2024-06-23 - [ 2-3 ] a tender shoot

The slow crescendo of draconic cognition left the notion of physicality—as in the actual vessel that housed the soul—almost like an afterthought at first. As sure as there were certainties in life, things moved in rhythms, requiring intense attention from the tiny flame of its mind and everything else (even its own body) became and afterthought.

Sometimes mother was here, sometimes not. It had grown accustomed to such events, as mother had always reliably (thankfully, mercifully, miraculously!) returned. It was terrifying the first time, but the worries had gradually crystallized into a sort of rare clarity—surreal moments of self-reflection that it was somehow unable to attain while the euphoria of its mother’s presence blotted out most of its complicated thoughts.

During one such absence, it became very apparent that the dreamer was not actually incorporeal. It realized that, in fact, it was a lot more like mother than it had dared to imagine before. This was a sublime discovery! How could it have missed this before? The colors of its prismatic mind now fluttered and pulsed in time with the first meaningful movements in its short life, adrift in the egg and testing these new sensations. How wonderful it was to move about!

These… other things, however? They would, of course, require further, more intense consideration.