Sharp, slitted eyes watch the little cretin, the emotions that draw across his face - with a snap of her head she observes him double, no triple himself, and run in all directions. A snarl curls her lip, glistening white teeth flash in the next strike of lightning that vibrates through the ground. The dragon is lit up, golden, intimidating. She stands tall, arching her magnificent, long serpentine-like nape, turning her majestic crown about to view the dance of which one, which one this little devil crafted. The dragon watches, long enough to grow frustrated, long enough to grow bored of merely watching. The dragon loses patience soon, the trio of dancers may waltz steps of war, but they do not touch - Mirage knows that for them to touch they would be exposed for the mere twists of light that they were.

She had decided before to use Darkness against the Light powers of this colt - now, she changed her mind. The dragon bent her head low, chin touching her breast, eyes clicking shut behind scaled lids - she was confident he would touch her, confident that he lived in the fear of being exposed, confident that her eyes could open swiftly at any second should she suspect he might reveal himself. As her head bowed low, it almost, almost, appeared as if she were bowing her defeat to the young buck - but this dragon was far from defeated.

Shadows, darkness, clouds of black, swirling smog crept over her, swallowing her up, consuming her, writhing into each indent of golden scale, masking her golden form from view. It was as if the black sky above them was falling down around her, even when lightning struck no light was reflected from the mass of shadows that consumed the draconic beast. The Darkness released its hold upon the dragon-mare, leaving behind a small, smudge of darkness standing amidst a stormy afternoon, watching a trio of colts dance their way about her.

Vacant, empty expressions lingered for a few moments longer, breaths passing between her nostrils - sweat congealed with the rain upon her sides, the agony of the shift causing her legs to shudder as it sent sharp spikes of nervous pain shooting along her spine. The mare took the time to recover, to watch, to try and see. Now, she was a dark mark upon the gloomy landscape as much as the colt - no, colts - were, only she was a mistress of darkness and shadow, a queen like no other.

Pain subsided, and it was as if the storm clouds within her own cranium had cleared to reveal a serene, calm picture. Though no solution as to the identification of the colts became apparent, the mare had a plan; a counterattack, as it were. A glimmer, a hint, a shadow of a smile dared to curve the edges of her velvet lips - but it lasted less than a breath's length in time, for then, with no effort at all, an illusion of her own creation cascaded over the dark, inky form. It shimmered and warped her, blurred the edges, and otherwise made invisible that which one might try to focus upon.

But focus upon her was what she wanted. So intently had all three been staring at her, so perfectly had they been crafted - Mirage wondered, would the effects of staring at her be trebled with the focus coming from triple directions? Rain battered upon her, if one could bear the ache their eyes would give them and stare at it long enough, they might see the vague outline of droplets splashing off her damp hide. Lightning flared up, revealing only shadows and confused water droplets where there stood a mirage of a beautiful mare.

Laughter pulled forth from her throat, and with a delicate step, the little illusion began to move, moving much like the seraph the colt thought her to be. With her steps, there was a purpose written in the dirt, a dance to provoke the little colt from looking, staring harder, trying to discern where she might land. Sometimes she moved closer to where the two colts danced together, other times nearer to the singular one, but all the time, moving, dancing, living. Rain pounds a beat into the earth, and it drums against her back that is hidden by the cloak of magic she wears upon her own skin - would he match her tune or choose to sing it differently?

[753 words.]