Once upon a time there was a girl. She was perfectly fine, this girl, and she loved to sing and make music. One day when the girl was reading in a meadow, a great and malicious dragon crashed down into the field of flowers. Knowing only that the creature seemed hurt, the girl rushed to its aid. The dragon shot out a heavy claw and caught the girl around the middle, chuckling in a deep-throated rumble. Startled, the girl began to struggle, but could not escape the dragon’s fierce grip. Righting itself, the dragon took to the skies, its prisoner in her clawed cage.
The dragon dropped the girl on the balcony of a tall, tall tower and flew off almost immediately, his chuckle like rocks being ground into dust. Frantically the girl searched for some means of escape, but found none. When she tried the stairs, she ran down, down down—much farther than the tower seemed to extend from the air. But when she returned to the room, it was just around the corner. Helplessly the girl flopped down; she was alone with no help, no food, and not even a book to read.
The days went on and the girl found that she felt no desire to eat—only a heap of boredom reached her emotion-receptors, and that was no use. For hours she would sit on the balcony of her prison and scan the skies for the great and terrible dragon that had dropped her here, but it was in vain; all she saw was a great flock of birds, hundreds and hundreds flying about, of all sorts.
The girl could watch those birds forever—so graceful, so strong, so free. Often she considered jumping out into the great expanse to soar with them, but she never had the courage. One morning, however, the girl awoke to a surprise.
“Hello,” said the one who had appeared in her room by magic.
“Hi,” the girl replied warily. “Who are you?”
“I...don’t know,” the new person answered. “Who are you?”
“I asked you first!” retorted the girl, looking the newcomer over. Her gaze strayed to the mirror where she saw the same person. It took a moment for the girl to realize that she was staring at her own reflection; she rarely bothered to look in the mirror, as her eyes were always turned toward the sky.
The newcomer’s gaze followed hers to the mirror, and she stepped up to it. The two stood, side by side, peering into the reflective glass. “So...we’re the same?” It was the newcomer who spoke first.
“Almost like...twins,” the girl agreed. “Identical twins.”
The twin was the girl’s faithful companion for the days—the weeks—to come, and they grew close. What better friend can one have than their own self?
A hawk had taken to visiting them, sitting just on the railing of the balcony. It would watch the twins for hours, studying them, and then fly away. They saw the dragon for the first time in forever—five days after the hawk began surveying the girls. They both had their theories, but they had one point in common: the dragon was jealously guarding its prize.
There came about a time where there were not two girls in the balconied tower, but three. The girl who had been snatched by the dragon awoke to see another girl, red-headed and small, perched bird-like on the railing of the balcony.
“Hello,” said the redhead.
“Hello,” replied the girl. She peeked at her twin, who was still sleeping, and compared her to the redhead. “You’re not a twin.”
“No, I’m not,” the redhead replied, green eyes twinkling.
“Are you another Magical?” For that was what the girl secretly called her twin.
“No.” Crinkles at the edges of those green eyes told of amusement.
“Who are you, then?” As much as the girl had wanted to say “what are you,” she knew “who” was more polite.
“I’m Hawk.”
How strange. “Like the bird?”
A smile. “Exactly like the bird.”
“Oh.” By now her twin had been woken by the conversation.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“Hawk,” she answered.
“Hi Hawk.”
“Hello.” They all sat there rather awkwardly for a moment, and then the twin spoke up.
“So will you be staying long, Hawk?” she asked awkwardly.
“No longer than you,” Hawk answered.
What was that supposed to mean? The girl opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a savage roar. “The dragon!”
Hawk leapt down from her perch and stood protectively in front of the twins. “You can’t have then this time!” she shouted fiercely, small in the face of the beast that passed so close—too close.
“What are you doing?!” the girl cried.
“You’re insane!” the twin shouted.
“Hurry, jump!” Hawk ordered, pointing to the empty sky beyond the railing.
This one is definitely crazy! the girl told herself, backing away from the balcony and into the tower; her twin followed, accusing, “You led the dragon here! We didn’t see it until that hawk started showing up!”
Realization dawned on the girl’s face; in a world of dragons and magical twins, a bird who could turn into a girl wouldn’t go amiss. “You’re the bird,” she said aloud. “You’re literally a hawk.”
The redhead nodded and gestured back to the balcony. “Good job. Now, we’ve got to go! That dragon could be back any—”
As if it had been summoned, the dragon landed on the roof of the tower. Its claws dug into the tiles, showering them onto the desolate plains far below. Its great and ugly head snaked into the room and blew smoke at the girls; Hawk had jumped in front of the twins to protect them once more. It was clear that the dragon wanted to roast the redhead with its flame—and even eat her—but wouldn’t dare harming its prisoners.
