Here’s a quick little piece I did based on the picture below. I think this could turn into something longer and rather interesting. Thoughts?
The dragon’s broken body lay curled around her, bleeding black ichor that created a thick mud. They’d won the battle, but it came at a price. She was the last Mother of Dragons and now her lifeblood mingled with her dragon son’s in that shadowed spot. Heartbeats, intertwined since the massive creature’s birth, slow until an eternity rests in between each one. Then, as the world holds its breath, waiting for them to beat again, they cease.
Yet the world cannot exist without magic, without dragons. And dragons need a mother. Not some woman who thinks they’re adorable but faints at the sight of blood. No, the Mother needs to be strong, compassionate, fierce, and gentle. Not just any woman can be the Mother of Dragons.
A golden glow blossoms with painstaking sluggishness. Again, the world holds its breath as magic builds thicker than the air in the war’s aftermath. Soon, the bodies of the woman and the dragon are wrapped so thick with the light no sign of their physical presence can be seen. Mere moments later, a flash blinds all watching, and the field goes dark. The bodies are gone.
But in their place, a magnificent sight—the Mother resting in the arms of her son, a towering dragon of ebony and coal, wings outstretched. Neither move, frozen in space and time. Living yet not, they will awake when the world is ready for the magic of dragons once again.