Conversations with Christopher: Rhodry Part 2

Christopher stands at the top of a tower next to Rhodry, gargoyles silently watching as he takes in Caerac Keep below. 

Rhodry points to one of the buildings wedged together along a winding road.

Rhodry: That’s the Tipsy Unicorn where Kevin works. It’s owned by Maggie, a former adventurer. 

Christopher: Adventurer?

Rhodry: Once upon a time…why are you smiling?

Christopher: Those words have special significance for me. You’re invoking a deity of story. A seductive, somewhat dubious deity.

Rhodry: I don’t have to say them if those words trouble you.

Christopher: Go on. I respect their power even if I distrust them. This is your story, your world. I’m curious what you’re about to invoke. 

Rhodry: Adventuring, perhaps? Once upon a time, anyone who didn’t live behind walls was an adventurer. At least in Rowenda. 

Christopher: Rowenda?

Rhodry: The seventh daughter of Serena Jasior, Imperatrix of the civilized lands. Once they came together to form a great empire to fight the Serpent.

Christopher: Serena and the Serpent? This sounds like a tale in its own right, apart from adventuring and Rowenda.

Rhodry: Yes, it is, but the tales are interlocked, like a serpent swallowing its own tale. As Nevalyn my ancestor once swallowed the World Serpent. 

Christopher: This sounds like yet another tale! Is this serpent-swallowing ancestor part of the reason you’re special? Maybe why Daeric wants to keep you in this tower?

Rhodry: You’re quick, to grasp my connection to this story. 

Christopher: I’m just not sure which story you’re telling. 

Rhodry: All stories are interlocked, threatening to swallow each other.

Christopher: A curious anaology. Here I thought they were like the shadows of color left by the setting sun, mingling and overlapping in spite of the darkness. 

Rhodry: A beautiful image. Is it connected to Once Upon a Time being a deity of story? Perhaps Happily Ever After as well?

Christopher: You’re quick as well. Quick, but confusing. 

Rhodry: (smiling a little) A curious comment coming from you.

Christopher: Please go on with your story, although I’m not sure which one you’re telling.

Rhodry: Adventuring. It’s connected with my ancestor swallowing the Serpent, only to be defeated by Serena Jasior. This is why there’s a land called Rowenda. It’s also why some Rowendians adventure while others live behind walls.

Christopher: Go on.

Rhodry: Our world is filled with monsters whom feed upon humans of some kind. This hunger was encouraged by the Serpent. 

Christopher: Why?

Rhodry: Once Nevalyn swallowed the Serpent, She became a dark god for all monsters. Not only did her children, the Serpent-Born inherit her hunger for life, energy, love, blood, and flesh; but almost everything intelligent did as well. 

Christopher: How so?

Rhodry: Kobolds, gnolls, trolls, goblins, and humans who could shapeshift found themselves hungering for human flesh and blood. They began hunting them; forming bands which attacked human settlements. 

Christopher: Which is why humans began building walls?

Rhodry: Exactly. Eventually a queen got all the various leaders of the human lands to follow her, to confront and destroy the heart of this predatory hunger; Nevalyn the Serpent. 

Christopher: This was Serena Jasior, right? Your Imperatrix?

Rhodry: Not my Imperatrix. She disappeared a couple of centuries before I was born. 

Christopher: What happened to her?

Rhodry: No one knows. She just vanished and her adopted daughters were left to snatch up pieces of her empire for herself.

Christopher: I’m guessing Rowenda got Rowenda, correct?

Rhodry: Quite correct. You’re getting me ahead of myself.

Christopher: Sorry.

Rhodry: Serena vanished, yes, but not before she and her allies succeeded in banishing Nevalyn from existence. Nevalyn had been banished before, but She remained as long as Her descendents were alive, whispering and controlling them. Whatever Serena did silenced Nevalyn, freeing not only her descendents, the Serpent-Born, but every monster in existence to live free of her influence. 

Christopher: Her descendents are the Serpent-Born? Is that what you are, Rhodry?

Rhodry: (bowing his head) Yes. Daeric and I owe Serena Jasior, even if she’s been more of an enemy than an ally to our kind. She freed us, but many people still fear us.

Christopher: Which is why Daeric wants you to stay in this tower.

Rhodry: Exactly. We haven’t been able to shake the appetites Nevalyn left us with; not the Serpent-Born or any other monster. People have reason to fear us. 

Christopher: Hence the walls.

