[Cicada]

It is said that creation began with a roar.
A loud yell; the start of a dance.
Music.

The same can be said for me.
The first noise I remember was a song; a series of singing voices that I did not recognise.
The first memory I had was one of warmth. Of love. Of compassion.
And yet; with it, ravenous hunger.

My mother took good care of me when I was born.
I was always hungry. Ravenous for knowledge.
Greedy.

Though, there are not many of my kind who were not.
I learned to walk in under a month.
I learned to read in two.
I learned to speak in three.
Yet; My greed for knowledge was unsatiated.

My boredom began to grow as a result.

It took almost a year for me to see outside.

To witness a world beyond earth and flame.

The sky I saw was beautiful.

Blue.

Cloudy.

Serene.

I longed to feel the wind on my scales.

I longed to witness the world beyond.

I longed to be part of the vast expanse before me.

I longed to see the world the dance of color had created.

Yet...

I was afraid, even in spite of my longing.

Afraid of what I would see.

Afraid of who I would witness.

Afraid of what I may become.

The first face I witnessed was a lovely one.

Different to my own.

Round, a strange nose, beady eyes.

Humans are always odd to look at.

They have no large fangs - unless they are beastkin.

They have no giant wings made of scales - unless they are drakanites.

And they do not grow as fast as we do.

No. Human lives are fast.

Exponentially fast.

So very fast.

The first conversation I had with someone was nice.

I enjoyed their company, their warmth. It sparked the flame within me quite passionately.

I was happy to see more of humanity.

Happy to see the world they populated.

Happy to see how things grew.

... The world beyond this city is horrible.

My first conversation with anyone out here was distasteful.

They speak ill of my mother.

They call her a coward.

They call my upbringing a mistake.

Yet: I am barely even two.

They claim the city I live in is a joke.

They claim I am a joke.

They compare me to another.

Constantly.

Endlessly.

Yet: Like the earth I represent, I endure.

For the flames of anger grow.

For my wrath only expands.

For my Mother deserves better.

My first interaction with my own pride lead to defeat.

Wrath met skill, and skill overcame it.

It was then that I realised how weak I am.

How fragile my body truly is.

How pitiful.

How sad.

What I thought was an ember is but a spark.

I am no inferno.

... I am not worthy of defending her honor.

Will I ever be?