Tap… tap… tap… the sound of metal hitting wood fills my ears. I feel as each finger falls down on the table.

Tap… tap… tap… he’s late. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I hear the screech as my fingers drag into a first across the table. Leaving claw marks in it. I pick them up, hearing the metal joints chime together.

I love to marvel at the craftsmanship of my weapon. Sharp talons covering each finger, both shield and weapon. The points coming out longer than my real fingers are sharpened to a point. How many lives have I take with these? With this one hand? How many throats…

Suddenly I can’t stand the site of my weapons. Iun-strap the wrist and palm, even if leaving myself defenceless is a poor choice. I feel as they come off and fall into piles on the table, the shape unrecognizable.

Now bare I stare at my unscathed hands, its brown complexion a contrast to the bright red nails I have painted. Still sharp. Still stronger than most. Still capable of taking a life.

It’s the curse I’ve been born with, but this curse comes with so much more than the tools to kill someone.

It comes with its own dragon.