Rhodry: If you want to travel in Rowenda beyond the walls, you need to do it with a sword in hand or magic capable of fighting the monsters with. Those who do so are called adventurers.

Christopher: Your Maggie is one of them.

Rhodry: Yes. She traveled far and wide with some of the founders of the Keeps, the walled cities.

Christopher: It sounds like she’s old.

Rhodry: Very. She looks human, but she’s very short. People suspect she’s part dwarf, gnome, or halfling. Not that many of the old races survive. 

Christopher: The old races?

Rhodry: Dwarfs, gnomes, halflings, and elves. Most of them have mingled with humans, or disappeared. Maggie, I suspect is the descendent of a such a mingling.

Christopher: And she’s an adventurer who runs a tavern.

Rhodry: Yes. A lot of people accuse her of being a murderer and a thief, but they keep coming to drink her ale. It is a good ale.

Christopher: Why do they accuse her of being a murderer and a thief? 

Rhodry: Adventurers often had to fight and kill other living creatures which were once simply classified as monsters. Now people accusing adventurers of being mercenaries who ventured into dungeons, caverns, and lairs in order to kill those occupying them and taking their treasures. 

Christopher: Is this true?

Rhodry: Maggie did travel with a raiding party deep into a dungeon to slaughter all the goblins within. Those goblins were raiders themselves, often coming out to attack human civilizations, but these adventurers didn’t leave any survivors. They took everything in the dungeon they could carry; weapons and treasures which the goblins stole.

Christopher: Stealing back the stolen goods. Perpetuating the cycle.

Rhodry: Exactly. This used to be very common in the early days of Rowenda. Rowenda herself was an adventurer. If she hadn’t been, she couldn’t have claimed these northern lands as hers, but she did claim them with a sword.

Christopher: Did any humans object to her claiming this land?

Rhodry: Good question. (He smiles bitterly.) If they did, their words and stories are lost.

Christopher: While the conqueror got to tell her story and pass it on. 

Rhodry: Exactly. Now people are saying adventurers like Rowenda and Maggie were no better than the monsters they killed. Calling nonhumans monsters is just an excuse to murder and rob them. 

Christopher: What does Maggie say to this?

Rhodry: If she hadn’t killed the monsters, they would have killed her. If the monsters were dead, why shouldn’t she help herself to their treasure?

Christopher: Pragmatic, if a little merciless.

Rhodry: Mercy is preached by the Servants of the Unicorn in below temple, but not always observed. 

Christopher: Just how powerful are these Servants of the Unicorn?

Rhodry: Citizens of Serena’s empire used to venerate the World Serpent. This serpent was later worshipped as a Dragon by its followers. The Followers of the Dragon were all converted to the become Servants of the Unicorn.

Christopher: All of them? 

Rhodry: Those who didn’t were hunted down and killed. 

Christopher: These Servants don’t sound merciful at all. 

Rhodry: As I said, mercy is preached, but so is running the impure through with your horn as the Unicorn did anyone nursing a monster in their breast. 

Christopher: Would this include nonhumans and the Serpent-Born?

Rhodry: Centuries ago, the Followers of the Dragon would enslave us. The Unicorns, however, would kill us on sight.

Christopher: Do they still?

Rhodry: No, but they regard us as an evil which must be constantly watched. An evil which must be smited, if it shows any of the tendencies of our foremother. 

Christopher: How terrible.

Rhodry: Yes, our history is quite terrible, isn’t it? I haven’t even mentioned the undead stalking our land. If there’s one thing the Unicorns fear more than the Serpent-Born, it’s the undead. 

Christopher: Are there a lot of undead in your world?

Rhodry: Enough to frighten and seduce the living. 

To be continued on Monday; May 20, 2024

#RainbowSnippets: Fairest

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets!

Every Saturday or Sunday, those participating post six sentences of LGBTQIA+ fiction on their blogs. They can be from their own stories. It can be from someone else’s. They just need to be LGBTQIA+.

To sample various LGBTQIA+ stories, go to…

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For my own, the “good witch” is about to have words with Rose about peeking into magic mirrors in Fairest

Oriana bared her teeth in a snarl that rippled through her entire countenance, distorting it.

“How did you get your hands on my magic mirror?” She glared at me as if I’d stolen the mirror from her private sanctuary. 

