Page 13 of Eliza's Cursed Dragon

That question burned foremost on my mind. She had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, straight into my life, turning it upside down with little to no effort on her part.

She was beautiful and mysterious, and had already enchanted me more than should be possible.

I considered the possibility of her having come from Screaming Woods or Fable Forest, but dismissed it. Few left those towns, knowing that not many of us on the Outside—as they called it—accepted them. Oh, the outsiders might go there on a vacation or weekend trip to stare and brag to their friends about how they had seen a monster or two, but nobody wanted to live right next door to an orc. Or listen to the howling of a werewolf at night.

Or see the shadow of a dragon shifter, ran through my head. If that was what I was now.

With that thought, a knot formed in my stomach. How could I even consider pursuing a woman in my condition? Condition? Is that what you call it now? my mind challenged, chuckling mockingly. I told it to shut up, I needed to think.

No, there was no way I could ask any woman, especially her, to spend her life with a dragon shifter, a cursed dragon shifter.

Yet, as soon as the sun lowered, I drove out to the woods where I parked my truck in a secluded spot, took off my clothes, and waited for the familiar itch on my skin that announced my shifting into a dragon.

It wasn’t as painful anymore as the first time had been, or maybe my pain threshold had changed. The moment my body was fully turned, I spread my wings and lifted off into the sky.

I landed in a tall pine, aware that it swayed precariously under my weight, and worried the movement might give me away, but the moment my eyes fell on her, all worries left me.

She was like a fresh breeze, like a beautiful rose amid a field filled with… nettles.

Just like last night, she moved gracefully through the rows of gravestones, picking nettles and filling her bag with them. I shuddered at the pain she had to be experiencing and the question why, replayed in my head on repeat.

One of the swans flew up to her, landed elegantly next to her, and nudged her with its beak. She turned and moved her hand through the feathers, leaving streaks of blood that made a fire roar in me.

The next morning I left a pair of heavy construction gloves by the entrance to the church.

When I returned at night, I was pleased to see her wearing them. The picking appeared to be more laborious with the gloves, but at least they protected her.

Wondering what I could leave for her next, I watched her all night long and noticed how now and then a swan came by to give her company. I couldn’t be sure, but I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that each one of the eleven made an appearance.

My mysterious stranger was becoming more mysterious by the day.

Eliza

Meeting Edward left me confused. The memory of him returned at inopportune moments. It distracted me so much that first night that I cut my fingers on the nettles worse than usual. My brothers came to try and persuade me to stop, but I couldn’t. Finding this place had been a stroke of luck. Never had I seen more nettles than here, probably because the graveyard had been left to decay for many years.

To my surprise, I found a pair of gloves in the morning, left by someone on the cracking steps leading up to the church. I looked around for the owner, but nobody was there.

It should have at least troubled me to find the gloves, undoubtedly left on purpose, but it didn’t.

Not even the next day, when I found a red rose.

Or the next, when I discovered a satchel that I could carry on my chest and fill with nettles, much easier to handle than my burlap sack.

Every day for a week, new things popped up. A soft pillow, a case of water, a box filled with chopped-up greens for my brothers. Every morning I woke expectant, curious, and filled with joy to see what my unknown benefactor had left this time.

By the end of the week I had enough nettles to start sewing the next mantle during the day. For this, I couldn’t wear the gloves, they were too cumbersome to wield a needle with. Just during the short period of a week, my calloused fingers had begun to soften and by the end of the day, their tips were bleeding.

William nudged me with his sad eyes, pushing his beak against my hands. Stubbornly I picked up another nettle, only for him to peck at it, causing me to drop it.

I moved to pick it up, but my stubborn brother pushed it away. I would have loved to tell him that I didn’t mind, that I was doing this gladly for him and the others, but I wasn’t allowed to speak.

So I bent forward and embraced my little brother, squeezed him with all the love I had for him, and kissed the top of his head. He made a sad sound, and prodded me again with his beak.

I circled my heart with my finger, pointed at him, and circled it around his chest, conveying with my eyes, I love you. He lowered his head and didn’t interfere this time when I bent again to pick up the nettle, but I could have sworn tears shimmered in his eyes.

I made good progress during the rest of the day, and that night I set out to find more nettles. The moon was receding, making it harder to see, but I managed, wondering if my unknown benefactor would leave a lamp for me tomorrow. I giggled at the idea.

Then my mind wandered back to Edward and a soft current moved through me. I hoped I would see him again before we would have to move on, but chastised myself for it. I wasn’t leading the kind of life where I could form a relationship with anybody, even though I was becoming lonelier by the day.

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