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A curse had long decided your fate before you were even born. A wicked, evil spell cast upon your mother from a sorcerer too hell-bent on causing chaos to make you what you were, leaving you outcast and alone without family, without someone to care for you, without friends to talk to, without anyone to love or protect. For the majority of your life, you had no one, but yourself.
Dragonkin had been rare, but not unheard of, if only through legends and the village gossip. No one in your town had ever laid eyes on one before the moment your mother's skin became covered in glistening, green scales, a tail as long as two horse carriages adorned with spikes, and exhaled fire with every breath the first time she had lost her temper. Out of fear, the citizens became hostile toward her - trapping her, chaining her, and deciding her fate before the moon even set that she would be executed.
You managed to get away, run, flee and then hide before you could finish watching the men ready her stake with firewood and a hot flame. You sprinted through the forest at such a young age, trying to find safety, trying to live on your own, survive, hunt and kill and eat, find warmth and comfort. Though, there was no comfort to be had alone in the woods, traveling farther up the mountains surrounding the village until you would find yourself approaching an unoccupied cottage, making it your home for as long as no one bothered you, or ever found out where you had went to.
Thankfully, the citizens left you be, deciding executing your mother for things she couldn't control was enough justice to leave you in peace. Though, you assumed their smoke from your fires each gave them hints at where the child of the dragonkin had fled to, but no one dared to bother you as long as you kept to yourself.
It wasn't until you were an adult did you first shift to understand the curse had been passed to you. One night while preparing soup from water out of the nearest creek and vegetables you learned to grow yourself to bubble and boil did a sudden tugging in the pit of your stomach warn you that a change was approaching. Minutes later, the acid started to rise in your chest, nausea threatening to having you doubling over, vomiting as your nails became claws and your skin darkened to a fiery red.
Wings broke the skin of your back, right between your shoulder blades as well as ripped the clothing off your body just as you rushed outside. The cool air from the night's chilly breeze could offer no help to your skin warming, burning, feeling as if you were on fire seconds before the final phase took place.
The morning after, you awakened to no memories, only the burnt trees behind your cottage with smoke rolling from the ground filled in the gaps that you had transformed for the first time. Your body ached and burned, with blisters on your hands and your face just as muddy as the ground.
You had never wanted your mother more.
Years passed as you grew to accept your life, learning to transform less painfully, and eventually transforming only when you wished. The urges to shift and burn the entire town down that hurt your mother subsided, finding a certain comfort in forgiveness even if you would be alone for the rest of your life.