This stirred up my own anger. She knew this was where I came to hide from the world. She must have known I liked to look through this tower’s lost and forgotten treasures. Why hadn’t she stopped me if she didn’t want me to discover what she’d hidden amongst the others?

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#QueerBlogWed: Coffee and Mismatched Socks

On November 1, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted a Wednesday Words prompt involving a receptionist, mismatched socks, and coffee.

This poem was the result…

The receptionist has mismatched socks

The coffee she pours is better than you expected

She winks, inviting you in a silent joke

Between the two of you, a conspiracy of silence

The manager would object to spending too much

Quality coffee would be wasted on you

Even if you drink far better brews than he does

The receptionist distracts the manager with her bright smile

Softening his scowl into a condescending smirk

No one with a brain could smile like that

Once the manager asked her why her socks don’t match

She told him too often her socks disappear

She decided to start putting the leftovers together

Don’t they contrast in an interesting way?

She shows off the red and purple with a grin

Interesting, yes, but they don’t match

She keeps missing the essential point

To her, that point isn’t essential

She’ll work with what she’s got

As long as she can enjoy her coffee

Starting her morning with its taste in her mouth

Centering herself as she faces the phone

Ready to direct and hold those waiting

You smile and wink back 

Aware the manager doesn’t notice

Enjoying the coffee as you turn away. 

Conversations with Christopher: Rhodry Part 1

Christopher is used to the chill of shadows and mists, the whispering breeze.

This breeze becomes a wind, whipping at his clothes and hair. It ruffles the golden waves of the boy standing beside him as he gazes down from a height upon a walled city below. 

Tiny shops and dwelling bunch together in winding streets leading up to a castle in the center. More elegant than the castle, off by itself in a clearing of green surrrounded by flowers is a proud white temple, topped by a silvery animal. 

Rhodry: It’s a unicorn. You’re looking at the Temple of the Unicorn. Below is Caerac Keep.

Christopher turns to face the golden haired boy, dressed in sober black velvet, gazing at him with guileless blue eyes.

Rhodry: I’m Rhodry. Perhaps you remember me?

Christopher becomes aware of the gargoyles, crouching in the eaves above the golden-haired boy. They are silent stone, yet watching him, animated by a force which could turn upon him, if he poses any threat. 

Christopher: I do. You were in a dark hole in our scribbler’s imagination, too long neglected.

Rhodry: (smiling) Now I’m here in the setting of my story; Trouble at Caerac Keep. We’re standing in Daeric’s tower. 

Christopher: Our scribbler is no longer negelcting you.

Rhodry: I understood. I’ve undergone so many changes over the years. As a character in various roleplaying games, including the campaign I began in. As Rhodry Mavelyne in The Keep

Christopher: She never forgot you. She uses your name at this very Cauldron along with NaNoWriMo and in various social media.

Rhodry: (hugging himself) Here in this Cauldron, I remember Rhodry Mavelyne, but I couldn’t keep being him. He loved so many people, other writers’s characters. To be part of Trouble at Caerac Keep, I had to change. I had to become someone else. 

Christopher: I understand.

Rhodry: Yes, you would. You’ve had to be other characters, too, haven’t you? 

Christopher: I was once another Christopher. When Damian pulled me from the Shadow Forest, he called me Christopher, but I’m not sure if I’m the boy he remembers and loved. Not after being lost in the shadows.

Rhodry: I’ve been lost, too. Not just in other incarnations, but this one. 

Christopher: Tell me about this one. 

Rhodry: I’ve lived here in this tower for so long. I’ve learned to teleport myself to the Tipsy Unicorn, something Daeric doesn’t like. 

Christopher: Why not?

Rhodry: Daeric is very protective of me. The Tipsy Unicorn is a tavern, filled with strangers, even if the owner is a friend. (He blushes a bit.) There’s a server there called Kevin. He has very red hair and the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. He always serves me a second round on the house.

Christopher: It sounds like a pleasant place to visit. Why does Daeric object?

Rhodry: Because of this. 

Rhodry locks his gaze upon Christopher’s. His blue eyes change to golden. 

Christopher finds himself seeing himself through Rhodry’s eyes; a slender boy of about the same age with cropped coppery bronze hair with golden strands. He wants to touch that hair, see if it’s as soft as it looks. 

Those eyes, however, swim with various colors like light reflected upon a lake. Those colors whisper with individual voices, hard to tell from his own.

Rhodry looks away, cheeks reddening. Christopher is able to look away himself.

