- They were young in form, but not in mind.

- They had grown steadily until recently, aware of but not understanding their creator. He doted upon them, yes, and hurt them, yes, but also seemed to be against doing so extensively. He would stop should they react negatively to things, since they became able to do so, and soothe them into calming down. He seemed to care about them, for a time. They weren't happy, exactly, but they were in a fairly neutral state of being up to that time. Impressionable. Uncertain.

- Until that instant, when he threw that all away.

- Giving them his blood was not exactly a new thing. Neither of them were sure, after the fact, exactly what had caused the pact to be made - some form of intent on his part, certainly, but it was unconscious if so. The reaction was not immediate, either, pain abrupt in both of them some time later - it was an exchange of thought, of being, of form. In an instant, they were as one, and yet… the young dragon had not been prepared for such a thing.

- Thoughts of power and control, death and destruction, love lost and lives taken in the pursuit of his goals. There was an anger and obsession, knowledge they could not immediately comprehend. Expectations. A desire to bring back the dead.

- A desire for perfection - the knowledge that came with it.

- In one instant, they were a child. In the next, they were a "monster."

- They lashed out, they would later admit. Not directly at him. They destroyed some of his things, killed some of the corpses he'd revived. They tried to harm it, only to harm their original master in the process, forcing him to call them off. They could feel his growing anxieties toward them, could hear his thoughts plain as day, but at least for a time he had no desire to destroy his creation. Though this did not leave them without issues.

- Their mind was a mess of fresh information, of conflicting feelings - the agony and madness of loss they had never experienced brought them a good amount of pain. That desire for power, for control, mixed with the fear he felt at what he had created, built up inside them and made them anxious. It was a lot to comprehend, and he wasn't helping them.

- And yet, despite all the conflicting and awful things they felt, they had also inherited some amount of care for their creator. Perhaps it was that he seemed to care for them so - despite his want to control them, which initially they'd taken as… precautions. Necessary. It was a slow and creeping acceptance that he wanted that power of theirs, and at first they were willing to give it to him.

- But he seemed to realize that they were too powerful. That moment came when he realized if he could not control them completely, he must destroy them. They had tried to reassure him, but he took their every gesture as one of knowing something they shouldn't,feeling things they shouldn't. Why - why - why couldn't he recognize that he was only feeling from them his own feelings, reflected back at him.

- All those things he felt and accepted, doubled through their connection. He did not realize he was mad, and projected himself onto his creature. And then, not liking what he saw, decided that projection must be destroyed.

- They wouldn't allow it.

- It would cause them a great amount of pain. Emotional, physical, and mental. But… through him they had learned how to control his undead.

- They wouldn't allow him to destroy them.

- He had no means of doing so, anyway. And perhaps he was aware of this. Or perhaps, some part of him still held care. They remember his touch, attempting to soothe them despite his ill intent.

- They wouldn't allow him to fool them.

- …they remember the lasting agony, afterward. It never quite went away. It was the feeling of being wounded by corpses he'd murdered and brought back. The feeling of their own teeth at his throat. The feeling of dying, abruptly, at their own hand.

- It didn't go away.

- It never went away.