Life finally regained some semblance of normalcy. Her instincts regarding the vainglorious U’zan had been correct, and Phryana found herself once again enjoying the comforts of a life she’d left behind. The man was a pompous braggart, full of himself and unsurprisingly patronizing, but he was far from the worst she’d ever encountered in her life. He was free with gifts and compliments alike, and she now found herself owning several beautiful garments and pieces of jewelry. All the better to adorn herself while draped upon his arm during his extravagant parties... but he’d never once demanded her to warm his bed. She did so regardless, of course, and he’d generously even offered her the opportunity to stay at his weyr if she aged out, until she’d ‘figured things out’. They’d see how quickly that offer was retracted, should she find herself in such a position. She was 26 Turns now, and time was not on her side.

Her legs hung over the ledge. Balizarth’s ledge. The enormous bronze had never spoken to her even once, but since her first experience with the dragonets in their shells… In an instant, he could peer into her mind and know everything about her. Her most guarded secrets--the fact that she was just using his rider… Everything would be laid bare. Fortunately, he had no interest in her, and if he’d done such a thing…. Well, U’zan hadn’t mentioned anything. Phryana slowly kicked her feet, staring out at the view without seeing it. Yes, everything was normal again. That didn’t mean she was happy.

Is this what she wanted? To proudly claim she’d overcome being tossed out of the whorehouse she’d grown up in her whole life and climbed into a bronzerider’s bed? And then what? Would she spend the rest of her days there, content to be a pampered, pretty treat for U’zan to tout about on his arm? And what would she do when her youth and beauty faded?

What… did she even want?

Back and forth, her feet swayed. Phryana supposed she’d never stopped to really think about it. Stability. Security. Comfort. Ensuring her own survival had come first and foremost… and she had struggled long and hard, holding on despite it all. She would fight to live, no matter what. Some bitter part of her wanted to see all of Nabol burned to the ground--to throw her life right back in the face of everyone that had used, abused, and discarded her.

Would becoming a dragonrider help any of that? She didn’t know. She didn’t feel as though she knew much of anything, anymore. This entire time, she’d played the role as a candidate, pretending, viewing it as simply a stepping stone until she sorted out her life. If a dragon had truly wanted her… The woman tilted her head back, an exasperated breath slipping past her lips. A dragon, looking inside her head, and deciding she was special? It seemed impossible. But…. She could remember, touching that vivid purple and yellow shell. That dragon could have manipulated her as it rifled through her thoughts and memories…. but it had asked permission, and she’d granted it. There had been no disgust, no revulsion, no mockery… It could have been lying, but it was nice to think it was sincere.

A creature that would know everything about her-- and love and support her anyway? It was hard to imagine such a thing was possible. But no one would be able to claim she had no worth, with a dragon at her side. If only she'd figured this out and found a way to get to the Weyr turns and turns ago. Now, it was almost too late.

And she still had no idea what to do.