The Dragire

One moment, I'm standing in the woods, my feet firmly planted on the ground, the next—I'm floating.

The air rushes past me, cold and biting. The trees blur below me, a distant memory of where I was. But the one thing that's unmistakable, that's real, is the sharp beak beneath me. A giant bird, its wings beating with a rhythm I can feel deep in my chest. I'm riding on it, held by nothing but instinct—my instinct.

I scream, loud enough to shake my bones, but it's too late. Before I can fully comprehend what's happening, I'm falling, tumbling through the air like a leaf caught in a storm. The ground rushes up to meet me, and I brace for impact, but instead, I land softly—caught by something else. Something more solid.

And then I look up.

My eyes widen in shock. The bird... the thing I thought was a bird... shifts. Its wings retract, its feathers melt away. And standing before me, fury burning in her eyes, is my mother.

"You." Her voice cuts through the air like a blade, harsh and full of venom. "What did I tell you about sneaking outside?"

I swallow, trying to make sense of it all. How did she find me? How did she know? And why is she so angry?

"I... I didn't mean—"

"Don't." Her voice is like thunder now, her anger impossible to ignore. "You were told never to leave the safety of our home. What were you thinking, Anne? You are not like other girls. You're not a normal human. The world out there is dangerous, and I have kept you safe for a reason."

I feel a tightness in my chest, the familiar weight of guilt bearing down on me, but I also feel something else—something stronger. Defiance. Confusion. Something is shifting inside me, something I can't explain. "Mom, I'm seventeen. I don't know how much longer I can live like this."

"Oh, so you're seventeen now?" She steps closer, her eyes narrowing, as if weighing my words. "Does that mean you're old enough to be reckless? You think you're ready for the world? You think you know what it's like out there?"

I open my mouth, but the words get stuck. How can I explain the ache in my heart, the need to see the world, to feel something beyond this cage of a life? "I just wanted to know. I just wanted to see... to feel..."

"You wanted to feel what?" Her voice cracks like a whip, but I sense a moment of hesitation, a flash of something behind her fury. "You don't even know what you're capable of. And if you're not careful, if you go out there and let your power run wild—if you let the hunger take over—you'll destroy everything. Everything."

The words hit me like a blow, and I stagger back. She's right, I know it. There's so much inside me, so much I can't control. I never understood it, and it scares me, but there's something else—something inside me that wants to know what's out there, what I could be.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to..."

"You didn't mean to? How many times do I have to say it?" She grabs my arms, her grip tight and fierce. Her eyes are wild with fear, but there's something deeper beneath it—love. "I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to save you from what you don't even understand."

I stand there, frozen, caught between the fire in her eyes and the cold emptiness in my chest. What don't I understand? Why does she keep me here like this, in a world I don't even know?

"You've been sneaking out for a while, haven't you?" She softens her grip, but only just. "This isn't the first time, is it, Anne?"

I gulp, my throat tight. How long has she known? How long has she been watching me, waiting for me to slip up? The guilt rises up in me, but also... a small spark of rebellion. I've been trying to break free for so long, but now... now that I know she's been keeping track... I realize how long I've been sneaking behind her back. How much of this is my fault.

"I... I didn't mean for it to go this far," I say quietly, staring down at my feet.

Her face softens, but the fury is still there, just beneath the surface. "You don't understand what you're up against, Anne. You're not just some girl. You're something else. Something... dangerous."

I feel my heart race. The hunger, the fire in my chest, the urge to break free—it all comes flooding back. "I know..."

"I know you think you do, but you don't," she murmurs. Her tone softens, just for a moment. "You have so much more to learn. So much more to control." She sighs deeply, her anger giving way to exhaustion. "I did this to protect you... but if you don't start understanding the dangers of the world we're in... if you don't start understanding you... then everything I've done will have been for nothing."

I look at her, and for the first time, I feel like I'm truly seeing her. It's not just my mother anymore—it's a woman who's spent years keeping me hidden, keeping me safe, but also keeping me trapped. "How long will I be trapped, Mom?" I whisper, the question escaping before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen, her face hardens again. "As long as it takes, Anne. Until you're ready."

