It has come to my attention that I missed a day. I shall do that day later.

They were rising. The forgotten would be remembered, the unbreathing would breathe again. They arose, free for only moments before being trapped again, enslaved for the purposes of one who thought she was doing good. And then breaking free to exact revenge.

She buried her head in her paws. What purpose was a good intention, a genuine will to help, a belief in what she was doing, when all it would lead to was evil? Eventually, it was all for nought. Her creations had risen up against her, the sparks in their eyes gone white like ice, or the farthest stars in the sky. They were as distant, she supposed; they had no recognition that other dragons of her age were the same dragons as they. They sought only to kill, and if she was among the dead, they would fall. But she had not the bravery to stand up, tell her fellow survivors that this was her fault, and effectively commit suicide.

She wasn't strong enough anymore.

—Ruby