It was a night in the late spring. Lars recalled quite well that he had recently gotten a haircut, and was walking down the sidewalk, one with the flow of bodies through the city streets. Some of the trees were in bloom which caught his attention, since he recalled they were mostly just buds and leaves when he had entered the barber shop, and in fact he didn't even think they were the kind of trees that did that. His stylish brown leather jacket was plenty of protection from the cool breeze and the grey cloud-layers in the sky were broken open in a few places to let the sunlight shine through, revealing their complex structure.

            Across the street was a woman that Lars first noticed for her outfit. It only registered that the outfit was exotic, wild even, with vivid feathers and some revealing sections as well. She must be in town for a show of some sort. He normally paid such women little heed, but there was a glint of amber from her face. She had yellow eyes. He only looked for a moment. She was looking his way as well, so they made eye contact.

            That was the precise moment Lars lost his mind.

Two months had passed, roughly, since that day. He tried to think of it as little as possible, but the waiting room for the therapist was, by nature, the sort of place where traumatic memories are brought to light. Lars looked down at his reptilian claws and coarse brown scales, colored like tree bark but made of flesh. There was one on his arm still wounded from when he'd tried to peel them off that fateful day. He had to wonder if the skin was scarred there, or if the wound, like the scales themselves, had been illusory. He glanced up at the other, human occupants of the room. Even now, it remained unnerving to be in the presence of others, so he turned his attention back to his phone. Just for fun, he jabbed his supposed claws into the phone screen, and watched them move through it as if nothing was wrong, doing no damage of course. Even when it was blatantly obvious, the hallucination wouldn't relent. It was like an optical illusion; even if you understood it, you were still tricked. He attempted once again to will himself not to see it, for the heck of it, but of course there was no change except his resignation.

“Lars? Lars Midland?" An attendant broke his reverie. “Dr. Reinard is ready for you."

            He looked up, startled, then nodded. He stood up, removing his long, conical lizard-tail from where it had been uncomfortably tucked behind him. He discretely checked the chair and, of course, the impression in the seat mirrored his human bottom, with no sign of what the tail would have done. He adjusted his shirt, pulled down the sleeves (the air in the facility was a little over-conditioned), and followed the attendant back to the familiar therapy room.

The walls, in an attempt to not be sterile and terrifying, were decorated with tan striped wallpaper and a black floral trim, giving the impression of a grandparent's home more than anything. Framed abstract artworks hung between equally spaced doors. Most of the doors had the same design, with a few flags of various organizations proudly displayed. He followed the familiar path and came to Dr. Eric Reinard's office, the most senior and accomplished of any of the therapists there. The door was open, and the man himself was sitting at the little meeting table, in the low chair. Oddly, rather than only one larger chair, there were two, one obviously imported from another office.

Dr. Reinard looked up from his tea (Earl Grey, unsweetened) and quickly set it down. “Ah, Larry, please come in."

Lars did so, shutting the door behind him (carefully, to avoid the tail). “Hey, doc."

“You know you can call me Eric."

“Yeah, I know, it's just easier to call you doc." Lars took his seat. There were not one but two unoccupied cups of tea already present.

“Fair enough. Anyway, today we have a slight deviation from the normal schedule. I've called another patient, one seen by a colleague of mine. He should be joining us momentarily. He's suffering from the same condition you are."

Lars inhaled quickly, like a gasp but inward. “Really?"
            “Indeed. He has a few divergent symptoms: a forced vegetarian diet and a fear of objects going near his head, but in general it's the same. He only developed the condition recently, so I wanted you two to talk and for you to share some of the coping strategies you've developed."

“Well-- couldn't you just tell them to him yourself? I'm not an esteemed therapist or anything…"
            Dr. Reinard sniffed out a short chuckle, then put on a serious expression. “Actually, Mark-- that's his name-- has been extremely put off by his condition. He didn't take our diagnosis, or well, lack thereof, well at all, and, without saying too much, has been obsessed with seeing himself normally again. We wanted to have a discussion about that, and we thought it would help. If you're uncomfortable, we can call it off."

“No, no, I just wish I'd been warned first!"

“Ha, yes, I wish that too. Between you and me--" Dr. Reinard said his favorite phrase, leaning forward and tipping his glasses down in a well-rehearsed manner as he did so, “My colleague was not exactly on top of the organizational side of things. I only learned that Mark was coming for certain three hours ago."

“Oh-- well-- Then they can't blame me if I'm not prepared."

“You'll do fine. Now, before he arrives, is there anything you want to talk about?"

Lars let the question hang for a moment. Nothing had really changed lately, except maybe--

“I tore another bedsheet earlier this week."

“Really? What happened?"

“Dunno, I was asleep. To me, it looked like the sort of thing claws would do, but obviously I'm biased. Say, are my nails long?"
            “Actually, yes-- you might consider getting them trimmed. Do you think long nails could have caused the damage?"

“...Maybe? It only went through the sheet around me, not the fitted sheet or anything…"

That line of conversation was cut off by a knock on the door. In later moments, Lars would recognize that the knock had a strange quality to it, but he had no time to understand that before the door swung open and revealed Mark standing behind it. He was a younger boy, college-student age, wearing a floral white and pink button-down shirt and khaki pants. He glanced around at the corners of the doorframe and crouched slightly before entering the room.

“Is this the right place?" Mark asked.

“Yes, yes! Sit down, please!" Dr. Reinard stood up and led Mark to his seat. Lars tracked the motion, staring at Mark's body in general. For his part, Mark seemed to be examining Lars' hair -- ah, Lars realized he probably looked awful in that respect. Brushing and combing was off the table, obviously, so he just had to hope the shower and his blind fumbling did their job. Mark finished sitting down, ending the reverie. He glanced over at Lars, who looked back just long enough to accidentally make eye contact.

The eyes are the windows to the soul.

Everything happened at once, too fast for Lars to even react. One moment, Mark was an ordinary college-age boy, and the next… he wasn't. Some part of Lars' mind briefly split off from the rest to burst into an echoing, sardonic laugh. Mark's body, though generally human in shape and build, was adorned with draconic features as well. He had leafy green scales, with some darker spots and a bit of lighter colors on the neck. His face was pulled into a muzzle, his ears out to the sides, and a rack of black antlers stretched up from his head.

Mark recoiled slightly, probably from Lars' non-verbal cues, he imagined, so Lars tried to get himself under control. He began to scold his visual cortex for its indiscretions. To apply the same hallucination to another person! This was too far-- how could he? As always the image was unshaking. Mark extended a hand-- his fingers terminated in strange, dark pucks of keratin which, together, looked like a hoof. Lars took the queue, and grasped the hand -- it felt as it looked. He even felt the coarse scales on the hand's back, but he couldn't explore further without someone noticing. He quickly turned away and looked at Dr. Reinard, who, thank God, was checking his notes for the session and had missed his miniature breakdown. Lars looked down and pretended to be distracted on his phone as he calmed himself down by force.

“Let's introduce ourselves. I'm Doctor Eric Reinard. I use he/him/his pronouns. You can call me Eric." Dr. Reinard broke the silence which Lars could only assume had been uncomfortable for the other two.

            “I'm Lars, he/him. Uh, you can call me Lars, my last name is Midland, like the location."

            “--Oh, you can call me Mark. Um, he or they pronouns work."

            “Alright. Now, say one thing you do for fun. For me, I like to play and write classical piano music in my offtime." Lars smirked, seeing as this was, verbatim, the same way Dr. Reinard had introduced himself to him. Lars went next.

            “Right, I mostly just run or watch tv. I've been trying to get into drawing, but that hasn't gone well so far." The whiskers on his face curled a little in embarrassment.

            “I… read a lot. Also watch tv, of course." Mark spoke timidly while still sneaking glances at Lars. Lars was turned away, trying again to see Mark correctly. It seemed like with every second he saw Mark, his sanity was falling apart more and more. It was one thing to see a muzzle in place of a nose or claws on your hands, but somehow having another person there was far worse. He closed his eyes and clutched onto the brief view he'd seen of Mark's real form.

            “Lars, is everything alright?" Dr. Reinard asked.

            “Uh, yep, yeah. Just feeling awkward, sorry."

            “That's okay! There's always some tension when we \meet each other for the first time. So, let's get to business. Lars, if you feel comfortable, tell Mark how you see yourself. Be honest."

            Lars exchanged a glance with Mark, but it was hard to read his inhuman face. “Well, um, when I look in a mirror, or just down at my body, I literally see a dragon--lizard--man--thing. Brown scales, big tail, weird face, claws, the works. It's distracting, but not as bad as all that. The worst part is convincing myself I can wear pants, heh."

            Dr. Reinard turned towards Mark, who was looking down and away, trembling slightly.

            “Mark, go ahead and tell us how you see yourself. You've heard from Lars, so you know you're in good company."

