A smudge of darkness stands beneath the storm above them, around them. A barely audible sound echoed from the maw of the golden lizard dancing upon the violent winds above her. She was careful in her flight, though she looked haphazard and unsteady, she was controlled, sure not to let the zephyrs take her too high lest they steal all of the control away from her strong, leathery wings. Thunder rumbled, a sound akin to the vibrations of a large dragon's growl.

But the only dragon upon the scene, for the moment, was Akaith. Below her, her bonded stood squarely upon sturdy, yet limber, legs. Golden eyes observed the unknown little horned creature before her, under different circumstances she might have been cruelly amused at his plight, watching as the grasses of the Thistle Meadow nearly swallow him whole, while she stands with her elegant tiara held above the obscuring grasses, waiting for his first move. The pale outline of his mane give her something to track, to keep a hold upon in this dull, overcast setting. Akaith, her eyes above the ground, used a similar technique, feeding the information she gleamed directly to her beloved's beautiful mind.

Suddenly, her view of him is obscured. No Meadow takes residence in her surrounds, but a maze, a deep and wondrous creation no doubt as twisted and convoluted as the mind which orchestrated it. A flinch sends vibrations, nerves firing all at once, up her spine - but her hooves did not moved, only the muscles holding her frame upright shuddered in its containment of the need to flee. It startled her, but it did not scare her, for Akaith was still in the skies above, and able to aid her in noticing the failings of this masterpiece.

Dank, rotten stenches curled her nostrils, but as the seconds dripped by and allowed her to absorb her surrounds, the flaws of his design became more and more apparent. A smile curved her lips, there were no shadows here; none except for herself, of course.

But the magic of illusion that the mare possessed was not to be activated here, now - no, the mare did not wish to fight Light with Light. She was going to go with a far more direct method.

Akaith warbled above her, the call barely discernible amidst a peal of thunder that decided to simultaneously make itself known amongst the skies above. The storm, and the colt's own illusion, would hide the mare as she prepared herself for the next steps. Tiara bowed deep as she called upon the Darkness within her, legs folding as pain consumed her. It was the price of the magic, the crippling agony that was comparable to one being devoured by ravenous, voracious flames.

Seconds more passed, then a deep grumbling rolled over the lands. The main difference between this thunder and the storm's around them - this thunder travelled through the ground. Wings were spread, golden, glittering even in the dull, overcast light. They passed through the illusion set by the colt, the strange, warming sensation going through them as the stretch was performed. A broad, toothy grin was given, and a dragon's laughter was heard from the middle of this maze.

The golden queen rose then, wingbeats thrashing against the storm. It was difficult for her to gain altitude, harder still to maintain it. A frown created sharp angles along her scaled face, the effort annoyed her. Not nearly high enough off the ground, but with enough strength to propel herself forward, towards the unicorn, Mirage's muscular bulk dove through his illusion, the ground rushing up swiftly beneath her, her clawed legs made trenches as she grappled for traction. But this was her intention, to stir up the earth, to scare the colt into peeing himself silly, and bow down to her without ever needing to lay a claw upon him.

Wings flared as the halt was made before him, but though her bulk stilled its motion, the debris and dirt around her that her actions had stirred up were undoubtedly being carried by the stormy winds, battering both his and her frames. It mattered little to the dragon; her hide was covered in golden armour now. Massive, elongated tail swept over the earth, and the dragon crouched low, appearing to be a cat, preparing to pounce upon its delectable prey.

[ 730 words.
Mirage is surprised by his illusion, but with Akaith’s help, sees through its flaws and transforms herself into a dragon. Flying partly through and over the illusion, she lands quite roughly in front of him and prepares herself to pounce on him. ]

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.]