Role

Chapter 9

In the eerie stillness of the night, Merigaeld's dreams took a sinister turn
into a realm of darkness and dread. It was a chilling nightmare, haunting her
slumber, like a shadowy omen of the past.

In this ominous vision, a grotesque and corroded dragon, its body composed of
tarnished coins, gold, copper, and silver, slithered from the depths of her
subconscious. The scales that adorned its form were glistening with the
stain of a dark, malevolent hue of blood. With a guttural hiss, the spectral
dragon exhaled a torrent of searing flames that engulfed her woodland home,
just as it had in that unforgiving reality. The white-hot inferno, unlike any
fire of this world, devoured everything in its path with malevolence.
Merigaeld, trapped in this unholy spectacle, felt the same acute
powerlessness, the same despair that had consumed her on that dreaded day.

As the dragon's fire raged, her hands pulsated with an excruciating heat, a
burning agony that mirrored the pain she had suffered. The fiery sensation
scorched her skin, and she could almost smell the acrid stench of smoldering
wood and burning memories.

Each time she awoke from this spine-chilling nightmare, it left her trembling
in the icy grip of terror, her body drenched in a cold sweat. The anguish,
the sorrow, the torment; they clung to her soul like a shroud of eternal
darkness. But with each awakening, Merigaeld found herself driven by an
unrelenting determination. The nightmare, as chilling as it was, served as a
constant reminder of her quest. It fueled her thirst for vengeance, for
retribution, and for the chance to quench the insatiable flames of her pain
in a world ready to be cured of this waking nightmare.