Speckled dots of sunlight danced across the air, illuminating the fingers of a young girl. Her cheeks were still fresh with a sense of youthful chubbyness, and they pushed up in little mounds as she smiled, tracing her twice-broken crayon along a fresh sheet of paper. She was enchanted by the colored wax figures that she scribbled across the pages. Each one a new adventure, a new dream- or sometimes nightmare- come true. The dappled sunlight gave the drawings a whole new magical life to them; Although the true source may have been the mysterious glow eminating from her eyes. An erie green that looked impossible coming from her shimmering blue irises. But there it was; sending a subtle glow throughout her small chamber. Illuminating the small bed, the padded walls, her stack of papers and her crayons, and the tiny chair that the nice lady sat in whenever she came to visit. The asylum didn’t know what to do with her. With the silly little girl who laughed at them, when they thought they could control her. Th

e silly little girl who drew tornados and then made them happen. Who drew knights- and then knights were. Whose scribbled pictures became the very flesh and bone around her. The little girl who called herself a god and- sometimes- seemed like one. She looked down at the paper and smiled. The great red dragon smiled back.