Sleeping Dragon consulting the self

She did not know. Where she was or how she was. Nor who she was. She didn't know she was here to help, that she was here to care: not to be cared for. Here to think of others: not to be thought of. She did not know that her only reason to live was to aid in the lives of others. She did not know she was a tertiary character in other peoples' stories, nor that she was entirely content in this. Forever a spinster and singleton, a tall grey beacon of ever-giving light. She didn't know any of this. She did not know.

Her body, detached from her mind as it was, felt the cooling licks of another dog, so contrasting to the heat of her skin that steam almost rose. And while she didn't clock the mixture nearby, her dry tongue whipped out to instinctively lick her maw and might have caught a speck of the remedy as it did so.