A swirling mist surrounded Priscilla, thick and unyielding. No matter how hard she flapped her wings, trying to dispel it, the fog clung to her like a noose.
The mist seeped in relentlessly, finding every crack and pore: through her scales, her skin, her nostrils, her eye sockets. Every vulnerable opening it could exploit, it invaded. Her limbs were the first to go numb. Then her tail. Her back. One by one, her body parts stopped responding to her will. Even her roar, fierce and defiant, was choked off. Her massive body lost its balance and crashed to the ground, unleashing a thick cloud of dust upon impact.
She tried to gather herself, but her attempts were futile. Her jaws clenched, but the fire she longed to unleash stayed trapped in her throat. Her breathing became faint, shallow, and weak. The only part of her still burning with life was her dragon eyes, now fixed on the approaching white figure.