[being rewritten for the 1938473th time]
If it was up to Y/n L/n, she would read the summer away, lost in history books and adventure novels, finding excitement in their written words.
Meeting Lloyd Garmadon changed her plans.
Suddenly, Y/n is l...
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why is so hard to go from one thing into another? do you imagine your condition worse than it is? do you compare yourself to figures of mythology? your metamorphosis must be close at hand
•••••
TW: blood, mentions of vomit
The monastery's roof was disguised by the starless night and hidden amongst the dark canopy of the forest below us. I hadn't known we'd arrived until Lloyd's dragon began to descend.
I was quiet as I held tight to the saddle's pommel before me. I could feel the blood dripping from my ears and nose, but I respected the height we were flying at too much to tempt fate and wipe at them. Not that Fate would let me die, probably. It seemed that I was shackled by it just as much as Lloyd was.
I suppose my insecurities can't hit me with the 'you're a faker' line anymore, if these powers are anything to go by.
That was a relief, I guess, but it was vastly overshadowed by the pounding migraine living behind my eyes. It took everything in me not to keel over the saddle and pass out. I could at least have the dignity to do that on solid ground, thank you very much.
The dragon landed with a quiet crunch of gravel and a shake of its head, leaving a trail of glowing mist to disperse into the air like green stars. The forest was silent, I noticed, while taking in the monastery at three in the morning. Usually I could hear all kinds of critters and summer insects. Now all I could hear was the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of a morepork. I couldn't decide whether I liked this extra-quiet scene or found it disarming.
Lloyd helped me down from the saddle and a pained whimper escaped me when my already-raw feet touched the stones. He looked down at them and sighed. "Oh, sunshine."
"Everything hurts," I murmured. His dragon nudged my elbow with a grumble before promptly disappearing while Lloyd scooped me up to save my scraped toes. "Is this normal for prophecies? Is being controlled like that normal?"
At Lloyd's uncomfortable silence, I dryly sobbed in defeat and tucked my head under his chin. Great - I definitely wasn't a faker but I was still a huge mess either way. I hoped I wasn't getting blood on his gi. Then I realised that it was already tattered and bloodied, anyway. Actually, how hurt was he?
"We'll sort it out," Lloyd promised as he ascended the stairs to the entrance. "We've dealt with worse things."
"I was having such a nice sleep, too," I said quietly.
