Curse to Respite

"You're just a hatchling."
"A hatchling!"
"Why can't you learn how to grow up!?"
"Your parents never cared for you, why should we?"
Hooked claws scored the stone wall of an already-scarred wall. Deep grooves tore into the stone like a loaf of bread splitting beneath a blade, pebbles scattering across the solid, equally scarred floor.
"You're not a hatchling. You're LOWER than one!"
"No wonder why your parents left you!"
A thunderous roar, wracked with rage and agony, screeched throughout the fiery pits of the lair. It echoed repeatedly, bounding and rebounding, until it sounded like there was a full chorus of suffering reptilian beasts.
"Stay here. You won't be able to handle the fight."
The voice of her parents permeated her mind. She slid to the ground in a heap of shaking emerald scales. Her long, thin jaw, sporting hooked, overlarge teeth, lay partially open on the floor. Thick clouds of black smoke emitted from the dragon's jaws upon each exhalation. One gold eye, rounded out in emotional pain, stared up at the ceiling without really noticing it was there. Her claws grasped at the stone floor, and then let go... only to clench again over the rocks cleaved from her own lair by her violent actions. Liquid shimmered in her eyes, and strung down her scaled cheeks in long lines. But even now, at the bottommost rung of her life, she refused to let a sob escape her.
Another bout of rage bore the stocky, muscular myrmidon up to her claws. She slammed her side against the walls, and then slumped, flanks heaving, panting for a breath. It was then that the spirits started to drift in on her, again. Black runes lit up along her wings and spine, shining a soft, blue-white hue. Whispering voices surrounded her, the dragon closing her eyes against them.
"No. No! Go away!" she screeched. Thick muscle compressed, pulled, and her head swung around on the short, thick neck. Overlarge teeth clacked loudly shut, the sound echoing across the walls as she attempted to bite down on those phantoms drifting around her. A smattering of scales, a glimpse of teeth... and soon she was surrounded by the ghostly figures of dragons. Rising up before her, as though silently clawing himself out of the ground, itself, reared the gargantuan form of a great red dragon. Blazing eyes of ember and flames panned down onto her, his scaled maw solemn... almost grim.
"Wake up."
"But I AM awake! Why do you keep telling me that!?" Symazok twisted forward, tail and body curling like that of a thickly built python. She reared onto hind legs to try and reach the red dragon, lifting her head up high, stretching.
"Wake up, Symazok. Wake up."
"Please. Help me! Whoever you are, tell me where to go!"
Her groping claws met nothing but air, and the spirits faded away as quickly as they had appeared. The dragon lost her balance and fell forward, golden chest scales striking the floor. She writhed around to find her balance again... though it was a very slow action in which she pushed herself up. Muscles trembled from exertion, another tear rolling down her lengthy muzzle.
Who did she have left? Only Lizet. An image of the slender, graceful black dragon appeared in her mind, and Symazok's head fell closer to the ground with the quietest hiss. Her mentor was gone, off to some realm... the maroon dragon that had been her friend, growing up, had shown no sign of remorse upon the blow that had struck Symazok down into a pool of her own blood. Who was left? Calamitosus? That black and red creature never responded to her attempts to befriend him. Dawn? That aberration of a dragon... she would not contend with outlanders anymore, not with what they meant to the land of Istaria. Deawa....
A long hiss escaped her jaws, smoke clouding around her face. It seemed only the Weaver family of Lizet and Deawa would be her recluse, now. She shuddered, immediately wanting to move forward with the urge to see them. They had never thought her inadequate, never thought her ignorant, stupid, or unworthy. So long had she struggled to rip away those words, those names pinned upon her since birth... that suffering runt of a creature whose spirit never fully attached to its body. She wanted so much to prove to her parents... prove to her friends she was worthy of the title Myrmidon. To protect her comrades, fight against a deadly foe, and win!
But as ever, she was doubted... and that struck harder than any blow from an enemy's sword could manage. She took one step towards the exit of her lair, half-collapsed from the violent battle that had tore apart her lair only hours before. But she only slumped low, and rested again on her stomach. The lonely wind of the snowy Trandalar mountains howled and whistled through the rocks above, a lonely moaning sound that permeated the dragon's already shattered mental state.
Alone in her lair, she finally gave a shudder, curling up into a ball. There, she trembled with excess energy and emotion, claws dragging along the scales of her own neck. What could she possibly do to teach them, once and for all...? She'd done all she could think of. What was left for her to fight for....?
"Wake me up. Please... wake me up, whatever that means."
Her runes flickered and began to light up again. The massive shape of a red dragon approached from the side, ghostly silent. Massive wings swung open, batting away the many other spirits that crowded around her. The great, frilled head lowered, dipping his head into the thinner one of Symazok's.
Odd shadows and colors disappeared.... and slowly, Symazok got up. The shaking had ceased. Hooked claws scraped at damaged surfaces, eyelids gently shut. As the dragon's toothy maw lifted up from the ground, she gave a long, quiet inhalation, and let it escape as a hiss that seemed as though it would never stop. Steam curled from her nostrils, dancing in the air as though all that emotional trauma was being exuded.
Her eyes slid open.
They were solid white.