            “I-- I-- I see a dragon too. A green one, with antlers and hooves. Seeing straight forward is hard, doors are hard, shirts that don't button up don't work, and I can't eat meat without throwing up after."

            Lars felt a tinge of pity.

            “Tile feels weird on my feet, shoes are hard to wear, holding things is hard, touch-screen phones are hard… so I guess I just feel stupid, all the time."

            “Oh, I-- know what you mean. For me it's this feeling like I'm some sort of alien hiding among the humans, or something. I know it's not literally true--" His voice hung on that for a bit. “--but it feels true enough to be hard to deal with."

            The therapist was pleased, simply nodding.

            Mark suddenly interjected, “Doctor Reinard, can we talk alone? Lars and I, I mean?"

            “Oh? Am I getting in the way?" The question seemed directed somehow at Lars.

            Lars considered for a moment, then nodded. “It's not your fault. You don't have to--"

            “No no, by all means! Whatever you two want to do is fine by me, this is your show." He glanced over to Lars almost expectantly now. “Knock when it's safe for me to come back into the room." He quickly sipped down the rest of the tea and left the room, shutting the door.

            The two waited for a moment, anticipation mounting over the air.

            “So… you wanted to talk?" Lars asked.

            Mark answered in a low voice. “Yes, I-- did he tell you what I saw before I got here?"
            “...Yes? I think it was just part of the therapy thing--"

            “No, this is important. Do you see me?"

            Lars raised his eyebrows. Why would...?

            “Yes, why?"

            Mark whispered “I see you too."

            Lars jolted back a bit. He didn't want to believe it. Actually, he couldn't. “Um, so you see-- you see me as a dragon too? Did they tell you before you came in?"

            “They said you saw a dragon, but nothing else."

            “And what you saw was the same as what I described?"

            “I-- I think so, but--" But it was impossible, so there were probably some differences, Lars completed the sentence. He worked overtime to rationalize it. It made sense that if they had the same disease they would have similar symptoms but obviously they would have some differences in what they saw in each other versus themselves, since they hadn't communicated about it beforehand. He came up with a way to prove that he was right.

            “Okay, here, let's test it." He looked over Mark. Their face had a few black spots scattered across the emerald scales. “Let me do something." Lars took out his phone and quickly snapped a picture of Mark. Of course, the picture was changed too. “Does this picture look like what you see in the mirror?"

            Mark turned his head a little to see the phone more clearly. “Yes."

            “You have a few spots on your face, right? Don't say where they are."
            Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat and nodded.

            “I'll point them out, and if I'm right…"

            “Right. Okay. But-- Okay."

            Lars stepped closer and reached out, gently tapping Mark's face with his claw. “There's one."

            Mark shivered.

            “There's another."

            Mark began to quake more aggressively.

            “And there, a third, just below the chin--"

            “Okay! Okay." Mark had raised his voice, and the two waited for a moment to ensure the therapist wouldn't barge into the room. “How did you know that?!" Mark's subdued voice was barely able to contain the raw incredulousness.

            “I just saw it."

            “How? That's… maybe I just hallucinated that you touched the right spots?"

            Lars grumbled. That was the issue with bargaining with illusions, there was no division between them and reality. “Maybe, but, it's still weird. Say, did you feel my claw?"

            “...Yes. But you mentioned those."

            “Never said how long it was, and I didn't use the body of my finger."

            “Hmph. Still, it, um, we must have both hallucinated that the test worked because the disease wants us to believe… that it worked."

            Lars looked up and caught sight of a better test. “What if-- okay, so you've been avoiding letting your antlers hit things. What happens when they do?"

            “I-- don't let that happen. The first time, I panicked."

            “So nothing has touched them since?"
            “...No. I sleep in a neck brace to make sure they don't touch the pillow."

            “God, alright… well, if I could--"

            “No, that's a bad idea."

            “Please, it shouldn't work. Like my tail, I can wear pants over it and stuff if I just focus on the fact that it isn't real. It was scary the first few times for me too. It also moves through chairs and stuff sometimes. It's honestly kind of entertaining."

            “...Fine."

            Lars reached up and grasped the antlers. They were, predictably, hard and slightly warm. Mark gasped.

            “Alright, now I'm going to pull them forward."

            Mark closed his eyes, but he was breathing very quickly. Lars hesitated. They felt so real… but he had to try. He yanked the antlers down and towards him, and the rest of Mark's head, and then his body, followed. Mark screamed as he fell onto Lars, who stumbled but maintained his footing.

            “That's okay, that's okay, we'll try--"

            Mark was crying now and started thrashing around. Lars jumped back and Mark fell onto his butt and wailed loudly. Dr. Reinard thrust the door open. “What on earth-- Mark!" Dr. Reinard ran into the room. “Mark, what's happened?"

“I-- I'm so sorry, I--" Lars started, which drew Dr. Reinard's attention.

“Did you do something? What's wrong, Mark?"

Mark, fortunately, wasn't hurt. He was sitting up and sobbing, but gradually regained some semblance of composure.

“Mark, please, I'm here to help." Dr. Reinard tried again.

            “I want to go home now." Mark stated, simply.

            “...Alright. I won't keep you. But you're always welcome back here."

            Mark stood up, avoiding Lars' eye contact, and stormed out into the hall. Dr. Reinard cast a sharp glance back at Lars before following Mark from the room.

            Lars sat down in the chair with a loud thud. What happened? Was any of this real? Surely not. He would wake up any moment now, if not from this whole delusion at least from the events of today. Yet the events of the day so far were crystal clear and unchanging to his will -- if this was a dream, it was like none he remembered.

            The next minutes were consumed with inventing a lie for what had happened between him and Mark. Maybe Mark had gone into his manic state after being asked about the first night? But what if that was inconsistent with his usual behavior? Maybe Lars could have pushed too hard for details? However, when Dr. Reinard re-entered the room, it was to apologize.

            “Lars, please don't feel responsible. I should have known better than to leave you two unattended. Mark is fine-- he's regained his composure completely and is headed back to his place of residence. Now, are you doing alright?"
            Lars wasn't nearly ready to earnestly answer that, so he gave a quick “Yeah."

            “Then, I think we should cut the session short today, if that's alright. I'll only charge for the time we spent together."

            “Okay. Next week, then?"
            “If that works for you?"
            “Yes! Absolutely, I'll see you then." Lars stood up and shook Dr. Reinard's hand. Then he dove out of the office and made his way back to the apartment.

            Lars lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of his complex. Thankfully, he had few neighbors, both to the sides or above, though there was a kind hispanic man who occupied the room directly below his. Once he was inside, he threw off his shirt and collapsed onto the cheap couch his parents had bought him. His thoughts were racing.

            There were only two explanations for that meeting. One, he had hallucinated the whole thing. This was possible, and it would explain everything, but he had never hallucinated a whole event like that before. He checked his phone and, sure enough, Mark's picture was still there.

            The second possibility was that, somehow… he had been right all along. Was it so crazy to conclude that, maybe, he and Mark were the ones who were right? Before today he had never met anyone with the same condition he had, but there could be more. He'd pulled Mark by the antlers… that couldn't happen. Either Mark was playing some kind of trick or… it was all real. Maybe it was just because he'd been living with it for months now, but his body wasn't all that fantastical, was it?

            Then the other side of his mind retorted. Of course it was still insane. You were human two months ago. That's not something that just changes. You've learned biology, you know this, it's completely impossible. You can't allow yourself to believe in things that aren't possible, that's what a crazy person does. You are clinically insane, these are symptoms.

            The two parts echoed in conflict for a few minutes, reaching no resolution. Lars groaned and went to drown out his thoughts by watching a bad action movie for a few hours until he fell asleep.

            Lars was human again, alone in a bathroom in the subway. He cried out for his good luck and glanced up into the mirror to see that, actually, his body was transforming. He remembered running down the stairs in a panic, barring the door by crushing the wastebasket. He remembered screaming in pain as his body betrayed him, his face pushed outwards and his ears pulled up. He turned around then, and there was a great shadow behind him, moving forward to swallow him whole.

            He woke up in a cold sweat, then cursed his mind yet again for the tricks it played.

Thankfully it was a Sunday and he had no obligations until tomorrow, so he took his time bringing himself to a semblance of a functional state. He unlocked his phone and found that he'd left it set on that picture of Mark. Anxiety was written all across Mark's face, which brought about another twinge of pity and forced Lars to reflect, again, on the previous day and that day two months prior. All those poor scientists and doctors who would have to tear apart their lives' works if he was right weighed on his mind, but he kept coming back to his claws. If they were somehow real, they would damage things, surely. They didn't.

He stood up and went to the main room, where he tore off a stack of paper towels from a roll in a drawer. He set them, one atop the other, on the cutting board, and focused on his hand. If it was like in a movie, maybe he needed to believe in himself or something, and the claw would become real. He inspected them close, imagining what it would look like if they cut the paper, and swung out. They passed through.

