A Monster's Heart

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” Damon mutters, shaking his head ruefully as if some great wrong has been committed against him. “We were all better off before they started showing up here.”

His strong, veiny hands snatch a fistful of salted nuts from the small wooden bowl, sending it clattering on the table. Though his hands are scrubbed clean, the rest of his skin and clothes are stained in black soot and dirt from a long day working in the mines. He leans back in his chair, popping a medley of almonds, cashews, and peanuts into his mouth, and assumes a relaxed pose with his limbs sprawled out.

I feign indifference in this conversation by twisting my wavy black hair into a braid and wipe my face clean of emotion. It’s a slippery slope, because if Damon suspects how much I have to say about this topic, then he will inevitably push me until my secrets come tumbling out. It’s a crowded night, and I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody around is discussing dragons as well. Laughter and chatter ring throughout the pub, above the crackling of the warm fireplace and the fierce pitter-patter of the torrential downpour outside.

My stomach growls when I catch a mouthwatering whiff of someone’s dinner plate a table away, heaping with a crispy turkey leg, buttery mashed potatoes, and garlic string beans. I distract myself from this hunger knotting my stomach by shifting my attention back to Damon’s inane musings. There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Is that what he said? I bite my tongue and summon patience to go another round with my favorite verbal sparring partner.

“Oh yeah?” I shoot back, keeping my expression neutral. “Where did you hear that?”

“People talk,” Damon shrugs. “These dragons seem to think they own this town, but it’s only a matter of time before we get organized and take our land back.”

A knowing smirk tugs on my lips. I have to choke down a laugh, because nothing is more entertaining than people talking about things they know nothing of. Damon is obsessed with these reports of dragon sightings, and he along with other men in the village think it’s their duty to hunt them down. Not only that, but they actually believe they have a chance at succeeding in a battle against the dragons. Human hubris at its finest, if you ask me.

Still, something about his argument lingers in the back of my mind, cutting through the humor I derive from this conversation. I’ve heard the whispers he’s referring to, and I can’t help but feel a pang of defensiveness. Even if I concede to the modern day existence of dragons, there’s no evidence that they’re bothering anybody. And yet, nobody seems to have an issue with massacring creatures who have an equal right to live here as humans do.

I cross my arms and raise my eyebrows in a clear challenge.

“Dragons existed since the world’s beginning, Damon. Long before humans. You know this.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically as if he’s talking to a foolish child. “But they’ve been extinct for centuries. As far as I’m concerned, dragons no longer have dibs on the land. Mother nature never should have brought them back.”

“That’s not how it works,” I counter, growing exasperated. “If dragons do exist today then they couldn’t have truly gone extinct in the first place.”

Damon clams up, recognizing the signs that we are about to repeat one of our circular arguments. Everyday after work, we meet here at the pub to unwind. His version of unwinding is selecting a topic for us to debate, with the end goal of reaching an agreement. It’s a fun tradition, I’m not going to lie. Some of our debates, however, go around and around in a circle until we’re both dizzy and frustrated because we can’t reach a consensus. It’s a relief he isn’t pursuing this particular debate further, because I came perilously close to slipping up.

I’ve been carefully observing Damon when he talks about dragons, and there’s been a blatant shift in the last few weeks. His resolve has solidified, and I fear he’s mere moments away from taking matters into his own hands. Even now I can see it, the great Damon Bishop leading a charge of riled up villagers in a dangerous mission to track down and slaughter the dragons that supposedly reside in the Valley. I picture them down to the elderly men and women bundled up in shawls carrying torches and pitchforks, the children aiming their sling-shots with noble resolve, and the mightier members of the mob wielding swords. My stomach flips at the image.

“I should go.” I stand up from my chair before Damon gets his second wind and shrug on my coat. “I have to meet my grandpa at the Shop.”

“Scar-” he begins, and I pause with only one arm in its sleeve.

“What is it?” I ask, suddenly apprehensive from the way his tone shifted abruptly.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…” he trails off again, and rakes his hands through his thick brown hair.

My heart drums in my chest as I think of what he could possibly be trying to say. Has he devised a game plan to hunt the dragons after all and wants me to join him in his crusade? No, that can’t be it. I’m certain that if he did plan some sort of ridiculous scheme, he would have the sense to leave me out of it.