Hawk drew a knife from her belt, handed it to the twin, and then heaved the nearest chair at the dragon’s head. The wooden seat shattered against its snout, and a deafening roar issued from its mouth. With a shrill war cry of her own the redhead darted forward and picked up a splintered chair leg, wielding it like a rapier. “En garde, dragon!”
The redhead was certainly a sight to see as she danced around the dragon’s head, ducking under its snapping teeth and stabbing at its massive ruby eyes. At one point she disappeared, having scrambled up the dragon’s neck. It roared in fury and the twins covered their ears, watching as the great head retreated to fight its opponent on the roof. “Go! Not! Jump and spread your arms!” they heard Hawk shout. “Trust me!” The dragon roared again.
The twin—once a doubter and now changed, seeing how far this stranger would go to save them—tucked the dagger away and grabbed the girl’s hand. “Come on, we need to go.”
“You’re going to trust her?” The girl was confused and pulled her hand away, searching her twin’s eyes. Sure, she had long ago daydreamed about jumping, but dreaming was far different than doing.
“She’s risking her life every second we waste,” the twin said urgently; her eyes were dead serious.
“Alright.” The girl took her twin’s hand again and gave a nod. “Let’s go.”
Together they ran forward, hopped over the balcony, and spread their arms. Instantly they morphed into a pair of petrels, wings finding purchase in the air to carry them higher and higher. A quick glance back told them that Hawk was following, flapping quickly to catch up. Unfortunately, so was the dragon.
“Fly, fly!” Hawk called, urging them to go faster, faster. A loud roar shook the skies and warned that the dragon wasn’t too far behind. In a heartbeat they could feel its hot, scalding breath on singeing their tail feathers,
“How do you change back?” the twin shouted, straining to be heard above the wind.
“Just close your wings and fall,” Hawk answered warily; what was this girl thinking?
“I love you,” the twin whispered to the girl, then separated from her fellow escapees. Pumping her wings furiously, she ascended and let the dragon catch up with her so that she was positioned directly over the beast. With a final glance at her sister, the twin snapped her wings shut and plummeted.
Her momentum carried her forward a little—just enough to land on the dragon’s back. Gripping a spine with both hands (fortunately she had landed between the sharp spikes that accentuated the dragon’s spine) and squeezing tight with her legs, she held on as it swooped and tried to throw her off. The dragon barrel-rolled, unseating the twin. She fell, only to catch hold of the dragon’s foreclaw. As to assist her, the dragon scooped her up in its claw—it didn’t want to lose its prize.
The twin drew the dagger Hawk had given her--how had she known the twin would have the courage to use it?—and, through the bar-like claws of her cage, plunged it into the dragon’s breast. Oh, how the beast roared. It spat fire and twisted like a puppet played by a mad marionette, wings folding like sails. The creature held the twin in a death grip, squeezing her tight. She did not cry out; she had accepted her fate when she jumped off that balcony. The girl, on the other hand, hadn’t.
“No!” the girl screamed, pulling her wings in tight and transforming, dropping through the air like a rock of flesh and blood after her twin, here sister, her very best friend.
Without any hesitation Hawk dove after her, wind tearing at her just-changed red hair. “She gave her life for you!” she cried, latching onto the girl. “Don’ just throw yours away!”
“It’s no use, it’s no use!” The girl was sobbing, arms hugged tightly to her body. No matter how hard Hawk tried, she would not let the redhead pry her arms away from her; she didn’t want to be saved.
“She would want you to live!” Hawk yelled desperately—they were awfully close to the ground, and the girl’s arms wouldn’t budge.
“It won’t be the same without her!”
“I know, but just think! Live the life she wanted to live, and she’ll never leave you!” Hawk hesitated, then looked the girl in the eyes. “I would know! I had a twin too, and she sacrificed herself for me—only she didn’t slay the dragon. I had to live on knowing that her death went unpaid for. But now—your twin has saved us both.” Her voice broke, and her eyes were full of tears. “We can both be free!”
Something resonated in the girl and she allowed Hawk to spread her arms; they were both soaring through the sky, rising on a warm current.
“We’re sisters now,” Hawk said earnestly, one flooded with relief, “bound together by loss and hardship, but sisters all the same.”
The girl took one last long look at the dragon’s corpse, lying like a prostrated ant on the desolate plains below. Somewhere underneath that hulking carcass was her twin, but she wouldn’t think about it like that. She felt her twin’s spirit rising, ascending to be with her, to dance in the winds that caressed her feathers and held her aloft. The girl breathed in, and a sweet scent entered her nostrils; a real smile graced her features. “I think I’d like that.”
ns 15.158.61.41da2
