Because of my attempts to attend touchings getting ruined by RL interruptions not once but TWICE (a work emergency and then my RL SO had an emergency!) you get this vignette. She refers to the eggs by their object numbers because her numbering system is CONVENIENTLY IDENTICAL to the game's, please roll with it.
i.
She probably shouldn't have licked that one egg. It keeps coming back to her when she sleeps.
It makes sense it might be the type to haunt her, but she keeps seeing skeletons doing elaborate partnered dances in her mind when her eyes try to shut.
—
ii.
The notes Ajral made on the first three she touched, which have now been rearranged to be thirteen, eleven and nine, were almost nonsensical due to the migraine that swallowed her near-whole by the end.
Thirteen had started her mind throbbing, but she still found its tug endearing, and its pictures, while horrifying, somewhat familiar and somewhat awe-inspiring. And its need for escape? She could relate to that like nothing else. To escape and to belong, simultaneously.
Eleven broke her head wide open.
It hurt like nothing else had hurt in a long time, in a visceral sense: her sensory integration disintegrating, her childhood tendency toward migraine slamming back with enthusiasm. But it was still beautiful. But it captivated her.
And nine put her back together again: nine was simple and beautiful and whole and — okay, still gave her images of her own near-death experience and required a lot of thought, but it fixed the pain a little. Enough for her to get off the sands and write those incoherent notes.
—
iii.
one: I could stay here forever. This egg is safe. This is the safest and most gorgeous dragon egg I have ever touched, perhaps, and I do not feel deserving. But I will go back to it if I find myself in need of comfort.
five: I follow.
I understand.
I don't know what I think.
six: The shell is gorgeous. The inside is a drug.
twelve: It is not for me, maybe, but it reminds me of something I love. It may remind me of home. I don't know where that is and I don;t think it's inside this egg, but I do think what is in this egg is something I will care for. Is it wrong to want to pet it, and to be a little scared, at the same time?
—
iv.
three: I was expecting this to be horrible.
Instead, I cried. When I left the sands I cried again. They were the hollow tears of someone who realizes that no one loves her the way an unhatched dragon can think it might for a few minutes.
I think that might actually make it horrible again. Especially since it might be lying: how would it really know?
two: This one on the other hand — no. The shell is gorgeous. The inside …
four: Grew on me. Grew on me fast. Grew on me like a lichen but in a good way. One of those turn you inside out and upside down and flip-flop repeatedly and somehow make you throw up in reverse but it's worth it experiences?
ten: … shells.
eight: oh. oh.
—
v.
It was all a little much, but it was all a little much in a way that she hadn't expected — again.
Every single time, the egg touching was the worst part and the best part all at once. She needed to stop wanting to go back to six. She needed to stop dreaming like she was inside thirteen, even as the dancing skeleton in her dream donned sunglasses not entirely like her own. She needed to stop letting eleven giving her headaches when she hadn't slept in weeks, or wanting to curl up alongside eight or one or simply hide from it all.
Thirteen's cobwebs tempted her as a place to hide.
The bright colors of eleven's fireworks blared behind her eyes.
She closed her notebooks and tried to sleep.