Then the idea comes catapulting into my consciousness that he might be trying to ask me out. Damon and I have been friends since we were kids, and people always tease us about being a couple. Now that we’ve graduated and all of our friends are getting married, there’s been a dramatic uptick in people sticking their noses in our business. It sets me on edge, because we’ve never even discussed that possibility.

The thought that comes to mind next brings everything to a screeching halt. Maybe he knows my secret. Maybe he figured it out and decided to confront me.

“What is it?” I choke out, sounding breathless in the suspense.

“I -umm. Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you okay?”

“What?” I blink several times, not sure if I heard him correctly.

“These past couple of months you’ve seemed…off. I’ve never seen you ragged and worn out like this. Are you getting any sleep? Are you sick?”

My heart sinks. So he’s noticed. I shouldn’t be surprised. As much as I’ve tried, I can’t hide these dark bags under my eyes, the blanched pallor of my skin, and all the other incriminating evidence that I’m unraveling at the seams.

“I’m fine,” I answer too quickly. “Just stressed with all I have on my plate, you know? My grandpa is getting older, and it’s on me to take care of him and run the Apothecary Shop.”

“Is that all? Because it seems like it’s more than that.”

“Don’t worry about me Damon. I’m okay, really.”

I say this in the most reassuring tone I can conjure up, but he clearly doesn’t buy it. Unfortunately, there’s nothing else I can say at this point to convince him. My many secrets and lies have me in a bind, and it kills me that I can’t even be open with my best friend.

I shoot Damon a charmingly innocent grin before waving goodbye and bolting out into the street that smells like fresh rain. A dog is barking a few yards away, and a horse drawn wagon passes me, its hooves click-clacking on the cobblestone road. The air outside is biting cold, but I linger for a moment watching Damon through the window. He takes another sip of his beer and stares off into space with a heavy expression etched across his handsome face. Guilt punches me in the gut. He’s worried about me. Of course he is, he’s my best friend and sees everything. Well, almost everything. It’s been killing me to hide these secrets from him, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up.

I pull my hood over my head and tuck any stray pieces of hair inside of it before setting off down the road. While my hands are still near my face, I reflexively graze the long scar running down the left side of my face with my fingertips. The scar has long been healed and continues to fade as the years pass, but I never ceased being self-conscious about it. Numerous people have off-handedly shortened my first name Scarlett to Scar, and I correct them every time. Perhaps it’s overly sensitive of me, but that nickname is a reminder that the first thing people see when they look at me isn’t my kind smile, my freckles, or my strikingly blue eyes. People always zero in on the scar running from my forehead all the way down to my jawline.

Damon is the only one allowed to call me “Scar,” and that’s because when I corrected him, he forced me to tell him why. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he countered that the first thing he noticed when he saw me wasn’t my scar. It was my scowl. He said that I looked frighteningly serious for a child my age, and knew from the first second that he had to be my friend.

When people ask me how I got my scar, I tell them that it was from when I played swords with another child who accidentally swiped my face with the blade. This is yet one of many lies I’ve told Damon.

Another lie I told only a few minutes ago was that I’m meeting my grandpa at his apothecary shop. I’m not.

In fact, a lie I’ve been telling Damon since the day we met is that the old man I live with is my grandfather. In reality, he’s my father. The trouble is, our age gap is so pronounced that no one would believe me if I said he was my father, so we fabricated this lie ages ago.

Oh, and where am I actually meeting my father tonight?

The Valley.

That’s right, because the biggest lie I ever told Damon was that I, Scarlett Prescott, am a human. The truth, if you can believe it, is that I am an undercover dragon. A dragon in hiding. A big, scaly dragon like those we used to hear tales of in bedtime stories, only I spend my days parading around as a pretty, harmless looking nineteen year old human girl.

That scar on my face isn’t from a pretend sword fight gone wrong. It’s from the day I discovered that I am actually a dragon, and that those vibrant medicines my father instructed me to swallow every day were to keep me in the form of a human. One day as a child I forgot to take the medicine and he neglected to remind me, and I was innocently playing in the field when the most surreal thing happened.

A fire churned deep inside of me and expanded rapidly until it completely seized hold of me. Bright, blazing flames consumed my body and when a horrified scream ripped from my throat, fire poured out along with it. I couldn’t understand why every bone and muscle was electrified with searing heat and pain until I saw that my body had completely transformed. Razor sharp claws, a tail, scales that glistened white, wings as dark as obsidian, and the same startlingly blue eyes that looked all at once beautiful and threatening.

