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The people judged me by the color of my scales, damning me long before I had a chance to defend myself. I did everything right to prove them wrong. Scarlet flames crackled in the edges of my vision, begging to burn them for their hatred and vitriol. I had been called monstrous long before I found the helm: this wasn't new. Something scratched at the back of my eyes, demanding I make them pay for what they had done to me. The red flame grew bolder.

It would be wise to flee, leave them behind to find a new place in the world.

It would be weak.

I know I have not become a monster.

I know I have always been one.

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