, and whatever was desired she gave. Sometimes, as she was consumed, she would think of the dragon of white and eyes of blue, hoping that he was safe. She knew the wolf of smoke, whose path strayed far from the roads of morality, would have eyes on him, grooming him into a false sense of hope that he would be the next king of the forest, that the rabbit he knew and loved was far gone, to push forward and let nothing hold him back.
The rabbit, whose white fur was stained red and yellow, did not ask. She was not allowed. She was only there to be consumed, to be a relief to the wolf of smoke, who was full of rage, who only knew how to cope by digging teeth and claws into his prey again and again, licking the wounds afterwards, apologizing. She was too perfect, he would growl, and he hated and loved that she was. She deserved to break in his jaws, for her weak bones to crack and break, for her to cry silently, for her to thank him afterwards, because the wolf of smoke only did what was best for her. The outside world was too dangerous, but here, with him, she was safe, worshiped, to be consumed only by those who were worthy enough.
The day the dragon, whose scales were brighter than the sun, tore the forest down to find her, the rabbit realized that the wolf never loved her, not like he did. The dragon had always seen her as his equal, took her under his wing, called her his sister, though she was just a lowly rabbit compared to the majestic dragon he was. The crackle of lightning, a sound the rabbit previously hid from in the thick smoke of the wolf, was music to her torn ears. The dragon, eyes blue, darkened like a storm over the ocean, set the labyrinth of thorns and bones ablaze, roaring a challenge to the wolf. The throne was only big enough for one of them, and the tyranny of the wolf had come to a standstill. Claws slashed, teeth tore, and soon the throne was bloodied with the oily substance that had been the wolf. As the dragon took the throne, he looked upon the prey of the forest, and wept. All of the animals had suffered under the wolf, and the animal he had searched for the most, had driven himself to the very edge of his sanity for, was nowhere to be found.
The rabbit, dirty, disgusting, slowly moved to stand, to limp to a small puddle of water, to wash away the shame. Clean, if she could call herself that, she crawled to the throne. The dragon, who still wept, glanced her way, slowly taking in her, and let out a sound she had not heard in years: laughter, warm and full of love. His tail reached for her, pulled her to his side, his wing draping over them both. He lowered his head to hers, nuzzling it, whispering apologies and promises of protecting her from now on. He asked after her life in the wolf's clutches, but the rabbit could not bring herself to tell the truth. She lied, violet eyes not breaking contact with blue, spinning a tale of neglect. He didn't need to know.
It didn't matter now; they were reunited.
There was once a rabbit who survived an ordeal so horrible that it changed her shape; fur turned to scales, teeth into fangs, cloak and hood into a mane of feathers and wide wings. He could not tell you when the rabbit ended and when the dragon started. Life had moved on, the wolf was still dead, but dangers still lingered around every corner. He could not protect the new king with his old form, a form broken, worthless and weak. He would not allow himself to fall back, back to the shameful shape littered with scars, not when the dragon of light, his brother, held out a hand and took him to the new kingdom, where the hell of thorns was no longer, where the ground was paved in gold and two thrones stood proud. As he sat upon his throne, to the prey he was once amongst, he promised himself to never look back.
There is a dragon who was once a rabbit.