Terror racked my unfamiliar body and every time I screamed it came out as a deafening roar accompanied by a puff of flames. I didn’t understand that being a dragon means living with fire in your bones, and you must learn to master it. I also didn’t understand that being a dragon means your very existence is a threat to human civilization, although that’s a lesson it only took me a matter of minutes to learn.

My father was working in his apothecary shop over a mile down the road, so first I ran to a kind middle-aged man named Tobias who owned a potato farm next to our cottage. Running was cumbersome since I was much larger and galloping on all fours, but in my panic I didn’t care.

The look on Tobias’ face when he saw me sent my heart plummeting. It was the most distressing mixture of abhorrence and terror in his eyes that is forever scorched into my memory. I tried to speak, but all that came out was fire and a horrific sound. He must have thought I was going to hurt him, or at least that a creature like me didn’t deserve to live, because he attacked me.

Tobias, likely petrified, hurled stones at me, screamed vulgarities, and when he got ahold of his sword he didn’t hesitate to strike me in the face. Time moved in slow motion as his sharp metal blade sliced open my strange, scaly skin and the most unexpected shade of violet poured out from the gash. I never knew pain like that, not at such a young age, and I didn’t know how to react to the warm, sticky blood streaming out from my forehead down my face, and dripping onto a growing purple puddle on the grass. When I cried out in pain, the flames from my mouth caught fire on Tobias’ clothes, which distracted him long enough for me to dash back home in a mess of blood and tears.

Everybody in the village heard my roaring, and my father instinctively knew to come running straight to our cottage. He found his daughter in her dragon form which he hadn’t seen since she was born, and his expression was one of awe and pity. I sobbed and bled profusely as he administered my medicine, and gradually the fire inside me dwindled and I returned to my human body. He sewed up my wounds and bandaged me up, but there was nothing he could do for the confusion and aching in my heart.

That was when my father explained to me that dragons, although thought to be long extinct, have been in hiding for centuries. A special substance was created after many years of testing that allowed our kind to have the appearance of humans and live alongside them.

“But why do we have to hide?” I asked with an acute sorrow, not comprehending how my true identity could be inherently wicked.

“Because of this, my love,” he said, gesturing to the ghastly laceration striping down the left side of my small face. “Humans view us as something to fear, and so, they hunt us.”

I was only seven at the time, but I understood. I never again wanted to see a person look at me the way Tobias did. Like I was a monster. An object of loathing. And I felt like a monster again when I saw Tobias the next day, suffering from burns on his skin after my fire breath singed him. He had no idea that this child was the cause of his suffering, and I couldn’t ever apologize. But the guilt I was afflicted with also felt unjust, because I never would have been in the position to injure Tobias if he hadn’t viciously attacked me first.

That was the first time I contemplated what it is that truly makes a monster. What can appearances have to do with anything, when beautiful people can possess hearts that are twisted and cruel? Maybe if we dared to peer inside a monster’s heart, we’d find that beneath the surface isn’t a monster at all. I refuse to believe that a pair of wings and dragon scales are enough to condemn me as a heinous villain destined for evil.

For several years after that incident, I took my medicines religiously and was determined to never present in my true form again. But a change unfolded within me that day that I could never undo. Every single day, every moment, and with every heartbeat, I felt that fire sleeping deep inside of me, begging to wake up. It grew hotter the more it was silenced, clawing its way to the surface and threatening to destroy me. It broke me down. Denying that fire for so long was like denying myself, and I no longer knew how to live on this earth as a lie.

A couple of years ago, I decided to embrace being a dragon in the dark of night, and asked my father to teach me. It’s been a gradual process, but he’s instructing me how to develop my dexterity, fly, regulate my fire breathing, and control when I switch between dragon and human bodies.

We’re not the only dragons in the world, or even the only dragons in the village. Dozens of us from this village and nearby ones run free in the Valley, since it is unfrequented and isolated. There is trouble brewing, though, on a few accounts. For one, we’ve recently discovered that with continual use, some of our kind have built up a tolerance to the medicines. My father and I have been developing and testing new concoctions that might work, but the trial process has been making both of us ill. Second, many all around the world have expressed frustration with remaining in our human forms, and are considering a change. What change might that be? To cease taking the medicines, abandon their human bodies altogether, and live freely as dragons once again.

My father, of course, is duly anxious over these rumblings. He knows that with such a decision comes a high risk of violence, as the humans are likely to wage war against us. I agree with my father on this regard, thanks to my own experiences. And still, the prospect of being free to be myself and never having to quiet this fire in my bones is thrilling.