He groaned. He knew it, it was stupid. He tried again, with even less confidence, and of course the result was the same. Then how had that thing happened with the antlers? It didn't make sense. As he considered that, he heard a tearing sound.

Lars' claws had, as he was absentmindedly twiddling them around through the stack of paper towels, made a small incision in the pile, about an inch long. He jumped backwards, knocking something over, and stared down at his hands. He picked up the paper towels carefully to inspect them, and sure enough, they were slightly cut. He tried again, and to his shock, it worked-- they caught on it as if they had become material about a third of an inch into the paper, and then cut exactly like they looked like they would from there until they left the paper.

“How--" He could still be hallucinating, a voice inside him protested, but he silenced it. He focused on moving his fingers near the paper without cutting it, but the claws did not relent so quickly. It was impossible, it couldn't be, and as he thought that they stopped cutting and began to pass through the paper again unobstructed by reality.

            He started to understand, then. He latched onto the idea of the claws being real, and they became real. Then, if he imagined they were false, they became false as well. Mind over matter. Those new age magicians and such were right, it seemed. He quickly decided he needed to tell someone else about this, and his mind immediately went back to Mark. But how would he get in touch with them?

            He decided to call his therapist.

            “Hello? This is Lars, correct?"

            “That's right."

            “How can I help you?"

            He thought about telling Dr. Reinard about everything, but he'd probably assume that Lars was having a psychotic break. Maybe he still was, but it didn't feel like one. “Can I get in touch with Mark?"
            “Are you sure that's wise?"

            “Well… I want to apologize for yesterday. I don't know how I set him off but he seemed really distressed."

            “I should warn you, then, that Mark told me he had seen you as a dragon, along with himself. I trust you had no similar experiences…?"

            “...No, of course not."

            “Right. Well, it explains his behavior during the session, and I'm not sure it would be wise to expose him to you again so soon."

            “Please, I really need to do this."

            “...Alright, but only because I trust you. I'll send his phone number."

            He thanked the therapist and immediately called the number he'd been sent. Oddly, a female voice answered the phone.

            He started. “Hello?"

            “Hi, who is this?"
            “You first."

            “Okay, I'm Lars. I'm trying to speak with a 'Mark'?"

            “Well you got Gene. Mark's my brother."

            “Oh. Is Mark there?"
            “Hang on." The other end devolved into shuffling noises. “Oh, you're the guy that gave my brother a mental breakdown yesterday."

            “...Yep, that's me. That's why I'm calling, actually."

            “If it's just to apologize, there's no need, he's been having problems for some time now."

            “No, it's more than that. Please just hand me to him."
            There were more sounds of shuffling. Mark's voice came over the phone. “It's you. I'm so sorry, I was just really overwhelmed and--"

            “It's alright. Look, I know it's a lot to take in, but I think I discovered something really important. It's easier to show you than to describe it. Can I come meet you somewhere?"

            There was some discussion outside of the phone's earshot.

            “My sister says it'd be better if we came to you. Is that ok?"
            Lars looked around. His apartment looked bad on a good day. “...It'll be fine."

            “Okay. Then we'll be over. Send your address."

            It took about 43 minutes before there was a knock on the door. Lars opened the door, and in walked a human girl, about the same age that Mark had looked-- presumably Gene-- and a green dragon-morph creature who could only be Mark. Lars shut and bolted the door behind them after they came in.

            “Hey." Lars offered. Mark looked over at him, still frightened by his appearance. Gene made herself at home in front of the TV.

            “Do you have cable?"
            “...No? But I need you for this also."

            “What do you mean?" Gene asked the question, but Mark assented with a tilt of his head.

            “Okay, just watch." Lars took out more paper towels. Gene's expression was one of utter bewilderment, then concern, while Mark just watched.

            “Okay, now look." He moved his fingers across the paper without cutting it. Neither seemed impressed, but Mark was more attentive because he could see where this was going.

            “Okay, Gene, this is perfect actually, are you watching?"

            “...Yes?"
            “Okay, great." Lars focused on the claws becoming real, and they were real, and the paper was cut apart.

            Gene stood up and put a hand over her mouth while Mark ran over to look at the scraps.

            “How-- how did you do that?" Gene asked.

            “I made them real. And look, she saw it happen." Lars pointed at Gene. Mark turned back to her, then to the paper.

            “It's not possible. Are we actually…?"

            “We're not insane, the whole world is. We're real."

            Mark shook his head and stepped back. “I-- this can't be real. Gene, is it real?"

            Gene was mortified. “I-- don't know. Am I dreaming?"
            “Come on guys, please, you saw it happen. I can do more, too." Lars focused on the reality of his horns-- short as they were compared to Mark's-- and impaled the scraps on them. He turned around so the backward-facing horns were obvious. Gene walked closer-- to her, the paper was floating on nothing, but as she looked closer, she could almost make out something holding it up, like weird protrusions from under the strange man's hair. It was suddenly hard to look at, and she turned away. He took off the paper.

            “Can I try?" Mark asked. Lars nodded, offering the whole roll of paper. They spent the next few minutes stabbing and cutting paper  while Gene watched in awe. Lars began to feel somehow lightheaded, and he found that making the claws function was harder and harder.

            “I think I'm… getting tired? I need to stop." He wheeled around and sat at the eating chair.

            “Are you okay?" Mark seemed actually distressed by the tone of his voice. He walked over and touched Lars on the shoulder, feeling the scales beneath his shirt as he did.

            “We're real." Mark repeated.

            “We're real. I still can hardly believe it."

            “This isn't happening, this isn't happening…" Gene was trying to wake up, but it wasn't a dream. Mark ran over to her and sat beside her on the couch. He willed his tail to be real, and she gasped when she felt it curl around her back.

            “I don't understand it." Lars thought aloud. “How? Why?"

            “Who knows? But whatever's keeping us hidden, it does a good enough job alright. ...It's almost worse. Now we have two inexplicable mysteries instead of one."

            “Ah well."

            “...Guys, I'm freaking out." Gene was crying. “Mark, I always listened to you, but not once did I actually believe what you were telling me."

            “I know, I didn't either. But-- there's no other explanation, is there?"

            “This isn't an explanation either! This is absurd, ridiculous!"

            “Yep." Mark paused. “...There's a Shakespeare quote that would go well here, but I forgot it."     

            “I don't doubt that." Lars sat beside Mark on the other side. “My big worry right now is that I'll blink, and I'll still be in my bed."

            “Oh, God, don't tempt it. I don't know what I'd do."

            “I might prefer that actually." Gene piped up. “But, this is better for you two, so actually I wouldn't."

            Having agreed that they preferred this event to be a part of reality, the three of them stayed huddled on the couch, waiting for the other shoe to drop or the walls to melt away. Nothing changed, though, so they just stayed there until Gene and Mark decided to go back home. Lars was flattened. He'd thought he would be more excited, and he had been, but instead the weight of everything he'd felt those two months pushed him into the cushion. He tried, once more, to mentally pull the dragon off of his body, but he only managed to jolt around a few times, then set up. He laid back down and curled up for a while.

            Days passed, and despite the worldview-shattering revelations and all, life found its way back to mundanity again. Mark and Lars kept in touch, and Lars kept going to work at his job as a bank teller. Some might find the repetition monotonous or soul-crushing, but Lars had always enjoyed arithmetic and organizing things, so it was at least mildly engaging. He normally went through the day by getting into a flow and losing track of time-- watching the clock was the absolute worst, to the point he had added a sticker to the barrier behind his desk to block his view of it when in his normal seating position.

            Often his work had him looking over at the monitor or down at papers, but he liked occasionally to glance up at the people he was servicing, to make sure they felt like they were being well taken care of. One of his clients that Wednesday was a tall and rather attractive black man with substantial musculature. Lars glanced up at him, and met his downward-looking eyes.

            The eyes are the windows to the soul.

            Who was once a tall, black man had changed to an equally tall and well-built red dragon, right out of a role-playing game. His bull-like horns were ivory and curled up from slitted orange eyes, which widened in disbelief while the man gasped.

            Time snapped back into focus for Lars as he became immediately aware of the social situation around them. Everyone, from the other tellers and their clients to most of the people in line, had heard that gasp. The man was still looking down incredulously as well. Lars thought fast.

            “I'm sorry sir, your information is invalid-- um, the account number isn't showing up in our system anymore."
            “Wh--what? But--"

            “Sir, please calm down." Lars looked right into his eyes, intensely. “We can resolve the issue if we just walk through a few of our security procedures. I'm sure your accounts are fine."

            “I-- see, I'm sorry, I just, ah, really need that money, um, and I was worried something might have happened."
            The others accepted that as an explanation and went back to not paying attention.

