Descending

Again, fragments and line spacing used stylistically.

A blast of heat knocked me off balance, almost sending me hurtling toward the ground. Within the mass of black cloud that I was slowly leaving behind, it had been cool. But now, as red-streaked stone walls rose to meet me, it was hot. The heat seemed to be coming from me, radiating out toward the walls and reflecting down and back toward me off of the slanted walls. However, as I continued to drift down, the hot, thick air putting a great pressure on my wing membrane to keep me aloft, I realized the heat was from below.

The bottom looked to be molten.

Though I thought to flap my wings, they did not respond.

I was stuck. And able to move every muscle in my body aside from those that would save me.

As I fell further, the air became littered; littered with hollow, draconic skeletons They seemed to part for me as I approached, and in their lifeless eyes, emotion was reflected. I saw anguish. I saw sorrow. I saw, a reflection of my own, fear.

I touched down, and the fiery-hued ground accepted me. Immediately I wished it had not. I did not feel anything upon touching it, but I did...hear it. It spoke to me. It said, "You...shall atone. Your deeds are hideous in our eyes! You shall feel pain; the darkness of all you've done shall rend the flesh from your bones."

I opened my mouth to speak, to defend myself, to tell that it wasn't my fault, that it was out of my control, it was...ingrained in my very being. But I couldn't muster a sound.

The ground pulsated beneath me, a rhythmic thrumming that slowly grew into a constant hum. Inside, I felt strange. I couldn't feel my heartbeat anymore and my breathing was shallow and dispersed. Things were shifting around. They were rearranging.

I vomited.

Next came the blood.

For several minutes it felt like dull rocks were being pushed through my skin; until they broke through. I looked down, and could only watch as blood began pouring through my skin. It didn't hurt, and was only slightly odd as it ran down to pool beneath me.

Why was this happening- why did it have to happen? And why to me?

Did I make such mistakes as to be standing here in my own blood?

To be alive...when I should be dead?

My eyes snapped upward as a small flake, black, came into view. I watched as it slowly floated down and from side to side on it's path to the ground. But then I lost track of it. My attention was on the others. Thousands on miniscule read and black flakes fell from my body, right before my eyes.

I wanted to scream, to cry! But I couldn't. I had no reason; I had felt...nothing?

There I stood. Grey, lifeless flesh, supported by an immobile skeleton, and controlled by...a torn, hollow mind.

I deserved this. I had committed countless murders, and never done good for the world.

"...Cyn...der..."

I killed my mate, and the only one who I ever loved...the only one to ever truly love me.

"...Cynder..."

Was that a voice? My name?

"...Cynder, wake up!"

Yes, Cynder is my name, but who-

"Cynder!" Spyro yelled. I snapped awake and stared up at him. After blinking my eyes a few times I groaned. The moonlight reflected in his eyes showed my face. I looked afraid and downtrodden; I was covered in sweat.

"Spyro...You're- alive?" I asked.

"Of course I am!" he replied, "Should I not be?"

"No, I- guess it was a dream, a horrid, wonderful dream."