One night, she hosts a ball - elegant and dignified, her claws clinking against the wine-glasses and her tail swishing across the marble floor.
Another night, she moves among the humans in unassuming form; her true nature only seen in subtle, flickering glimpses, unpercieved by nearly all; a shine in her eyes, a tooth just a bit too sharp.
On another, she rests in her tower, her shape vastly different; that of an enormous yet wise beast, reading a tome under glimmering candlelight, taking notes with a claw dipped in ink.
And tonight, under the red dragon's moon, she is a hunter, a monster, a storm of scale and claw and wing and blood.
That elegance and subtlety and wisdom is gone, drowned out by instinct and ferocity. She is sharp, she is fast, she is strong, she is deadly. She rushes through the forest unto a clifftop crag, and unleashes a terrible, frightful roar.
Tonight she is no regal lady, nor journeying traveler, nor learned scholar; tonight she is simply an animal. She is a dragon, a beast of the wild.
In this moment she finds clarity and simplicity. When the moon returns to silver and her senses return, she will remember the rush of flying over dark woods, her singleminded focus as she chases down a deer.
She loves this part of her nature - though right now, she's a bit unable to express that sentiment. Under the red moon she loses herself to instinct; but in it's wake she finds herself rejuvenated, and at peace. Ready to take on the world.
In losing herself, she finds herself.