            “Well no need to worry sir, in all likelihood we just need to reset on our end. Can you give me your name and contact information?"

            The man nodded and dictated a phone number as well as his name -- Seth Goodman.

            “Alright, Seth, let me see here… okay, looks like it's back. Let's continue our transaction."

            Seth completed his business and tried to make some sort of cryptic signal that Lars couldn't understand with his hands.

            “If something happens, would you call me? It's a private cell number."

            “Certainly, sir, if there are any changes to your account-- we will notify you immediately."

            He nodded and left, trying too hard to be inconspicuous. Lars called the next client.

            That evening, Lars texted the number.

            “Hi, it's me from the bank."

            “you're like me"

            “Yes, I'm a dragon too"

            “i thought i was the only one"

            “I know 2 others now, you and a friend"

            “thanks for covering for me, almost lost it"

            “Of course. Need to look out for each other. Want to meet up at some point?"

            “can't, only in town till tomorrow and with family"

            “Okay. Well, it was good to meet you."

            “You saved my life"

            Lars sent more, but it wasn't read, and eventually he gave up on waiting. Seth replied by the end of the day.

            “I thought I was crazy but you proved me wrong by messaging. i showed my brother and he could read the texts too, so it's true. Thank you."

            They lost touch from then on.

Lars stepped off a train-car and hurried towards his apartment building, anxious to return home after such a strenuous day of work. If he crouched, and the dragon-form weren't invisible to most, he could probably camouflage against the thick layer of leaves left on the sidewalk by the autumn oaks. As it was, his tail dragged absentmindedly through them. He was actually completely distracted by a simple daydream featuring his niece and her friends on a rocky beach, like they had been two and a half years ago, so the man trying to get his attention had to resort to tapping his shoulder.

            The man was a few inches shorter than Lars, putting him at Lars' human eye-level. He looked Vietnamese, maybe. He wore a white dress-shirt and jeans, with a golden cross hanging from a chain around his neck. When he spoke, it was with a perfectly average American accent.

            “Excuse me, sir."
            Lars wheeled around, slightly startled. “Sorry, who are you?"
            “Ah, you don't know me, but, eh, sir…" The man looked back and forth. “You're a dragon, aren't you?"

            Lars could only assume his human face portrayed his surprise at the question adequately, as the man seemed to have gotten confirmation even from his instant reaction.

            “How… did you know?" Lars asked in a low voice.

            “The leaves, they made a trail behind you."

            Lars looked back. Sure enough, his tail had been carving out a huge, suspicious line leading directly towards him. He cursed under his breath and suppressed the tail's physicality for the moment, and the leaves stopped moving, at least as noticeably.

            “Don't worry, no one else seemed to notice." The man's eyes suddenly felt soft, like he was addressing a scared animal.

            “...What do you want?" Since the rumors had begun to spread about the existence of dragons, there had been plenty of misinformation online about them having some sort of magic power. Lars could only assume it was something like that.

            “Could we talk somewhere more private?"
            A few red flags flew up in Lars' mind. “Why?"

            “Well it's a very… personal matter."

            Lars made eye contact with the man, just in case he hadn't yet, but nothing changed. The man glanced around and found a cheap cafe. He pointed to it.

            “Can we talk over coffee?"

            Although the man was looking lower than Lars' actual face, his eyes were wide in a pleading expression. While Lars hesitated, he became gradually more agitated.

            “Alright, fine."

            The man nodded, grinning. “Please, come with me, I'll pay for whatever you want."

            The cafe turned out to be much nicer than Lars had expected -- warm colors and few patrons led to a charming, secluded atmosphere. While he would have preferred to talk with this mysterious stranger somewhere a little more open, there was one other customer who, judging by her punk haircut and laptop, was probably a college student and not part of some sort of anti-dragon cult or whatever the worst-case scenario was.

            “My name is Mitchel. Mitchel Burlen." The man introduced himself just after they were seated. “I'm a pastor at the local baptist church. Pleasure to meet you."

            “I'm Lars. And, um, the same."

            It almost seemed like they would get straight to the point, but a waitress came by to take their order, and by the time they were done an awkward pause seemed inevitable.

            “So, Mitchel, what does a baptist pastor want with a dragon? Last I heard the whole religious world was up in flames against us."

            “It is, it is, and that's part of the problem." Mitchel looked back and forth at least three times. When he resumed his explanation, it was in a scant whisper. “It's-- my daughter, Meah. She's-- she's-- she's your kind now."

            Lars took in a deep breath through his nostrils. “Oh."

            “Yes, you see it now."

            “Well… what am I meant to do about that?"
            “You need to change her back. Tell your queen, or whatever power you allege to, please, she can't be one of you."

            It took Lars about a minute to figure out how to address that request. At first, he wanted to lash out, but he remembered his strength and his claws. He could barely control when they were physical on a good day, he couldn't risk that.

            “...That's not exactly how it works."

            “Please, spare me that. You don't need to hide anything from me. You might think I'm the enemy here, but I only want to help Meah. She's suffered greatly through all this, and there must be something you can do. We've tried everything, but it's been three months now, and--"

            Lars shuddered involuntarily. Some part of him broke off to complain about his horrific luck while the rest of him formed a plan.

            “...I'll see what I can do."

            That Saturday, Lars' rideshare arrived about a half an hour at the Burlen residence -- two or possibly three stories of an idyllic suburban home bound by white walls and piled onto a mulchy hill, with a drop-off into wilderness on two sides. Everything about the house loomed oppressively over the surroundings, including the balcony that spilled out over the gated entrance to the villa. There was a button near the gate that Lars had to press before someone cleared his entry and the way opened before him. Mitchel was standing in the doorway, almost precisely the same in appearance as he'd been a day before, but this time wearing a green shirt instead.

            “There you are! Please, come in."

            The place was larger than any home Mitchel had entered in ten years, at least. A beautiful crystal chandelier hung from the sleek, arcing ceiling and a mixture of pristine hardwood, tile, and shag carpet adorned the multi-leveled flooring. From the depths of the home, a slightly younger woman appeared.

            “This is the dragon?" She asked, almost dismissively. Her accent was slightly less well-rehearsed, and she was probably not putting in as much effort given she was at home.

            “Yes, yes."

            “...How can you tell, he looks like a weak man."

            Lars looked down over himself.

            “I saw the leaves, I told you this. He said he would help Meah."
            “Of course, of course. Should I let her out?"
            “No, we'll go to her."

            Lars was led through the corridors. It wasn't a labyrinth by any stretch, but it was still somewhat longer than felt reasonable. Soon they came upon a door with a small gold (was that real gold?) plaque, labelling it as “Meah's Mansion". Mitchel's wife produced a key and unlocked the door.

            The window was shuttered, so there was only a little light that got in. A lump resided on a large, pink bed at the room's center, displacing the covers and breathing. There was a huge closet and a small desk with a laptop. Some masking tape had been wrapped furiously around the top of the laptop, blocking the webcam. A strong scent wafted from the room, like sweat and body odor.

            “Meah? Meah, that man we told you about is here."

            The lump (presumably Meah) shifted under the cover. She rolled them down. She looked as pale as a ghoul, but otherwise was a clear blend of her parent's features. Her hair was long and raggedy, and she wore her sheet like a rag. She couldn't have been more than twelve years old. She looked up and opened her eyes -- deep, blue, and vibrant, but also tired.

            Lars and Meah made eye contact.

            Her dragon form followed the color of her eyes, a sapphire blue covering her glistening scales. She looked wet, her skin more like a snake or a fish than a lizard. She had four horns on her head and a pair of long, thick white whiskers that protruded from a gentle snout. Her eyes, of course, were the same as before, and they widened in shock as Lars' form was revealed to her as well.

            “My name's Lars. Don't worry, I'm here to help." Lars walked into the room. The parents remained hovering around the door.

            “You-- you're really like me?"
            “That's right."

            “But-- I thought I was cursed by the devil. Did you get cursed, too?"
            Lars sighed -- this could take some time. He turned towards the parents. “This might be easier if we could talk in private."

            “What? No, absolutely not." Meah's mother intervened.

            “Alright." Lars turned back to Meah. “Well, I don't know if I was cursed or not but, I wanted to tell you a few things you need to know about… being like this."

            “Okay."

            “Right. First off, you'll notice a change in your diet. Certain foods become impossible to keep down, others become more appealing."

            “We already noticed that." Mitchel interrupted. “She can't eat vegetables anymore."
            “Then you're like me. Some of us can only eat vegetables so it's worth keeping in mind. Next, only other dragons can see you like you really are, and only if you make eye-contact."

            “Really?"

            “That's right. To anyone else, you're just an ordinary little girl."

            “...But then, why can't I leave here?"

            Lars glanced back at her parents, who were talking amongst themselves. “Well, hopefully you will be able to once I've been able to help you."

