Dragon, WIP.In this story, I'm the bad guy. I'm the weirdo that lives in a cave, or was it a mountaintop? My bed is made from the bones of the villagers I've slaughtered. The rumors vary. You'd never guess that this fire-breathing, scaly son of a bitch preferred vegetables to the seared flesh of innocents. Would you?In the time of The Warrior, one young woman was chosen in each village. The Warrior's sole purpose was to protect their village from the dangers of the forests and the mountains. I counted as a massive threat, emphasis on massive. It was high honor to be chosen. I watched many young women take this mantle with pride. Agatha was no different, she held her head high with pride. She wore the skins of the predators she'd killed. A warning, of sorts. None of it, however, prepared her for the day she met me.