Not directly, of course, though sometimes it feels as though I could fly off in a stray breeze without them. But as the dragons conferred upon us their power, they also granted us minds, hands, and the will to create. I love Hazen more than I love my life; he was a gift from the dragons, and the wings were a gift from him. Not that I am normally sentimental, but show me a mother who doesn’t get sentimental about their child from time to time… but I digress. The dragons were kind enough to give me wings, and the means to use them; they provided me with everything I could have wished for. Their touch was clear enough on me when I was born. In the way of many children graced by the dragons, I was mature, quiet. I didn’t cry much in the cradle, though that may have been the result of my upbringing as much as anything else. Children who grew up in Coral House didn’t cry much, or indulge in the usual activities of childhood. Everything was a "learning experience," every toy geared toward making us develop our abilities to their fullest.

Except for a select few. The cretche was run by a Solar Exalt by the name of Fikri, and I would not advise laughing at that anywhere she might overhear. Her breeding program—excuse me, her "guided parenthood for the glory of the dragons"—was one of the most successful in creation. The reason for this was quite simple; some she would encourage to exalt, while others she would keep in the dark, give back to their parents with express instructions to try and raise the most useless child they could, that the dragons might overlook them. It didn’t often work, but it worked enough that some other "parenthood planners" were beginning to take notice. Mortals who evidenced the dragon’s touch were better suited to the rigors of pregnancy than dragon blooded, producing more offspring faster.

I was too much of a temptation, I suppose. I was supposed to go into the exaltation program—I know this only because my parents told me, in the long years of secret lessons. But the purity of my blood was too tempting to "waste" on exaltation. Fikri ordered my parents to keep me isolated and ignorant. She didn’t reckon for the love my parents bore me, or their determination to keep me from the fate of other "breeders." So I was taught in secret.

Of course we were discovered. Good blood, like bad blood, will out, and I exalted. Who can hide knowledge, when it shines from every pore? No, she knew, and she was furious. Never mind that I probably would have exalted whether or not she willed it; my undying curiosity and will to learn were present far before my parents decided to take my education in their own hands. Luckily for all of us, her anger did not surpass her greed. My parents were ordered, on pain of death, to have another child. My brother was born strong and beautiful, with the blood of the dragons strong in him as well. Bertram exalted despite Fikri’s efforts to the contrary. Another order, another sibling. My little sister Avice, whose blood seemed somewhat thinner but whose mind is the most agile I have ever seen, exalted as well. And Fikri had to be content with that, because my mother died with her birth.

My father, grief-stricken, was never quite the same. He lived out the few years of his life buried in his responsibilities and died young, leaving me to look after Avice. I was old enough at that point, already out of school, but it meant that my… romantic life was somewhat quelled. Not for lack of suitors, for certain, but there was a distinct lack of men wanting me for my mind—or even my body, in any lusty sense. That would almost be easier than the endless parade of men going on about pedigree and seeming a short step away from inspecting my teeth. Or inviting me to inspect theirs; the way some of them talk, blood is all they have going for them.

Which most certainly isn’t true. Dragons know that I’ve seen my share of useless fops with enough good blood in them to please Fikri. But I went on with things, and even Fikri couldn’t talk me into being the brood mare she desired. Oh, there was pressure, you can be sure. Some of the members of my household were fair scandalized by my old maid status. I was quick to point out that anyone else in the house would have been perfectly in their rights to have waited as long as I had. But as time passed, that excuse grew more and more thin until it wasn’t an excuse at all.

And if I seem overly serious here its because at the time, it seemed of the direst importance. Now I know that it wasn’t… that if we had met even after being married, that he and I would have found a way to be together.

But I digress. Needless to say, it was difficult, raising an impetuous sister while trying to establish my career in the notably mobile military. I ended up doing a lot of demon summoning, a lot of the preparatory spells that come with battle; it enabled me to travel less, and occasionally bring Avice with me. I know this seems trivial, but it’s important to the story. At any rate, this put somewhat of an odd color on my service, though my immediate commander admired me for my dedication. It was at his encouragement that I became an officer.

It was actually quite different than I had expected. I had to go out in the field more, but it was in a relatively secret capacity. I became something of a strategist, and found oddly enough that I was talented at helping to array not only the dragon-blooded forces at our command, but the mortal ones as well. I was no great genius, and it was ever my second passion, but I occasionally came up with a strategy that struck the tent to contemplative silence. I figured it well enough. Avice grew and went to school, exalted and chose training in diplomacy. She is still stationed in the far west, administrating a steadily growing province with great success and generally bridling under her restrictions. Ever ambitious, was my sister, but loyal to her people and skilled in aiding them.