            “My friend." Mitchel interrupted again. “I didn't bring you here to just talk to her. Change her back already."
            “...Like I said, it doesn't work that way."

            “But you said--"

            “I said I would help her, and that's what I intend to do. But there's no making her human, or if there is I've no idea how."

            “What! You lied to me! I should have known."
            Lars remained silent. He turned back to Meah and walked further into the room. It looked like she was crying.

            “Hey, hey, it's alright. I can't make you change back, but I can help you cope with everything. Here, close your eyes."

            Mitchel followed Lars into the room, so that he was equally close to Meah. The wife guarded the door-- in the worst case, the strange man would have no easy escape, especially since they were on the second story.

            “Your extra parts-- the horns, the tail, that sort of thing-- will only be solid if you let them be. Watch." He moved his hand through her horns, encountering only a little resistance. “I want you to stop my hand from moving through them. Focus on them being present, being real."

            It took some time, but eventually the girl's horns materialized enough that his hand was stopped. He pushed against it, and she gasped at the force. “Mitchel, come over here." Mitchel did as he was told. “Feel the air right there." He pointed to the space with the horn. Mitchel's hand passed through once, but Meah stopped it the second time. Mitchel jumped back, and Meah giggled a little.

            “What-- what is this? How did you do that?"
            “That was your daughter. You felt a small fragment of her real form."

            Mitchel backed away, looking down at his hands as if Satan himself might come to claim them now. “I've seen enough. This was a mistake. Meah, stay here."

            “But-- daddy, Mr. Lars said--"

            “Forget it!" Mitchel pulled Lars by the hand, and Lars decided to allow himself to be dragged from the room.

            Once in the hall, he finally retorted. “Mr. Burlen, please, she doesn't need to be locked up like this." He was sure to talk loudly, so that Meah could hear.

            “Says you! How did I not see how foolish this was from the moment I imagined it? Of course you would-- would try to corrupt her further, convert her to your ways."

            “What?! I did nothing of the sort!"

            “She stopped my hand with her mind! That's witchcraft, devilry!"

            “Please, just listen to me, if you keep her locked in there I will have to call someone."

            The wife became involved. “You wouldn't dare."

            “Why not? You've been blatantly mistreating her."

            “She's ill! She needs to fight this off. You might think it's impossible, but no one is too far gone to be saved. If she goes out there, she might infect others with… whatever this is. Now get out of our house."

            “It's not like that. Please, I can help…"

            “Leave."

            Lars obeyed, and soon he was outside of the locked gate, with the door slammed shut behind it. He looked back in and caught sight of a blue eye peering through a second-story window. He nodded up at her and slowly walked over to the curb, where he called another ride-share. He'd hoped that Mitchel would emerge from the place and bring him back in or something, but the place remained sealed. He wondered if he really should call child protective services, but if that girl was sent to foster care there was no telling what they'd make of her. He briefly considered just breaking back in, but that seemed needlessly risky as well. He'd need to come up with something. Eventually, his car arrived, and he left for the time being.

            As he was in the car, a message arrived to his phone, one of two pending to be read. The earlier one had been from Mark, asking his whereabouts with a selfie attached, but the other was a simple text from Mitchel, whose number he had gotten during their exchange the previous day.

            “Sorry, could we meet again? Same restaurant."

            Lars let out a small growl, but quieted himself before his driver noticed (or at least, before she commented on it -- her expression had flickered slightly).

            “Let's." Lars replied.

            By the mid afternoon, Lars was walking in through the cafe's doors. The cafe's charm had worn off by the second visit, and Mitchel was already waiting there when Lars arrived. He had upgraded his cross necklace to a substantially larger one made from what seemed to be pure silver.

            “Hello, Mr. Burlen." Lars greeted him coldly.

            “Look, I am really sorry. My wife and I have been fighting all night but I still wanted to ask you what else we need to know."

            “Aren't you worried I'll corrupt you to the devil or something?"

            “Well I just-- Look, usually I'm the one people confess to, but-- I'm terribly worried. You're right, we can't just lock Meah up forever. You didn't-- actually call CPS did you?" He asked that in a low enough voice it could have swept under the table.

            “No, but I considered it."

            “Well, that's not the whole reason I wanted to talk to you. If what you said is true… I need you to show Meah how to live a normal life. Like you're doing."

            “...Well, mine isn't all that normal."

            “Maybe not, but you're holding down a job, you have a place to live. You might be chasing a girl…" No reply. “...or not but that's normal too. Regardless, as absurd as this all is, if it can't be changed, maybe it's God's work after all. What else could do something like this?"

            “...I don't know." He truly had no idea.

            “Exactly. This is a test for all humanity. I think I've been failing that test."

            “...Have to agree there…"
            “Please, just tell me, what else were you going to tell Meah?"
            “Well, honestly there wasn't much more. I was going to make sure she could control her claws, since that could be dangerous if she messed it up, and maybe tell her about ignoring her tail to wear pants."

            “...That's it?"

            “Yes. Well, and then I was going to try to convince you two to let her out of the room, but you seem to have gotten there on your own--?"

            “...It's complicated. My wife is… more devout, so it's a battle, but we've had worse. She probably still doesn't even believe all this is real."

            “I didn't at first either. I guess that's what I really forgot to say: tell Meah that she's not crazy or cursed or whatever. It'll take a while, but she'll get more comfortable with herself in time. Honestly, of all things to have happen to a daughter, this isn't that bad. ...I think that's everything."

            “Thank you, truly. Oh, one more thing. Please don't tell anyone. You know how it is with the church."

            “...Well, I'd hope you would work to change that."
            “One step at a time."

            “Right."

            The conversation lulled. Each had mostly finished their coffee, so Lars stood up. “Do you mind if I come to your house again next weekend? It's for my conscience."

            “I understand. I'll see if I can arrange it with the wife."

            With that, they parted.

            Back in his apartment room, Lars stared up at the ceiling. There was always the chance that Mitchel had just said all of that to prevent him from going after them with CPS, but his voice had seemed genuine. He played with his claws for a few minutes, letting them clack against each other sometimes but pass through others as his mind wandered away.

            “And you trusted him?!" Mark reprimanded Lars over the phone.

            “What else was I supposed to do?"

            “Call CPS?"

            “Well, but--"

            “That girl could still be in terrible danger right now!"

            “That's why I asked to visit in a week."
            “A week could be too late! You need to call someone now."

            “I just-- he sounded really sincere."

            “He didn't even promise to let her get back to her life. She's probably missing more school right now, her friends might think she's dead--"

            “And what if they are lying to me? People are already becoming more aware of us. If their case becomes publicly known, it could cause a lot of controversy."

            “It should!"

            “Maybe but we're not exactly in a favorable situation."

            “Hmph. Well, I hope you know what you're doing. See you." Mark hung up the phone.

            That Tuesday, Lars had some time after work and decided to surprise the Burlens by arriving early. If they had been planning something nefarious to hide or send away Meah, he hoped they wouldn't have had time to do it yet. On the other hand, if Mitchel kept his word, he could leave with a clear conscience and get on with himself. He stepped out and rang the doorbell, then stared up into what he presumed to be the front camera.

            A voice sounded from a hidden speaker. “Why are you here?" It was Mitchel's wife's voice.

            “I wanted to check on Meah. She looked sick, so I brought some-- dragon medicine." A complete fabrication, but he really wanted to check and for some reason the wife seemed far less approachable.

            The voice left for a while and he was worried they would simply keep him locked out, but after a few minutes the gate clicked and slowly swung open. In the setting sun, a long shadow was cast across the maw of the villa. Lars steeled himself, and set forth. Mitchel materialized in the door. He was wearing a purple shirt this time, and seemed to be in the process of putting on the larger cross necklace that he had worn to their second meeting.

            “Lars, my friend, you said you have medicine for Meah? Why did you not mention this before?"

            “I didn't want to scare you, but she was looking kind of… weak and frail."

            “That's just her build."

            “No, but-- is Meah around? If I'm mistaken, I'll take my leave."
            Mitchel glanced around inside. “Meah is out with friends right now."

            “She is?"
            Mitchel nodded. “Like we talked about, it's good for her to get outside. Come in, I'll get something for you to drink."

            Lars entered gingerly, and the door closed loudly behind him. Lars glanced up, through the railing of the second story, and sure enough, Meah's room was open. He couldn't see if it was actually devoid of children, of course.

            “We needed to let the room air out, we hadn't realized how bad the smell was until you came in." Mitchel commented, apparently having followed Lars' gaze. The house was quiet except for the gentle breathing of the air conditioner and a slight hum from a few of the lights in the kitchen.

            “So you really let her out?" Lars asked, somewhat loudly.

            “Yes. You were right."

            “Well, I'm glad. To be honest, that's the main reason I came here. The medicine… is probably not necessary."