Christopher: We’re alike, yet similar. You remind me a little of Danyel and Tayel.

Rhodry: (smiling sadly) How are they?

Christopher: Do you know them?

Rhodry: My previous self did. They were part of The Keep, until they became part of Tales of the Navel

Christopher: I feel as if I should apologize, but I wouldn’t really mean it. Danyel and Tayel are too precious a part of my world.

Rhodry: If so, you have nothing to apologize for. I don’t blame you for loving them. 

Christopher: Thank you.

To be continued on Monday; May 13, 2024…

#RainbowSnippets: Fairest

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets!

Every Saturday or Sunday those participating post and share six sentences of LGBTQIA+ fiction on their blogs. It can be their own. It can be someone else’s. It just needs to be LGBTQIA+.

To sample various LGBTQIA+ stories, go to…

https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets

For my own, Rose’s conversation with the girl in the magic mirror is about to be interrupted in Fairest

A hand came down on the mirror. 

The princess disappeared. 

My own face stared back at me. My blue eyes were wide with shock. My lips trembled. My expression caught me by surprise.

I looked up to see Oriana staring at me, looking nothing like a “good witch.” Her blue eyes widened with a mad fury, as if ready to pop out of her face.

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#QueerBlogWed: No Use Snapping Over Spilled Food

On August 2, 2024, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Word prompt involving spilled food, a rubber stamp, and paper.

This freebie story for my Work in Progress The Players Are the Thing was the result…

Tomato sauce spilled off Mona’s paper plate, splashing in lurid crimson across the intricate purple design of Beatrix’s rubber stamp. 

Beatrix narrowed her eyes, raising a fist in which she clenched her purple die, the die which she’d done considerable character damage with. “Mona.”

“Sorry, ‘Trix!” Mona said around a mouthful of pizza, gazing at the stain with wide brown eyes. “I’m such a klutz, but it’s just a piece of paper.”

“It’s not just a piece of paper.” Beatrix closed her eyes and breathed, nostrils flaring. “It’s a character sheet. One of my best designs.”

“Yeah, but it’s a rubber stamp. You can always, just stamp another piece of paper.” Mona shrugged, sat down with her pizza, far too close to Rhane. 

Rhane winced a bit, tried to scoot as far away as possible. Mona could be careless of personal space and personal possessions. 

“It may have just been a stamp, but we did work a lot on the design of this particular sheet.” She kept her voice soft, hoping it would placate both Beatrix and Mona. 

“I don’t need you to explain my actions,” Beatrix snapped, glowering at Rhane. 

Rhane flinched a bit at her words. 

“Hey, take it easy on Rhane!” Mona frowned, glancing from Beatrix to Rhane. “She was defending you.”

“I don’t need defending either,” Beatrix growled. “Not from you.”

Mona winced at a bit at this. “No need to put it like that.”

“Why not? You’re like a puppy dog, Mona.” Beatrix rose from her seat. Somehow her shadow seemed to spread as she clenched her fist to her chest. “Every time I kick you, you come back, begging for more.”

“Beatrix, stop it.” Amberwyne rose within Rhane even as Rhane rose from her seat, facing her lover with a courage she normally didn’t have. “You’re being a jerk.”

“I’m being a jerk?” Beatrix’s eyes seemed to darken, emiting a purple light. “After all I’ve done for you, planning these games, rearranging your schedule, and putting up with your constant whining, you accuse me of being a jerk?”

“Yes.” Rhane stood her ground, feeling Amberwyne support her. “If our feelings mean anything to you, stop it.”

Beatrix closed her eyes, raising her hands to massage her own temples. Her shoulders slumped. “I have a headache.”

She rose from where she stood, dark skirts swaying around her, and stalked out of the room. 

“Um, does this mean we’re not gaming?” Mona twitched and poked at the damaged character sheet as if it was a dead thing. 

Rhane swallowed, feeling her heart race. She hated fighting. She hated confrontations, yet she’d stood up to Beatrix. “Give her time.”

Mona nodded, giving Rhane a sideways glance. “Would you like to get out of here?”

“It might be a good idea.” Fresh air seemed like a wonderful idea. Going somewhere Beatrix wasn’t sounded even better. “I’m sorry, Mona.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Mona shook her head, dark hair swaying over her t-shirt. “Let’s go.”

She tried to sit up, swaying a bit as if she was off balance.

Rhane offered her a hand.

Mona stared at it for a moment before taking it. 