For a time, all was well. In the way of all things, it changed. My Commander—for I actually had only a small number of irregulars at my disposal –decided that the talents of a mage were wasted in the strategy room. We found ourselves in an awkward position; another group of fey had come out of the wyld to the south of us. Though both the force we were fighting and the new one were small, there was the potential that they could crush us between them, should they gain the advantage of territory.

My commander decided that it would be a stroke of military genius to lure this second, rested force into battle by placing ourselves poorly, then retreat over the hills. Up the hills in broad exposure, when we knew that both forces had a variety of sky-mounted troops. The second even had some new, winged creation, which from all reports I had no desire to see in action. It would be best, I said, if we finished off the half-decimated force in a decisive blow, and lured the second force toward the cover of trees, where their air forces would be useless. Whereupon I was summarily stripped of my rank and set to summoning minor demons.

Let it be said now that I was not the only one to protest this plan. But no one really wanted to challenge this strange mood he was in. Most of us had served under him for years. He was well known for his logic, for his patience in battle, waiting for just the right moment to strike. He could gauge the exact capabilities of his force and the enemy. It had saved many lives, won many battles. Most of the time, should one of us protest, he would explain his plan more clearly, until we all understood our role. His behavior was entirely uncharacteristic.

But even as I left the tent in seething shame, I trusted him. We all did. After, of course, we questioned, but such was our loyalty that even having killed himself and half his force in a futile rout that cost us precious miles we had to win back from a untied force, we wondered where we had gone wrong. What had we done that caused the plan to fail?

As things devolve, I begin to realize that perhaps we did not go wrong at all But of course, our perception was the perception of the world. And the ceiling that all dragon blooded face, for better or worse, sank a little bit lower for all of us.

After much debate with myself, I left the service. I would never climb the ranks again, never have the freedom to look above the rank-and-file. So I took myself in an entirely different direction, and in doing so found that our lives are not entirely our own. I wanted to tutor, to teach one-on-one with a few students eager to learn. What I got was school. And not just any school. The combination of my sorcerous and military training made them deem me perfect for the Obsidian Mirror.

Let me describe the obsidian mirror. Take the most rebellious children, ruined either by their parents or teachers, and throw them into constant boot camp. Anyone who dissents is punished, and punished, and punished… I have seen spirits that could have been directed, cultivated, turned into great benefit to themselves and the realm, simply crushed because no one took the time to try. I’ve also seen the most cursedly perverse spirits reduced to smoldering rage that turned them into demons on the battlefield—and anywhere else, if their blood thirst was not sated. There were all kinds there, as one might expect from any school.

I learned to avoid attacks. We generally didn’t break up fights, simply punished any survivors harshly. I’ll admit that I started off thinking I could save them, that they couldn’t possibly all be bad. And they weren’t. But that place wears you down, just as it wears down the students. It was here that I met Kusuo. We actually passed each other in the hall for a year or so before we ever talked, but once we started no one could stop us. He’d actually been here for twenty years, which surprised me. Yes, he moved with the ready confidence of one accustomed to that place, but he lacked the beaten-down, hard-edged bearing of a teacher on the verge of breaking. Most teachers there don’t last more than twenty years, and those that do even the other faculty avoid.

Kusuo showed me how to pick out the ones that could be saved, and what I could do to save them. I’d seen spirits broken because no one took the time; now I was taking the time. It made all the difference in the world. We worked together, directing students and at times both working with the same one. He taught tracking and sometimes field medicine, for those students willing to take the time. Medical knowledge was actually considered quite a boon there; it could get a weaker student the protection of a more powerful one, in return for treatment after punishments.

And so it went for years. The students changed, but the need and the danger were always there. Kusuo and I wed, and no one could protest the breeding viability of the match; the dragons had not touched him as they had me, but his blood was not thin. I bore him two children, my beautiful Hazen and Ashni.

I won’t go into them here, because I do believe I’d run out of paper. I am a sorcerer. We have quite a lot of paper. Suffice it to say that they changed many things for both of us. I’m afraid that we might have smothered them in the affections we could not lavish on our soul-wounded students if we had not shown considerable restraint. It was hard not to bring the school home with us, but we tried. Hazen is well into his career as a talented craftsman and sorcerer, though his passion lies in shaping things. His sister Ashni, the other gem to my heart, is studying to be a sorcerer, and by all accounts looks to outstrip me in ability. I think that Ashni may be the last; I was terribly sick with carrying her, and I have no wish to follow the fate of my mother.

And so things go. Like any blessed parent, I am at turns proud of and worried about my children. Like any blessed wife, I love my husband still. Like any blessed teacher, my students occasionally remember me as the person who changed their life. And like any blessed teacher at the Obsidian Mirror, I yet live. It is indeed good enough.

And now I’ve finished this cursed thing, and put the protections on it. I hope, Ashni that this satisfies. What’s so interesting about my life that you feel the need to preserve it anyway?