There is a dragon in the meeting space, and Fire Dancer cannot help but believe it to be Mirage.

It must be her, her likeness, her memory, etched forever in fragile glass. Spotted once during a gathering of the herd, the statue is remarkably prevalent in her mind. The girl has thought often and little about that dragon; it lurks, relentless, in the back of her mind, but it is a thread she is reluctant to pursue, a rabbit hole she fears traveling down. So have passed the days, the weeks- with denial and uncertainty, a false belief that if she ignores the history that binds her to this place, perhaps she can build herself anew.

This is not the case. The greater her aspiration to forget, the larger her lineage's presence becomes in her mind, until it becomes so great, so significant, that she cannot disregard it. And so at noon she slips away, her brother riding high upon her rump, her body a ray of sunlight between the misty trees, her heart thundering in her ears. She will face it today, Fire Dancer has decided; she will at last acknowledge the presence of her aunt, the influence of the DragonHeart which prevails through this land.

Except... it's small. As the girl reaches her destination her thundering heart begins to still, incredulity marking her moon-slashed face. The statue, the dragon, the creature of her dreams... it is small, insignificant, a brittle thing that barely reaches her breast, a meaningless totem, a lie. Slower now, reluctant, the pair approach, copper child peering through the braid of her forelock, shadow brother staring with alert golden gaze. It could still be her, he suggests softly- but that's the problem, is it not? All this time Tandavi has been trying to avoid the remnants of her family within this land.

But maybe this is all that's left of them, in the end.

The thought is devastating; she is crushed by it, far more than she should be, but who can blame the child? She came here hoping to find herself, to regrow roots long since neglected, only to find that new life has grown over them- that she truly is all that remains. Her mother is gone; her uncles are lost; her cousins are missing; her aunt is dead, and all that remains is a glittering statue, a poor simulacrum, a half-forgotten dream.

With shuddering breaths the girl steps forward, approaching the statue, moon-slashed head bowed; she presses her face against its cool surface, a grimace marring her delicate features, and sighs.

"It's okay, Maasi," the Fire Dancer murmurs. "I remember. I'll never forget."

________________________________________________
Open! Tandavi wants to give a history lesson on Mirage and the Qian


There is a color that shines through your skin
And the smoke filled you up
Like the moon on the wind