With Nothing to Prove, Will You Be My Honey?
He carried the concept around in his head for years before he was able to draw it. It existed as impression, as ideal, as ethos. Nothing fancy, he just thought of it as the physical expression of a small part of his philosophy. A small part, but a vital core.
It wasn't that the dragons gave him protection. They were, after all, merely made of ink stabbed underneath his skin at three thousand punctures per minute. It was the idea they represented that looked after him. His intention powered the circle around him.
This is what he believed.
He further believed that believing in the power of his dragons to protect him gave him access to power. It was infinite, but immeasurable. He believed its inability to be detected made it even more powerful, if it was possible to stack infinite power on top of itself.
His belief in the power of the dragons to protect him gave him confidence and shepherded him through his daily life like a trusted coach. He believed he could do anything if he wanted it badly enough. He didn't want much, but he desired with a fiery intensity.
They coiled and writhed behind him everywhere he went. They would be with him until he died. Then, he believed, the power that had imbued them would tear them away from his flesh and give them life in the world beyond. He did not know if they would be a force for good or evil. He believed at that point he would not care which.
