Requiem for a Dragon [An Original Novel]

Chapter One: The Dragon's Curse

        “You must help our daughter, she is dying! Please!” The middle-aged woman that I called my mother begged, banging against the doctor’s wooden door. She sobbed as the panic grew ever greater and shook the locked knob, falling to her knees in despair. “I’m begging you! Please help us!” Her once flawless heart-shaped face was twisted with worry. The dark circles and wrinkles that appeared from endless nights without rest seemed to add another twenty years to her age. Her chocolate brown hair, usually kept in a neat bun, frayed out of the ribbon to stick to her face, which was glistening with sweat in the moonlight.

                “They refuse to help Seraphina because there is no cure for her, Layla.” Even my father, the strong, muscularly brawn man that stood at a tall six-foot-two, a whole foot taller than my mother, shed a few tears. His coal black hair was unkempt and shaggy, and his face carried a full beard that hadn’t been cared for in many days. His once glimmering gray eyes were now dull, and there were dark shadows under them from his lack of sleep.

                I reached a quivering hand up and set it on his cheek before the searing pain shot through my spine, causing me to screech in pain and flail as the burning tears streamed down my face. I was no stranger to the diseases that spread across medieval Europe like wildfire, but the disease I contracted was something out of the ordinary. No one had seen anything like it before and they all fled in fear of the unknown.

                No doctor would see me; they were all afraid to try and help. They knew not what the sickness was, or how to cure it. The only thing they knew was what they had named it. The Dragon’s Curse. It caused my temperature to flip from inhumanely hot to unnaturally cold in a split second, gave me an insatiable appetite, and caused my skin to dry out and appear scaly. It caused immense pain as if each bone was being broken, multiplied by one-hundred.

                My father did all he could to hold me still as I flailed harder, screaming. “Layla, there’s nothing we can do for her!” He, like my mother, sunk to his knees. With his head against mine, he sobbed, and though I couldn’t help my condition, it broke my heart. Watching my parents suffer hurt me more than the pain that came with my strange illness. There was nothing anyone could do for me, and it though I knew my parents were fighters, they were wasting their time.

                My body quivered after the recent painful spasm and I sobbed along with my parents. “J-just let m-me go.” My broken voice was quieter than both of my parents’ sobs, and yet they both fell silent and looked at me in fear.

                I looked at my reflection in my father’s glasses, revolted at my appearance. I had once been the most beautiful girl in the village, though my father frightened any boy in a ten-meter radius. My hair, which had hung to my waist in beautiful white-gold rays, was now knotted and dull, sticking to my body and face. My eyes, which had been a wonderfully bright, fluorescent blue darkened as though they were absent of all life.

                I had the same shaped face as my mother, though unlike her, I did not possess a widow’s peak. I had a small button nose that sat perfectly in the center of my face and small lips that were chapped, and void of color. My once clear skin was so dried out, that it appeared scaly and rough.

                More tears spilled down my face as I felt my face twist into that of anguish and misery. “I-I’m s-sorry!” I tried my hardest to stay still as the shocking pain surged through my body again, but I wasn’t able to as I screeched in agony. It felt my very veins were made out of liquid fire, and my heart felt fit to burst from my chest.

                “Rupert!” My mother screamed as I managed to flail out of my father’s arms and onto the cold ground. It felt good against my fiery skin, causing me to roll around stiffly.