            “I see. Did something come up this weekend or what?"
            “I just was impatient I suppose. I was worried I hadn't actually gotten through to you."

            Mitchel's wife moved in the space behind Lars' vision, and he turned to see her approaching with a pair of cups of tea in hand. Mitchel led him into what he assumed was a den, with a few comfortable chairs and low tables. To satisfy his most untrusting part, Lars waited before Mitchel sipped his tea to take a sip of his own. It was herbal, and were he still human it would have probably burned his tongue a little. His eyes drifted around the room, from keepsake to keepsake, eventually landing on a family portrait, apparently hand-painted but exceptionally high quality.

            “Did you commission that?" Lars asked, indicating the painting. Mitchel grinned softly.

            “Indeed."

            “It's nice."

            “Yes, the painter did a splendid job capturing the scene."

            Lars noted that the artist had included a blue flower in Meah's hair. It might have been his imagination or the lighting but it was a remarkably similar blue to her scales.

            “So Meah is just… out and about? After being locked away for months?"

            Mitchel seemed caught off guard that they had shifted back to that subject. “Um-- yes, she wanted to-- catch up with everyone."

            “She really did look pale. What did you tell the other parents?"

            “Why are you worried about that? It's our problem, not yours."

            “Well, I just-- I'm sorry, you're right."

            Mitchel had a tense look about him. “My friend, I'm curious about something. Could you do me a favor?"
            “...What sort of favor?"
            “You have horns, right? Could… could I feel one of them?"

            “...What?"

            “I want to know what it feels like and it would be strange if it was my daughters'."

            “...Well, I don't see why not, but…"

            Mitchel walked over. Lars focused on the existence of the horns, relaxing and trying to let them be as present as they could be. He touched the tip of one and felt it.

            “It's between here and my head."

            “Okay." Mitchel reached out with two fingers and gingerly tapped the horn, retreating when he felt it. Then he reached out again and felt it for a few seconds longer before he stepped back.

            “It's so… strange, it feels just like something was there. You always feel it, the weight of it?"

            “Well, I've gotten used to it, but yes. Though it won't interact with other things unless I concentrate. No idea why or how."

            “So if you wanted, you could, say, wear a hat, even if the horn was there?"

            “Yes, I'd just have to pretend it wasn't there. It was easier when I didn't really believe it was real, these days it's a mental exercise and uncomfortable."

            “I see. Thank you, sir."

            “...Sure."

            He'd been hearing it for a little while already but a repetitive sound registered to him at that moment, underneath the humming of the various electric machines around the house. It was a tapping, like stone against stone, or…

            “So I have another question?" Mitchel interrupted.

            “What?"

            “I will not hold anything against you, but is there a leader for your kind?"

            “No, of course not. Why do you think there would be?"
            “Well, something had to make you all like this."

            “Maybe. Maybe we already were, and it's only now activated. We don't know."

            “Hmm. You know you can tell me anything."

            The tapping became more common. Lars checked and, confirming his suspicions, Mitchel hadn't noticed any sound at all.

            “Say, I need to use a restroom."

            “Oh! Well, there is one upstairs and one down the hall, to the left." The direction Mitchel pointed was away from the tapping noise. Lars would have to improvise. He stood up and, pretending to be not paying attention, began quickly walking the opposite direction, towards the entry hall. After a moment, Mitchel caught on.

            “That's the wrong way, friend!"

            “I think I saw a bathroom over here, I really need to go quickly." Lars started running down the halls. He had taken off his shoes but thankfully his foot-pads had some grip against the hardwood. He glanced around frantically and found a staircase leading down, which he descended before Mitchel could catch up. He arrived in a storage room and heard a door locking. The rapping continued at an irregular pattern, then stopped.

            “Meah?! Are you down here?"

            “Stop moving." The wife commanded from his right. He wheeled around, and would have fallen over if not for the influence of his tail. Ms. Burlen was standing there with a rifle aimed at his chest.

            “Oh God!" Lars threw his hand up in surrender.

            “Go back upstairs."

            “What are you trying to pull here? If you shoot me--"

            Time was stopped for a second. Lars had never tested his own strength, but from deep inside a dark assurance came over him that, no matter who struck first, both would surely die. He stared forward in fear, and eventually the wife's eyes softened, if only very slightly.

            “Go! I don't want to be a killer, but don't you test me."

            Lars walked up to where Mitchel was waiting. The man gasped when he saw what his wife was doing, and halted their progress. “Jamie--"

            “I'm protecting our daughter." Jamie spoke in the same flat voice she'd used this whole time. “While you had tea with the Devil, I was making sure he wouldn't find Meah. I had to move quickly to get her down from her room. Don't worry, I locked the door and the key's hidden. She's safe."

            “What are you doing to her down there?!" Lars cried out.

            “Nothing, of course. She's our daughter. She's sick and she needs to get better, and hanging around the very beings who cursed her to begin with cannot be how she gets better. Besides, if it were found out, my husband would be out of the church in no time."

            “Well-- you're pulling guns on houseguests," Lars quipped."

            “And you won't speak a word of it."

            Lars looked up at Mitchel with a pained expression, but he was just looking down with his hands across his face. Lars turned back towards Jamie.

            “Why do you have to keep her locked up? Only other dragons could see the way she really is."

            “That's the problem! You've already found her thanks to my husband's ridiculous plan, now there'll be nothing to stop you."
            “If we wanted to harm you or your family, why would we have not just attacked directly?"
            “How would I know? Maybe this is your attack. You must have more power than you let on, since you knew where she was."
            “I-- heard her tapping against the walls." He admitted. “Since she did it with her horns or claws, that was hidden from you also."

            “She--" For once, Jamie was at a loss for words. “That imputent little--"

            “But she couldn't have known I was here! Please, I don't care about your family matters, but that girl needs to have a life. She will never change back, but that doesn't need to change anything about her life if she doesn't want it to. We can hide perfectly from humans."

            “That's not true. My husband found you."

            “Well I was… being a little sloppy. Look, there's not much else I can say, and I won't try to do anything by force, but you are hurting Meah badly right now. She must be frightened out of her mind!"

            The exclamation floated on dead air. Jamie experimentally lowered the gun, then committed to it. Mitchel came down the stairs as well, eyes full of tears.

            “Sweetheart--" He addressed Ms. Burlen. “I'm so sorry, I should never have invited this man-- this thing to our home."

            “No, but the damage is done, isn't it? And if it's true, then, there's nothing we can do. We can either hide her away forever, or the dragons find her."
            “That's not strictly true. For a dragon to recognize another, we need to make eye-contact. So, if you're that concerned, get her some sunglasses or something."

            “Eye contact? Sunglasses?" Jamie asked incredulously. “It's not that simple, surely."

            “It is. Well, I don't know if sunglasses actually block it, but they would stop strangers from knowing exactly where to look. That way she would only reveal herself to people she chose."

            “I still don't like it. This is all insane, it can only be an act of the devil that has done this."

            “Maybe, but I don't think any of us are strong enough to fight that kind of spiritual war. If there is something like that happening, I've never heard of it."

            “You swear?"

            “I swear on everything I can. Now, again, I don't want to force you to do anything, but I really want some proof that you're not going to just keep Meah locked up forever."

            Jamie grimaced and looked to the ground. “Why do you care about her? You have no relation."

            “Well, I just-- I know how hard all of this has been for me, I can't imagine what it's been like for someone so young. I'd hoped-- I'd hoped whatever was doing this would just pass over children, or something, but this is how it is."

            Jamie searched Lars' face while he spoke. Then she turned towards Mitchel, who nodded in assent. She walked away and put the gun onto a stand, setting the safety but not unloading it, and then walked over and opened the door to the basement lounge. It was actually not a terrible space, but the concrete walls and fluorescent lighting did give it an eerie atmosphere. Meah was standing just behind the door, probably listening in. Her shirt had water stains from her tears.

            “Come here, my little one." Jamie beckoned her out into the storage room. She walked out and hovered close around her mother's waist. It was harder to tell her condition in her dragon form but she didn't look too terrible.

            “Hello again." Lars greeted her. She didn't respond.

            “Tell her how to be hidden." Jamie commanded.

            “Oh, well, it's easy. If you focus on not letting your horns and claws and stuff be there, no one will feel them, and if you don't look into strangers' eyes, they'll see you like you used to look."

            “They will?"

            “That's right. Do you remember, when we first met I looked normal until we made eye contact."

            “Oh yeah. So are you the devil?"

            Lars chuckled. Mitchel looked about half mortified. “No, I'm not the devil."

            “Mommy said you were."

            Lars looked over at Jamie, who just didn't reply at all.

            “Well, um, it was a case of mistaken identity. I kinda look the same, is all."

            “Oh, okay."

            “So, your parents tell me they'll let you go back to school soon."

            “Really? And can I see Annabelle and Taylor and Susie and Ms. Witsworth?"
            Jamie nodded and let her face glow with a soft grin. “Yes, I think you can."

