Becoming the Dragon: A Retold Fairy Tale of Power
Sunlight pierced through the shattered doors of the tower, falling upon the girl like a curse she could neither outrun nor refuse. She stood in the ruins of her prison, iron bars twisted and blackened, her eyes narrowed, her breath steady but sharp as a blade. Each step toward the knights waiting outside was heavy, but she forced her chin up, holding onto a purpose far greater than they could ever imagine.
Behind her, the cries of her companion, her only friend, echoed through the collapsing stone. Each pained roar of the beast carved deeper wounds into her soul, yet she refused to cry. The knights, clad in shining gold, shifted uneasily, pretending bravery as they witnessed the princess walking toward them, unaware that they were in the presence of something far more dangerous than any dragon they had slain.
One knight stepped forward, bowing, his polished helm catching the light like a mockery of honor. His lips curled into a smirk, expecting gratitude, believing himself her savior. She nearly laughed. Did they not see the blood they had shed? The red soaked into her dress, dripping onto the scorched earth, staining her skin and soul. Red, once the color of roses her mother had woven into her hair, was now the color of their reckoning.
She passed them, silent as her fury. The beast’s final cry tore through the dawn air, a cry that silenced birds and stilled the breeze. Then, there was only silence. The knights shifted, whispering promises of marriage and freedom, but she heard nothing but the echo of her own promise.
One step, she told herself, and she would never look back at the tower that had stolen her childhood. Two steps, and she would walk away from the knight who dared to call her a prize. Three steps, and she would break into a run toward her freedom, toward the wind, toward the vengeance her friend had whispered about in its last breath.
“Vengeance is a flame,” the beast had told her. “It will consume you, and in the ashes, you will rise anew.”
She closed her eyes, letting the last warmth of the sun fall across her lashes. Then she felt it, a rumble beneath her skin, a growl in her throat, a fire building in her chest. Her breath came heavy, the air thickening around her, and the knights turned, sensing something was wrong.
It was already too late.
The girl’s bones snapped, reshaping with a sickening crack, and she fell to her knees as her scream twisted into a roar. Her teeth shattered and regrew, sharp and glinting like obsidian. Her hands split into talons, claws that could rip through the steel armor of those who had torn her world apart. Wings, dark as midnight and vast as the horizon, tore through her back, spreading with a single, thunderous beat.
“Dragon!” one knight screamed, dropping his sword.
Fire ignited in her chest, a warmth that swallowed the last of her sorrow, leaving only righteous fury. She looked down at the blood-stained dress that clung to her transforming body, and with a single breath, she set it alight. Flames danced along the torn fabric, turning her past into ashes that swirled in the air like red petals in a storm.
The knights scattered, tripping over themselves, but their screams fed the flame within her. She beat her wings once, twice, thrice, lifting herself above the battlefield. The world below shrank as she rose, smoke trailing from her jaws as her laughter rolled like thunder.
They called themselves gods, draped in gold and wielding swords that dripped with her beast’s blood. Let them see what a true god looked like. Let them taste fear in the smoke she breathed and the fire she summoned.
She rained down flames, not out of cruelty, but out of justice. Every knight who had laughed, every hand that had held a blade to her friend’s throat, every eye that had watched and done nothing—she found them all in the chaos and let her fire consume their false glory.
And when the fires dimmed, when the land was scorched and quiet, she landed upon the blackened earth, smoke curling from her nostrils, wings folding against her scaled body. She looked into the reflection of a pool, seeing not the girl they had tried to break, but the dragon she had become.
Her beast had been right. Vengeance did kill her, burned away the captive and the victim, leaving only the destroyer. But in that destruction, there was a freedom the girl had never known—a promise kept, a debt paid in flame.
And so, she turned from the battlefield, wings beating against the dawn, rising into the sky to seek a world where she could learn to live again, even if it was as the dragon they feared.
Moral of the Story:
Vengeance can consume, but sometimes, becoming who you were meant to be requires rising from the ashes of your pain.
