Once upon a time, there lived a girl with the horns of a ram, the wings of a bird, and genitals like the anthurium flower. Her names was Ramou and her skin glistened with the scales of fish. She lived at the bottom of a mountain in a little hut long ago abandoned by humans.

The mountain was a distinctive one for it sometimes spewed out thick glowing globs of fire. Ramou had seen it once. She had been tending the garden with her mother when she noticed tiny gray petals falling around her. She caught one but all that she saw when she opened her hands was a spot of dust. Then the mountain gave a fearsome rumble and her mother quickly ushered her into the hut. It became unbearably hot as the sky grew ever darker. As soon as they heard an explosive roar and felt the ground tremble beneath their feet, her mother and father left, trailing fragrance of salt and ozone as they crossed the threshold and never returned.

Ramou learned to fend for herself in the time that she was alone, always hoping that someday someone would come find her. Only once did she attempt to venture out of the woods to inquire about the whereabouts of her father and mother, but after the catastrophic results of that particular endeavor, she never attempted it again. Humans were cruel beings and she wanted nothing to do with them.

Years passed and Ramou continued to grow. The hope that her parents would one day come back to her dwindled with each fay that passed, and so, by the time that she reached the age of fifteen, roughly two thousand one hundred ninety-two days had passed and her hope had died, But she continued to grow.

At fifteen years of age, she stood six feet tall, gangly and long-limbed, her nearly full-fledged wings trailing behind her as she walked, Her horns curled about her ears, the bases at the top of her head hidden under a mess of dark, sleek curls. Her skin held a delicate shimmer, scales rough to the touch but brilliant to behold. She held a fearsome majesty, the type often associated with monsters.