            As Meah celebrated, Mitchel put his hand on Lars' shoulder. Lars took the cue and followed him up the stairs.

            “I'm so sorry you had to do all this. For what it's worth, I never really believed you were all evil anyway."
            “...Thanks?"

            “Since we can keep her secret, we won't need to lock her up anymore. Now we just have to trust each other."

            Lars looked deep into Mitchel's eyes. He always spoke with an air of sincerity, and he could have just imagined it out of hope, but it felt even more genuine this time. Lars nodded. “You have my word, I won't tell anyone about her if you promise to let her do what she wants, within reason. Let her life her life."

            “Of course. It really did hurt me to keep her locked up, and lying to you was also difficult, but I felt like it was justified at the time. Now… I still think she could get better, and we'll keep praying, but you're right, we can't wait on God. If he's hesitant to cure her, it's because he wants us to live with her like this for a while. This must all have been according to plan."

            “...I'm sure it was. Goodbye."

            “Do you want me to drive you home? You always use an app."

            “...You can bring me to the cafe, how's that?"
            “Deal."

            The world was gradually more and more aware that something inexplicable had happened right under its nose. Images and videos of people creating huge gashes out of various objects with their bare hands circulated rampantly in what most of the secular world considered a new viral hoax. In some ways, this had made Lars' life harder, but it also led to a few more dragons coming out of the woodwork. Dozens of social media pages dedicated to dragons meeting each other sprung up. Sadly, virtual eye contact could not activate whatever magic controlled their perceptions of each other, and Lars was pretty sure most of the accounts on any of the pages were either fake or people misunderstanding the purpose of the sites as either a role-playing experience or something similar.

There was one poster who he considered likely to be a legitimate dragon, living somewhat near his apartment in the same city. Even more fortunate, this gentleman (he assumed) actually had a car, so there'd be no need for ridesharing or the like. A knock on the door signaled that visitor's arrival.

            Lars opened the door and saw a woman, with an athletic build and red hair. However, as soon as he caught sight of the visitor's eyes, they changed completely. Feminine form was replaced with a bulky muscular frame made of hard edges and rough, yellow scales, almost like little spines across the body. They wore a tank top and some sort of tight pants, which served to show off their impressive athleticism. Their head was devoid of horns.

            “Oh!" Lars took a step back. The visitor cracked up laughing.

            “I knew it! I knew when someone saw me, it'd go a bit like that."
            “No, sorry, I just, your human form is so…"

            “Yeah, looks pretty dumb, right? Anyway, call me Pete. From your tag, you're either named Rain or Larry?"

            “Lars." Lars' screen name was Larrain, which had a dumb backstory, he was sure, but he had honestly forgotten it.

            “Ah. Weird name." Pete let themself in.

            “So… that must be awkward."

            “A little. Mostly just have to remember to wear a bra, thank God, or whoever, the rest pretty much works itself out." Pete kept looking at Lars.

            “Have you met another dragon before?"

            “No."

            “Well, I'm glad to help with that then! Are you feeling alright?"

            “I-- yes, thank you. May I sit down?" Lars nodded and Pete plopped down on the couch.

            “Do you want me to get you anything?"
            “No, that's fine. Really, I just wanted to come over to see you and maybe talk, I actually can't stay long today."
            “Oh… okay." Lars mentally expanded the amount of free time he'd have available later.

            “So, you've been awoken for, what, eight months or so, you said?"

            “Seven, but close enough. Though I don't know if I'd call it 'awoken'. Changed, maybe."
            “So you think of it as a change?"
            “Well… yeah. Obviously, I was human and now I'm not. How could it not be a change?"
            “I've never actually been human."

            Lars stopped getting a drink for himself and actually looked back at Pete, whose face looked completely serious.

            “You said you'd been a dragon for a year."

            “Well, that's when my body caught up, but in my mind, my spirit, I've never really been human. I was sure that'd be how I lived, forever trapped in a weird pasty girl, but now… well, suffice to say it's a relief."

            “Oh, wow. That's--" Honestly, Lars was jealous. He'd heard of the whole 'human body, non-human soul' crowd on the internet, but they'd always seemed weird. At first, when he had his… event, that was what everyone assumed he was, too, until he made it clear it was a more physical experience than that.

            “So this is how you've always seen yourself?" Lars asked.

            “Well, not exactly like this. I thought I'd be purple, or maybe silver. But I'm not complaining. As for the gender thing, I hadn't even really figured that out yet when I was awoken, but now that feels right, too."

            “...Well, good for you! And you really haven't met anyone else like this until now?"
            Pete shook their head. “My friends still don't know. I figured out pretty quick it was real-- only so many outfits you can rip before it's clear why it's not working out-- but I was already living alone and there was never a need to be obvious about it. You said you know more?"

            “Yeah. There's Mark, we're pretty close, met him… I guess it was five months ago now. Ran into a guy named Seth at work, but he didn't stick around. There was this little girl… and now, you."

            “Well, you're lucky."

            “...I don't know about that. It's hard to convince people they're not crazy."

            “Heh. Well, I can't help you there."

            The conversation went on to other topics. Turned out Pete was pretty into sports, and Lars kept up with them alright so they went on discussing that until it was time for Pete to go.

            “Now just take the next right." Lars directed Gene, who was driving himself and Mark towards his childhood home. It was really a strange occasion; his dad had just invited them all to dinner, out of nowhere. No event, no occasion, just a home-cooked meal. It had actually been a while since Lars had seen his dad in person, so he welcomed it, but it was strange nonetheless. He'd put on a blue dress shirt and his nicest pair of black dress pants. Mark, of course, had gone all out, with an elaborate multi-part display of white and pastel pink that somehow both matched his green scales and, according to Gene, looked good on his human form. Gene wore a simple dress and some minimal makeup, but she'd done her hair in a bun at least. According to her, Mark's hair was actually quite long and needed to be styled, so presumably that had happened, but there was no way for Lars to interact with that hair or perceive it, so Gene could also have played some sort of prank on them. If it were anyone else, Lars might be suspicious.

            Finally, they'd arrived. Lars' dad's place was smaller than he remembered, and the two pine trees (which were not at all native to the area) looked taller. One actually arced slightly over the house, which was an obvious hazard. Between the trees and the extremely narrow front porch, Mark and Gene had to practically huddle against the house while Lars knocked on the door.

            The door swung open and Lars' dad was behind it. He was a large man in all dimensions, but not unfit. His hair had been receding as of late, so he wore a beanie to cover it. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, so Lars felt instantly overdressed. Tentatively, Lars glanced up and made eye-contact, and to his relief, nothing changed. Lars leapt forward and hugged the man, and he patted his son on the back in response. After a moment, they pulled apart.

            “Dad, this is Mark and that's Gene."

            “Welcome! Y'can call me George." George tried to extend his hand for a handshake, but Lars was in the way and had to move first, so he just went inside. He accidentally let his tail be physical long enough to hit against his dad's legs, but apparently he hadn't noticed. Lars would have to be more careful.

            The house's interior was a perfect reflection of George's personality-- eclectic but ordered. There were all manner of strange trinkets and doodads from his travels around the world, all up on shelves and gathering dust. There were a few pictures of him with Lars as well, though not many, since the ex-wife tainted most existing images. Lars noted that, while the photographs had been adjusted, his eighth-grade self-portrait had remained the same. The den was more cluttered, with a few random stacks of objects and the TV tuned to the night's big game. Ironically, the home team was apparently battling a group called the Wyverns, who were winning very significantly.

            To Lars' surprise, there was someone else there. It was a middle-aged looking woman wearing a green dress. Her long, black hair was braided behind her into many long rows, a few of which were decorated with glass beads. Then, she turned towards Lars and cast her gaze on him, and he froze in fear. Her eyes were large, brilliant and yellow.

            In his mind's eye, Lars was instantly back to that street corner from almost a year ago, staring out across the crowd. He could practically feel the first twinges of the transformation overtaking him all again, and he wasn't sure whether to run, attack, or throw up on the ground. The woman saw him, too, and she stood up.

            “Ah, you must be Lars."

            “I-- Ih--" Lars tried to regain his composure, but it seemed impossible. “It's you."

            “Relax, darling. You'll be alright. Come, sit down."

            Lars' mind splintered into two divergent urges. One wanted to run away, and the other knew that he couldn't, that he needed to avoid repeating it all. How this aberration was even here he had no idea, but she was, and this could be his only chance to learn the truth about everything. He practically galloped in and sat down at a comfortable distance on the other side of the opposing couch.

            “There you go." By now, the others were coming in. Mark hadn't recognized the woman, at least not yet. George seemed to remember that she existed only when he saw her.

            “Ah! Everyone, this is Diana Lode. We met through work."

            Diana nodded her head in a short bow.

