CASIMIRA
dragon-shifting daughter of ashhal and ryatah
She has never been a vicious creature.
Where some might have been made for this dragon’s blood, Casimira had always felt as though she was cursed with it. As a child she had been prone to mischief and adventure, but she had never been aggressive or cruel—nor did she boast much of the arrogance that other dragon’s seemed to possess. She would have been content to never discover this shifting. Would have preferred it had lay dormant for the rest of her life, so that she might have continued to live and only wonder at what it might be like to wield something stronger than serial immortality.
It has taken her years—all her lifetimes, really—to learn to control the heated flares of anger when they decide to strike. She was not born knowing how to bridle that draconic rage, how to only release it in small doses.
It is to Gale’s benefit though (to an extent—she does not know how strong his own magic is, after all) that she has grown stronger. That though her first instinct upon seeing him was to incinerate him where he stands she is not so deafened by the roaring in her ears that she does not hear him, that she does not decipher the truth of his words from what he says. The scales do not retreat, but she does, her face still a darkened scowl as she takes two steps back.
“We’ve never met. At least, not formally,” she tells him, and her voice is surprisingly quiet, even mild, in comparison to the greeting she had given him. She studies him with a piercing blue gaze, as if she is trying to peel back the truth that might be hiding beneath his skin. “My name is Casimira. I lived in Hyaline, and now Tephra.” Here, her eyes narrow again, with a pointed tilt of her delicate head. “Do you remember being king of either of those places?”
@
Gale