When Gods Choose Wrong
Language: en
When I opened my eyes, I was holding the pale, frail wyrmling. Without a second thought, I flung it into the dirt. Ten years ago, my sister Kelen and I found two baby wyrmlings in the woods. One was black, scales etched with ancient runes. It wound around Kelen’s wrist, pulsing with power. The other was a weak white wyrmling. I took it home out of pity, beginning a decade of tiresome care. Within a year, the black wyrmling took human form as Ronan, a man who treated Kelen like a queen. I, meanwhile, worked grueling jobs just to feed myself and the useless white wyrmling. By dating age,…