Note: Fragments and line spacing used stylistically in this one-shot.
My name is Cynder.
I am strong; I am agile. I could kill you with a flick of my tail, seduce you in a few words, or drive you insane by opening my mouth. Stealth is my forte, for anywhere you may cast a shadow, I can and will be.
I am mated to the legendary purple dragon, Spyro. If he told me you were to be killed, your life would end before he could next draw breath.
My name is Cynder, and I have spent the past few hours crying.
The majority of my life has been spent causing this world, and those who inhabit it, pain. Unspeakable, unfathomable pain. Pain that lasts, pain that permeates all other emotion, pain that bring about the end. City, village, family individual, all were crushed by my hand but not my will. And...I loved it; no, I love it.
I hate this love, but still a love it is.
Once freed, I weaned myself from it for a time. I was weaker then, and needed to rediscover my ability to fight. But when you are in danger, it comes easily and naturally. Knocking around Malefor's pitiful army fulfilled my need, along with...giving Spyro a little trouble at the start. Thinking about the battles ahead made me shudder; fighting was ecstasy and resting just a forced period of waiting.
Waiting to feel another being cowering beneath me.
Waiting to tear into flesh with my claws and teeth, to have the blood of my foes fuel the onslaught.
Waiting for the dull thud of a fallen enemy, and for the sharp crack as I cleaved their skull in two.
But it was over.
For threes months I was stagnant. Despite my reluctance, I started enjoying my time relaxing alone, being with Spyro, or crowded amongst the masses of dragons who once hated my very existence. I was at peace with myself, and everyone around me.
Last night, Spyro asked me to be his mate. I almost fainted at the very thought and after stumbling through a few words...I answered by tackling him to the ground and drawing him into a kiss. We mated and finalized our love...forever.
Then I nipped at him.
He was surprised at first and a little thrown off, but he liked it. So...I tried again only a little harder, continually biting at his neck. And I drew a little blood. The taste of it...enticed me for more. I licked and sucked at it, drawing out as much sustenance as I could get. Spyro...he started making sensual sounds which encouraged me to continue...and so I did. Slowly, the wound began to widen and his moaning grew with it.
Still he asked for more, and I wasn't going to disappoint him.
I targeted a few soft spots beneath his limbs that I knew from exploration of myself, and my past experience in...harming dragons, and slowly pushed in with my claws. He groaned and began to shake uncontrollably, and I laughed.
I laughed because of the noises he made. I laughed because I was enjoying it. I laughed because he was in pain...
If I had realized that this would happen...I would have stopped.
But I didn't stop.
I've been telling myself it was adrenaline, or was fueled by pent up tension, but I know the truth.
I wanted to do it.
I needed to do it.
As his moans turned into screams, I became elated. By the time I shoved my claws through the thin layer of scales beneath his limbs, he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Whether he was getting any enjoyment did not concern me as his blood ran through my claws. The dominant thought in my mind was how wonderful it felt...wonderful to cause pain and to reap its rewards.
I fell to the side, and he fell limp. Looking up at my blood-soaked claws, I was content, happy, ecstatic. My body shook and my breathing was heavy. The smell of blood filled my nostrils.
And Spyro was dead.