What the Dragon wants, it gets. When it hungers, it feeds; when it tires, it sleeps; when it lusts, it satiates that lust; when it needs hands to grasp the things it cannot reach, it breeds them.
Few of those hands are ever aware of where they come from, or that they are being used by their unnatural, inhuman father. There are exceptions, of course. But the Dragon is careful who it chooses for its brood mothers. Those who dream of love, it seduces. Those who dream of violence, it violates. Few survive. Fewer remember. But the blood runs true, even in children who do not know or believe in their father.
Legions have come and gone, each cast away in turn. Some were too human, weak and puling and powerless, unable or unwilling to do the things their dark father demanded of them. Others were to full of pride and ambition drunk on the unnatural strengths of their maker. Each still served a purpose, as the Dragon learned and adjusted and cultivated family trees the way some would trim a bonsai.
Now it has what it has wanted all along. The perfect set of hands. Strong enough to contain the Dragon’s essence, its power. Dumb enough to not know what it was bred for.
The Dragon will walk again, and worlds will tremble.
Insomniac Nightmares 
Recent Thoughts