The third problem is that humans all over the world have been alerted to our presence, and are already eager to decimate our population. I don’t know how to solve this predicament either, especially since my own best friend is one of them.

“What’s the matter?” my father shouts at me when he spots me approaching. My expression must have hardened as I ruminated on these events, but maybe I can pass it off as though I was merely scowling at the cold. My father’s white hair whips around in the wind, but the rest of him looks calm and still. He reminds me of a tree, my father. A strong, stable tree with impressive roots and branches that has been alive for centuries. In contrast, as a dragon he’s formidable, with a giant stature, black and silver body, blood red wings, and golden eyes.

“Nothing,” I yell back. It takes a while to hike up to our meeting place overlooking the Valley, and I wish I had time to eat something beforehand. My stomach is gnawing with hunger, but I know as soon as I shed my humanlike facade I won’t even notice. When I’m glowing with fire and flying with my incredible wings, nothing else in this world matters. It’s the most breathtaking experience, being free like that.

The gray clouds above are no longer dousing the earth with rain, but I hop around in my black boots to watch the grass squish out water and mud with every step. The fresh air is bracing and stings my cheeks, making me feel alive. Looking down on the Valley from up here, the river running the length of it looks small and inconsequential, as if its raging waters couldn’t drown me in an instant. Rocks line the river, and give way to a stretch of green grass and shrubs before the steep incline of the small mountain begins. Birds soar overhead, and I close my eyes for a moment, longing with everything I have to be flying up there with them.

Today I’m practicing flight, which requires a tremendous amount of skill. Experienced dragons with strong wings can take off flying from ground level, but I have to start off at a high peak and fall a bit to gain momentum first. Right now the Valley is free of other dragons, but I suspect that will change soon.

“Are you ready?” My father asks me with excitement glinting in his eyes. He shines with a special kind of fatherly pride whenever he sees his real daughter, not the one who looks like the humans who once hunted him.

“I’m always ready,” I reply with unrestrained enthusiasm.

I tap into my energy, igniting my fire, and successfully change myself into a magnificent dragon. The transformation is easier with the help of our modified medicine dosage, and every time it’s visceral and dazzling like a resurrection. Fire ripples through my body, searing through my veins and fueling me with an incredible power. My size has tripled since that frightful day when I was seven, and every day I’m growing stronger and fiercer.

My father nods approvingly before I take a few deep breaths, bracing myself, and take off sprinting towards the cliff’s edge. My lungs constrict as I push off with my legs and swing my weight into the air. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I fall down, down, down. Right on time, my wings splay out and catch the wind gracefully until I’m gliding at an easy angle.

I can’t help but giggle out of pure elation as the wind kisses my scales and hugs my outstretched wings. My body surges with a glittering fire, and it’s an intoxicating kind of intensity. Ahead of me are those birds that seemed out of reach moments ago, and now they’re flying along with me, completely undisturbed by my presence. And why should they be? To them, I’m only another creature with wings who loves to fly.

I bat my wings harder to fly up at a steeper incline, only to swoop down sharply like I’m diving into a lake during the summertime. I’ll never get over the picturesque view of the Valley from this height. The ravishing green all over, and the gentle blue of the rushing river below. It’s perfect up here. I have no insecurities, no fears, no problems whatsoever. I yell out in uncontainable joy, and bask in the warmth from my throat and mouth when flames escape. Suddenly, though, I’m yelling for another reason.

A blinding pain strikes me in the side, piercing deep into my scaly flesh. My vision blurs and my blood curdling shriek reverberates throughout the Valley. I’m seeing stars and struggling to fly straight when a vile sound makes my stomach turn. Laughter. Cheering. I see all too late that below me in the valley is a huddle of a dozen people watching me with a lust for violence flashing in their faces. They’re carrying weapons, and out of the corner of my eye I notice an arrow sticking out of my abdomen. An arrow. Oh my god. I was shot.

Disbelief tears through me all at once. How did an arrow manage to puncture my scales? Then I remember my father telling me that while adult dragon scales function like armor, mine wouldn’t be fully hardened for at least another year.

My head spins and my thoughts are trickling in too slowly when another arrow stabs into my shoulder, and again I’m roaring in anguish. Everything goes dark for a few seconds and before I know it I’m plummeting straight for the river. Enthralled whoops erupt from the group of savages as I plummet towards my demise. My inner flames flicker helplessly and leave me empty before I go limp and surrender to the harrowing fall.