And in that moment, I realize just how far we've drifted apart.

"Until I'm ready, Mom?" I can't help the frustration that cracks through my voice, the years of restraint, of hidden emotions, pouring out at once. "I've been here for 17 years, Mom! 17 long years! And in those years, today… today, I felt a little bit of reality… A boy, very handsome, and a little…"

Before I can finish, I see the change in her. Her expression shifts, her brow furrows in concern, like I've just said something I shouldn't have.

"A boy?" she repeats, her voice sharp, like a warning. "Did he touch you?"

The words catch in my throat. My heart skips a beat, and I'm so confused, so lost in this whirlwind of emotions. "What?!" I blurt out, my mind racing.

"The boy you mentioned, did he touch you, Anne?" Her voice is low now, full of something darker. I can see the anger building beneath the surface.

I blink, my confusion growing. "What? No! Why would you ask me that?" I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Yes, but that is not... important right now!"

But as the words leave my mouth, I see her reaction. Her face falls, her body stiffens, and a wince crosses her features like a wave of shock. And then—without another word—she moves swiftly, almost too quickly, gathering our things, packing everything with an urgency I've never seen in her before.

My mind races. What's going on? Why is she acting like this? Why is she packing?

"Mom? Mom?" I call out, trying to stop her, but she doesn't respond. She's too focused, too lost in whatever fear has taken over her. I try again, my voice desperate. "Mom, what's happening?"

She doesn't answer. Instead, she shoves things into bags, the action swift and frantic, a storm of activity. But there's something wrong—something off—about the way she's moving, about the way her hands shake as she folds the blankets, throws things into the corner. This isn't just cleaning, this is preparation. This is leaving.

"Mom, please..." I approach her cautiously, trying to understand, trying to see what's behind this strange behavior. "What are you doing?"

She doesn't look up at me. Her eyes are fixed on the task at hand, her face drawn in tight, a mask of fear and... something else. Something deep, something that makes my chest tighten.

"We need to leave," she says finally, her voice trembling with the weight of something unspoken. "We need to move. Now."

"Move?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper, the realization dawning on me. "Why? We've never left before. This is home. Why do we need to go now?"

But she doesn't answer me directly. Instead, her movements quicken, and I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. There's more to this than I understand. Much more.

"Mom… please," I say again, more urgently. "Why are we leaving?"

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine for the briefest of moments, and I see something there—something raw, something desperate. "We have to go. You're not safe here anymore."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, but I don't understand them. "Not safe? What do you mean?"

She shakes her head, not answering, as if the question itself is too dangerous to ask aloud. Her silence speaks louder than any words ever could.

And then, in the midst of all this chaos, a thought suddenly strikes me like a bolt of lightning. The boy. The one I felt this inexplicable connection to. The one I couldn't stop thinking about. Could he be the reason for all of this? Could he be the reason we're leaving?

"Mom," I say, more softly now, as the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. "What is going on? Why are we moving?"

But she doesn't answer. She just keeps packing. And in the silence, the only thing I hear is the sound of her breath, ragged and uneven, as if she's running out of time.

"Mom, please," I beg, my voice breaking. "What's happening?"

Her face hardens, and for the first time, I see the mask of her emotions crack. There's fear in her eyes, real fear. And suddenly, I understand. "You're not safe here anymore because of him, aren't you?"

Her hand freezes in midair, and the room goes still. The air between us thickens, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped turning.

"I—" She begins, but then her voice falters, and she looks away, as if she can't bear to say the words aloud.

I take a step back, my heart pounding in my chest. The pieces finally click, and I realize something I hadn't fully understood before. Something is happening. Something bigger than me. Something bigger than us.

And I don't know if I'm ready to face it. But I'm going to have to.

"Mom, tell me what's going on," I say, my voice small now. I can feel the weight of her silence crushing me, but I need answers.

She looks up at me then, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and regret.

And then, finally, she speaks.

"You're not just any girl, Anne. You never were. You never will be."