The dragon plunged through the acid mists.

The dragon plunged through the acid mists. The purity of it mad his scales feel clean. He tucked his wings in, spiraled towards the Stag Forests. He exhaled a trail of flames as

he entered the canopy, raining glistening ash down upon the council. It was bad form to maintain his draconian appearance among his lessers, but tonight he would feast on their

coquettish glances, coax forth their coy offerings. He would embrace their insipid mortality for this one night, shrug off his responsibilities of destroying villages & devouring

babies, so that he could learn to Waltz. As he took the hand of the Princess, he detected a little wince. Perhaps he should have showered after weeks of riding across the Steppe.

Perhaps it was the death grip he had on her hand and the sound of snapping bones. He hoped the look she gave him didn't mean there would be no sex tonight, But it

certainly indicated as such. She looked at him with a mixture of love and hate. He was used to that. Maggie never did show her feelings clearly. She was mysterious and

ambivalent like most women were, at least in his experience. Even his mother used to scold him with the phrase that he used again now, "

what was left of our faux-grass doormat. The little white daisy had fallen off years earlier, before he had been born. He took one last look outside before returning to his room,

taking the old mat with him. He couldn't help but paraphrase, "what's got no arms, no legs, and wears a grass skirt?" He smiled. My mat. He hugged it tighter.