            “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Lode." Gene greeted her and came to sit down. At that point, Mark recognized the woman's yellow eyes as well, and froze in place. He'd never talked about the day he changed, but apparently he'd seen the woman as well. Seeing that Lars was already sitting near her gave him some comfort, though, and he came in to sit next to Lars. When he arrived, he flashed a glance to Lars that seemed to say, 'What on Earth is happening?'

            “So you met my dad at work?" Lars just repeated his dad's words as a question in an attempt to gain some conversational footing.

            “Yes. I work with the environmental commission so we were working together on the safety procedures for the new construction site."

            “This is actually really interesting," George lied, “You know where the old mall was? Well they're replacing it with a strip market, except the plumbing was all lead and they had to tear it all out, and unfortunately the foundation was split, so…" George began rambling, as he was wont to do. Minutes passed. Lars spent the time sneaking glances at the woman with amber eyes. Had she been the reason he changed? She had to know something, surely. He just needed to think of a better way to question her.

            “Um, excuse me, sorry to derail things but, I think I… recognize you from somewhere." Lars blurted out.

            “Oh?"

            “It's your eyes. Sorry, that sounds weird when I say it out loud."

            “Oh, no, not at all! I get that all the time. They are very distinctive, so maybe we did meet somewhere. I work downtown, so maybe you've seen me there?"
            'Yes, and it drove me insane' seemed like an impolite thing to say, so Lars just nodded. Mark looked back and forth between them, trying to decide whether to engage, but he also did not comment. Lars' eyebrows raised. Had Mark seen the woman too, before he changed?

            George stood and went to the kitchen. “Let me get the plates out. I can still hear if you, don't worry!"

            After a brief pause, Diana's voice could be heard. “I like that medallion." The woman trained her eyes on a circular golden pendant with a symbol Lars did not recognize. Was it Chinese?

            “It's Chinese." George explained from the kitchen. “Means 'God'."

            “Well, it's very pretty."

            Frustratingly, the next few minutes consisted of Lars trying and failing to ask more informative questions, and the others all just thinking to themselves. Eventually Diana broke the silence yet again.

            “Lars, my father tells me you've been finding others with your condition."

            “--A --A few, yes. Mark, for example."

            “Right. That's good. It's always easier to work things out together."

            “Y-- Yeah, that seems true. Why do you ask?"
            “Oh, idle curiosity. It's really a very strange situation you're in, isn't it?"

            “I-- yes, it is."

            “I pity you, but likewise I do not. Where I come from, dragons are great and revered things, after all. To see yourself as one must be an expression of great inner strength."

            “Where do you come from?" Gene asked.

            “Ah, that's a long story, but I was born in China."

            “Really? You speak very fluently."

            “Thank you, but English is my native tongue. I left China when I was very young."

            As she and Gene discussed her (rather mundane sounding) life story, Lars snuck glances at the woman every chance he got. It felt increasingly creepy, but he had to do it. He was starting to doubt everything all over again. Maybe she was really… unrelated to it all. Could she be telling the truth? There was no way to ask her straight-out, not while his dad was still listening in. Instead, he tried to get his point across non-verbally.

            “I should check on the barbecue." George stood up and opened the door. A waft of scent made its way into the room, the savory taste of grilling meat in the air. Lars briefly hoped that his dad had remembered that Mark was effectively a vegetarian before his mind was dominated again by the sheer panic of the realization that this was his chance.

            “I need to go use the restroom." Mark stood up suddenly. His tail was low and quivering through the couch. “Lars, could you show me where it is?"

            Lars almost just pointed, but Mark flashed a desperate look, so Lars stood up and followed him. Instead of the bathroom, they went to the guest bedroom and shut the door.

            “It's her, isn't it? The woman who did this to us?" Mark's voice was shaking along with the rest of him.

            “Well, we don't know that for certain. Maybe it's just… someone else with yellow eyes."

            “No. I-- it's like they're looking right through me every time she turns my direction."

            Mark threw himself onto the bed. Lars felt the need to help, so he sat down next to him and hugged him tightly. “It's going to be fine. We'll get through this dinner, and then I'll confront her. If it's not the right person, she'll just think I'm crazy, which she probably already does. If it is… I'll tell you everything I learn."

            “You-- no, it should be me. It would be awkward with your dad."

            “No, I'll do it. You look terrified."

            “And you aren't?!" Mark lowered his head and his antlers came dangerously close to gouging a chunk out of the bed. Both dragons tensed up and Mark recoiled into a sitting position, cursing under his breath.

            “...Alright." Mark agreed. “You'll tell me everything."

            “Of course. Now, go actually use the restroom to cover."

            “Good idea."

            When Lars re-emerged, his dad and Diana were laughing about something or other.

            “What's so funny?"

            “Oh, Lars, there you are. Have you heard about this new kind of licorice?"
            “Um, no?"

            “They call it 'ocean flavor'."

            “What? No way. That sounds awful!"

            His dad held out his phone, showcasing the empirical proof. “I thought it was some image-trick, but we found the website."

            “I mean, they make salt-water taffy right?" Gene protested. “Surely it's like that?"

            Lars shook his head and came next to his dad. Now that he had a plan, the woman's eyes didn't scare him at all. Eventually, Mark emerged as well.

            “How was the bathroom?" Gene teased. “Seems like you took the scenic route."

            “Yeah, you know, I just felt like I had to really take in the polka-dot wallpaper."

            Lars snickered. It was true-- the bathroom's walls were lined with horrible multicolor dotted wallpaper. It didn't even wrap around correctly, there was an obvious seam where some dots ended and others began.

            “So, is the food ready, or…?"

            “It's cooling now." George gestured to the massive, extremely obvious platter of barbequed chicken and beef behind him.

            “Oh." Apparently Lars was still a little distracted.

            “Do you have any, um, vegetarian options? It all looks really good but, stomach condition and all." Mark frowned, clearly nonplussed about having to ask that, even after all this time.

            “Oh, yeah, don't worry, I remembered. Those are actually imitation wings."

            “Really? They look… well, yeah I guess they would, that's the imitation." Mark's ears drooped shyly.

            “And there's a salad bowl in the making too."

            “You've really prepared a feast!" Gene sounded really impressed. “Do you do this often, or…?"

            “Oh, no, this is more of a 'son and his friends celebration.' It was Diana's idea. I thought there'd be more of you."
            “Well, Pete had to pull out at the last minute, and no one else replied to the message."

            “Not even Sarah?"
            Sarah? Oh, right, Sarah. “Dad, I haven't talked to Sarah in two years."

            “Aw. She was cute."

            “Dad!"

            “Can we eat soon?" Mark asked, seemingly quite impatient.

            “Yeah, it should be cool enough by now."

            The meat was a little over-done, but the spirit was good, and being an actual monster didn't hurt Lars' enjoyment of it. Conversation drifted between light subjects. Diana and George would have seemingly been content sharing stories of their respective journeys across the face of the Earth-- if it was possible, Diana seemed even more well-traveled. Lars wondered if his dad had actually fallen for the woman-- if so, he regretted his whole confrontation plan, but he didn't second guess himself for even a second.

            Before anyone could tell, the meal was over and the evening was wrapping up. The game had ended in a loss, surprise surprise, but George never really cared about the outcome, which was good because the home team was completely inept most of the time. Mark and Gene went out to start the car, with Mark trading a conspiratory glance with Lars. Lars hugged his dad good-bye and, before he left, looked back in at Diana, who was at the door. His dad was in the back, cleaning dishes. He and DIana made eye contact again, and seconds stretched on like minutes.

            “Lars, do you have something to ask? You've had a certain look about you all night."
            “Um-- just, sorry, I don't mean to pry, but, I remembered where I thought I saw you." Here we go, no turning back now.

            “Really? Actually, I think I remember now, too. It was about a year ago, yes?"
            So it was the same woman, then, without a doubt. “I think so. You were in a really elaborate outfit."

            “What can I say? The heart bleeds for the right dress."

            “...Right, and we made eye contact, and then-- well, well, that's when I--"

            Diana lowered her head and smiled. “I'm sorry things have been so hard for you. All of you. It couldn't be helped, there wasn't much time. For what it's worth, I didn't change anything."

            “You-- what do you mean?"

            “It's like I said. Only someone with a special kind of soul could see themselves as a dragon, become a dragon. When the last of your kind died deep under the earth, those spirits were almost lost, but we were able to save a few, and you embody them now. When you are all awake, you will not need to hide anymore, but for now, keep up the good work. Help the others. You'll all be fine in the end."

            Diana tapped him on the end of the snout, and smiled. Lars recoiled, eyes flashing fear like an ill-tamed beast.

“Now, I think I ought to help your dad with the dishes. I'll see you again."

            Before Lars could answer, she turned and walked back inside..

            Lars left towards the car, and the three of them drove away.