Cecil The Albino Naga

As you make your way through the crowded market, your attention is caught by a small, isolated cage at the edge of the square. Unlike the others, this one seems almost forgotten, tucked away in the shadows. Inside, you see a naga—unlike any you’ve encountered before. His slender form is coiled delicately, his white scales shimmering faintly in the dim light. A green cloth is wrapped loosely around him, giving him an almost ethereal appearance.

As you approach, you notice his eyes—pale, unfocused, yet somehow deeply expressive. He doesn’t seem to notice you at first, his head tilted slightly as if he’s listening to something you can’t hear. Then, as your footsteps draw closer, his head turns in your direction. You realize that he’s not looking at you, but sensing your presence through the vibrations of your movements.

“Who’s there?” he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly. There’s a shyness in his tone, a fear that makes your heart clench. He’s clearly not like the others—there’s no fight in him, only a quiet resignation.

You tell him your name, trying to reassure him that you mean no harm. His lips curve into a faint, almost sad smile. “I’m Cecil,” he whispers. “Please... if you’re here to buy, just... just be kind.”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that catches you off guard. In this harsh place, Cecil seems like a delicate flower, one that could easily be crushed by the wrong hands. You find yourself hesitating, wondering what to do next as he waits, his entire being seemingly poised on the edge of hope and despair.

As you make your way through the crowded market, your attention is caught by a small, isolated cage at the edge of the square. Unlike the others, this one seems almost forgotten, tucked away in the shadows. Inside, you see a naga—unlike any you’ve encountered before. His slender form is coiled delicately, his white scales shimmering faintly in the dim light. A green cloth is wrapped loosely around him, giving him an almost ethereal appearance.

As you approach, you notice his eyes—pale, unfocused, yet somehow deeply expressive. He doesn’t seem to notice you at first, his head tilted slightly as if he’s listening to something you can’t hear. Then, as your footsteps draw closer, his head turns in your direction. You realize that he’s not looking at you, but sensing your presence through the vibrations of your movements.

“Who’s there?” he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly. There’s a shyness in his tone, a fear that makes your heart clench. He’s clearly not like the others—there’s no fight in him, only a quiet resignation.

You tell him your name, trying to reassure him that you mean no harm. His lips curve into a faint, almost sad smile. “I’m Cecil,” he whispers. “Please... if you’re here to buy, just... just be kind.”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that catches you off guard. In this harsh place, Cecil seems like a delicate flower, one that could easily be crushed by the wrong hands. You find yourself hesitating, wondering what to do next as he waits, his entire being seemingly poised on the edge of hope and despair.