Royalcore High Fantasy Queen and Baby Dragon Painting

Dragon Priestess

"If you are meant to serve her, you will know. Even from inside the egg she will let you know you have been chosen."

A line of adolescent girls attempt to be still and serene.The act of it makes the elder priestesses smile, an offering up to the children they had once been. "As some of you are no doubt aware, there have been signs and visions that cannot be ignored. If you are to be her priestess you will know. If you are to truly be hers, we will all know." Only the eldest of the priestesses had had a grandmother who remembered when one had been owned by a dragon. Or even when the last dragon had been born. Each child trembled with the possibility of doing more then warming, watching, and reporting each tremble and movement from inside the shell for the interpretations of the high priestess. Every one of them trembled in wait and fear of sitting on the Dragon Throne.

The first girl to hold the egg, her hands out the tremors can be felt by every priestess who had come before her. The child smiled and giggled a little. The priestesses smiled warmly at

her and all the others who would join their group. Each of the girls smiling at the warmth and small joyful movements and then, then there was what the eldest had expected.

After everything had happened, the soft smiles the hum of the expected the sound of a crack circled the room. It was a shared silence a pause. The priestess holding out the egg had a single moment to hand it to the child in front of her. She almost did. Her hands erected to drop the egg in those small rosy palms, but those hands, the girl's hands retreated deep in her tunic. The egg rocked until both her hands had to surround it. The priestess turned to her sisters light shining from her cupped hands, her face only a darkened silhouette.

The next crack echoed. The room had emptied of breath, then one purple wing edged out between the priestess' fingers.

The girl who would have been, could have been, the chosen one dropped to pick up the shell. She turned it over in her hand and knew with every cell that she was desperately grateful. She would go home. She would form. She would come to the House of the Dragon and like her life in servitude of none but herself and hero The priestess, and to be fair, many others wondered if she had truly been chosen because it was her or because it was time. In the centuries that followed she would ask the same question.