Profile
Dancer, circus performer
Orphaned/neglected as a child
taken in by a circus as a teen and learnt the trade
struggles with self image and traumatic past
often experiences flashbacks when not performing
FR Bio: (needs to be edited)
Alone. He felt alone in the cold embrace of his mother and father. They never wanted him; they never knew how to treat him. His parents barely pay any mind to the hatchling right under their noses. Though, they listened to him. They laughed with him. They cried with him. Even if they were just images in Lylas’s mind, they seemed like his own, dysfunctional family of giggles and bruises. That fateful night, oh that night, it was like watching older versions of his imagination glide. The performers listened to the audience of drunken men and elders. They laughed when the time called for it, as well as cried. Lylas saw himself dancing with the circus.
The only thing to do is run from what he knew to what he wants. The hatchling shut out his past like you would kill a spider; it’s there, only to fear, then it’s gone. He tried his best to stay shrouded in the crowds, the safety seemed reasonable to Lylas. The Coatl was fascinated by the sheer joy street performers can create within themselves and other. He began to learn in the art of performing. It was like nature calling out to him, beckoning him to radiate like those circus performers the night he ran away. He was determined to make the star-filled night dance, like the day he first hatched, before his parents mistreated him.
Flying was an elusive art to Lylas, never being taught it at a young age. Every time he looked up to see a Fae or Skydancer swoop over him, he felt a pang of envy. The only thing he could do is teach himself, and he did. Flying reminded him of dancing around with the silks. It was a choreographed movement, flapping wings like a bird. Lylas, after years of learning, finally understood the freedom of gliding through the air. Carelessly, freely, he soared to clans to perform various tricks and dances. Swirling through the moment with his silks and swords, springing from place to place like a possessed liquid. Lylas loved it.
When he felt the need to find a home, a headquarters, not many would take him in. They didn’t find a need for an entertainer, when there were many other “useful” dragons to serve them and their deity. Until, one clan agreed to let him through their gates and into their hearth. They gave him the freedom he urges, to let him fly to other clan to train in the art. He goes where the wind takes him, to perform and let loose the stars. The breeze always takes him home, where he loves entertaining the most. Once, he even sang for his clan, but it sounded like thousands of banshees wailing into the midnight. They suggested Lylas never do that again, and he obliged.
Alas, there was something deep in the back of his mind. A voice telling him he was fat, useless, ugly. The voice was his mother’s. His father’s. His old friends’. No matter what he did, perform with all his heart or an act of kindness, it lingered like bile in the back of the throat. After a while, he gave in. He told himself that he was ugly, useless, fat. He attempted to play it off, like the nagging wasn’t there, but don’t be fooled. Under the guise of confidence is a broken Coatl. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed crowded areas, so he can drown out the voice that haunts him.