Ice cold water bashes into my aching body and swallows me up in its vicious current in one giant gulp. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I’ve returned to my human form, which is fortunate considering this river is much too shallow to accommodate the impact of my larger dragon body. My delicate human skin is raw and freezing, and with my head above the water for a split second I gasp for air before I’m yanked under the surface again. I flail my limbs and try to ignore the searing pain from those arrows lodged in my body, and I think I’m screaming but I can’t hear a thing. A large rock comes swiftly into view, so I swim towards it with all my strength and grab ahold. It’s slippery but I manage to cling on for dear life and resist being pulled along with the river. I cough up water, my lungs screaming in pain, and take stock of my surroundings.

The river has dragged me around a small bend blocked by trees where the bloodthirsty barbarians can’t see me, so I use my good arm to hurl myself onto the rocky river bank and stagger over to dry land. I know my father would order me not to remove the arrows from my body until I can wrap up the wound, so I exercise all the self control I can muster and leave them there. Pain pulses around the arrows and I start to tremble in shock. Over the roar of the river I hear a murmuring mob approaching quickly with determined footfalls and I hastily crouch down to hide behind a large pile of rocks.

“Where did it go?” One voice asks, evidently craving to see the proof of my dead body with his own eyes.

“It must have drowned in the river,” another voice replies.

“Shame. I’d love to burn that grotesque dragon corpse myself.”

My reaction is visceral and I think I’m about to be sick. I know I’m not really a human, but at this moment I have far more humanity than they do. For goodness’ sake, I live with these people in the village every day. I’m kind, I mind my own business, and I get along with everybody. What did I ever do to them? If they paid more attention, they might have recognized me. Even in my dragon form, the resemblance is uncanny with identical coloring, my same eyes, and the scar running down the left side of my face.

“Hey, let’s not lose sight here!” a man shouts with sickening pride. “We did it! We killed a dragon!” I realize a second later that this voice belongs to Ethan Myers, the same blond boy who followed me around at school and blushed whenever I looked at him. The same boy who stood up for me when kids made fun of my scar and made me cry. Would he be repulsed if he knew what I really am?

Tears sting my eyes as they all clap and cheer over my supposed death, and it’s like I’m living in a nightmare. I’m shaking violently now, and I don’t know whether it’s from pain, the freezing cold, or the turmoil of emotions pummeling me.

“Hey, you didn’t kill it,” someone interjects.

“That’s right, that’s right,” Ethan replies all too eagerly. “That credit goes to the one and only Damon Bishop. Let’s give a hand to our hero!”

Yips and hollers break out in the group as everyone cheers on the one name that sends me reeling. Damon.

The commotion fades into the distance as they head back towards the village, but I’m frozen still with shock.

No. Please no.

It was Damon who shot those arrows.

Damon, my best friend, tried to murder me tonight.

Tears stream down my face as I register the magnitude of this throbbing in my shoulder and abdomen, not to mention the gaping chasm in my chest. It doesn’t feel real. I wish with all my might that I could undo the last ten minutes and never have to live with the knowledge that I suffered the worst night of my life -at the hands of the person I love most in the world besides my father.

It seems my secrets and lies have finally caught up with me in the worst possible way.

When I’m certain they have retreated a safe distance away, I stand up from my crouched position. The world around me spins and I instantly panic. Something is wrong. Everything feels off, and it’s more than the blood loss. That’s when it dawns on me that the arrows must have been coated with some sort of poison. Of course. No ordinary arrow could bring down a dragon like that. I grimace and hold my breath as I yank out the first arrow, then the second. Just as I suspected, there is a sickly green residue on the arrowhead from a substance I’ve never seen before.

Violet blood gushes from my injuries as I take a couple of staggering steps and an alarming volume puddles on the grass at my feet. My shock must be wearing off because violent shudders rack my body and once again I nearly cry out from the blinding pain. A cold rush of numbness surges through me and I’m limp, dangling on the edge of consciousness.

When I take another step forward I trip, my deadweight landing on the ground with a harsh thud. A pathetic whimper escapes my lips as the edges of my vision turn black and the darkness closes in on me. Before my lights go out, I see a pair of men's boots approaching me, and hear the familiar footfall of someone I can’t quite place in this haze.

Someone is coming for me.