Monday, March 4, 2013

Fairy Tale, Part 1

Last week's prompt created a mini-series of stories too long for a flash fiction, but I was really delighted with them, so I'll be sharing them anyway.

The Dragon

      "There's a whole other world in your own room, sometimes. Do you know how many spiders are crawling on my ceiling right now? I could have kept looking down here at my sewing... I might never have known."
      "You're musing to yourself again, aren't you? It's not your best quality. You might want to work on curbing that little personality flaw, in case he ever does kill me and get to you; he'd probably find it annoying," the dragon barely opened his glowing amber eyes as he lazily criticized her.
"I'm ignoring you today. He'll be here soon, anyway." Her singsongy voice was her defense.
"Yes, indeed. Are you going to shutter up your windows again, or try and watch this time?"
"You know perfectly well what the curse entails. I can't witness a thing, or his claim to my heart will be null and void. I wouldn't dare risk it."
The dragon lay still, knowing well what would come next.
"Tell me again, what he's like, won't you?"
"He's a damn fool," the dragon began, like always. "He knows I'm a fire dragon, but attacks with the very same flame-charmed sword every time. He keeps his hair short, not because of the fashions, but because of how many times it's been burned off or singed in our daily skirmishes. His armor is either gold plate, or polished so brightly that it reflects the color of my hoarded treasures beneath me. Which I can see because I barely have to move. His attacks are so poor I'm practically bored of him. It's really dull. I wish he'd finally realize what a waste he is and quit coming back every day."
"But he does come back every day," she whispered to herself.
"Ah, there he is now. Better shutter up, Princess," he half-snorted as he turned toward the bridge.
"I wish you bad luck and failure, dear Beast," she curtsied and added, "Whatever happens today, thank you for-"
"Treating me civilized in captivity," he finished her sentiment for her, somewhat tiredly. 
"My rituals keep me sane," she defended herself, "nothing I'd expect you to understand. You've never been a prisoner."
"Oh, haven't I?" He turned to face her full-on then, heat emanating from the usually soft glow in his eyes, turning more orange than amber now. She backed away, startled for the first time since she first was brought here, more than 2000 days ago.
"Well, I... haven't you?" she dared to ask. He forced a deep, calming breath, light smoke from his nostrils filling up her small quarters.
"We haven't known each other long enough for this conversation," he turned his back to her again.
"Maybe tomorrow, then," she meekly offered as she closed tight her domicile, risking being choked up on the smoke for the duration of the battle. 

It pricked his dragon heart. 
He didn't let the knight win intentionally that day. He really wasn't trying. But as he lay bleeding onto the disheveled pile of jewels, he understood finally, why he'd been told all his life that dragons never expose their hearts.


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