Standing up to Beatrix took a lot of courage for both of them. Hopefully they’d be able to talk this out, given a little time and space. 

Hopefully Beatrix was just short-tempered because she was in a bad mood. 

Hopefully. Rhane forget that purple glint in her eyes, a purple glint very like what Amberwyne saw in Fidessa’s. 

Honestly, she was taking this game way too seriously, associating Beatrix with her villain, even if that villain was Beatrix’s creation. 

One of the things that made this roleplaying game special was because everyone was very intense about it. Maybe they were getting too intense, including Beatrix. 

Rhane helped Mona to her feet, offered a reassuring smile as the two of them walked to the door. 

She didn’t mind feeling like she was channeling some of Amber’s strength. She could use it, especially if Beatrix was going to continue to be cross.

Rhane felt her eyes drawn to the purple dice lying nearby the ruined piece of paper. 

She wasn’t sure why. 

Secondary Characters Speak Out: Quartz and Prunella

Concepts glistened in the air, just waiting to be grabbed with a thought. Answers wrapped in mysteries awaited those caught in the sleeping curse, pulsing with the promise of power and wisdom

Christopher would have been right at home in this sleep, Quartz thought, as he brushed against the concepts, touched the mysteries without being drawn into them. He wasn’t as willing to embrace them in all their glory the way his Fairest or her princess had. He was too enchanted by the song. 

Quartz concentrated on its fractured notes; becoming melodic, becoming more and more harmonious as many crystal voices joined the warbling tune, helping it stumble less and less. 

It would be so easy to slip into those voices as he’d slipped into crystal coffin and to become one with them. To become the quartz he was named for. To join in the song eternally.

A voice speaks with many voices; all of them somehow familiar in the darkness.

Voice: You could become one with the rocks, leaving behind the little dwarf you are. Perhaps one day, you will. The ones who love you will grieve all the more if you do that. They’re grieving right now.

A vision blooms in the shadows of Nimmie Not, sitting in the sunlight on top of his coffin, kicking his ankles against the side of it. The little man is trying to whistle, but the tune has the same sad, warbling note as the half-healed crystal. 

The kobold changes, turning into a human woman with skin white as now and raven hair. She gazes at him from the top of a tower in a castle. A golden-haired girl embraces her, gazing her with clear blue eyes offering unconditional love. His surrogate daughter relaxes in the embrace, tempted to accept the happiness it offers, but unable to look away from him. 

The princess changes into Opal, stooped and gray, sitting at a table with all of his brothers looking stooped and gray. Sorrow is heavy upon their brow and shoulders. None of them will look in his direction. 

The visions disappear into a single, slitted golden eye, gazing back at it from the darkness. 

Voice: There’s a void in your loved ones’s lives, a void they’re waiting for you to fill, even if they cannot admit it. There’s still time for you. Time to spend time with our kobold, your daughter, and your brothers. To heal them all as you are healing this crystal.

Quartz: (recognizing the eye and the voice) Prue, it’s you, isn’t it? What are you doing here?

Prunella: Where fire and rock meet in song, we are always there. We orchestrated the song which tempts you. We had you compose it for us and for the rocks. 

Quartz: The song of the crystal, aye. Is it Nimmie Not’s heart? 

Prunella: That is for you to decide.

Quartz: Am I healing it?

Prunella: Healing and harming it. 

Quartz: What’s that supposed to mean?

Prunella: You’re healing this crystal, but Nimmie Not misses you. Everyone who loves you misses you. They want you to be more than a crystal voice, Quartz.

Quartz: How do I return to whom I was?

Prunella: You don’t. You become whom you’re changing into. 

Quartz: Sounds like too much of a riddle for me, Prue.

Prunella: It’s the riddle of living creatures, to be experienced as they develop. Those who fall under the sleeping spell embrace it in a way that’s a mystery to others. 

Quartz: Another riddle. Poetic, but doesn’t really explain anything. 

Prunella: We are dragon. The explanations we embrace over time are riddles. 

Quartz: Aye, I can see that. Let me try asking something else. How do I wake up?

Prunella: By seizing the opportunity when you are ready.

Quartz: Right. Another riddle which tells me nothing.

Prunella: You’ll know, Quartz. When the moment comes, you’ll recognize it. 

Quartz: Right. I suppose saying anything more would be a spoiler. 

Prunella: We must check our exuberant scribbler from revealing all, lest she allows this Cauldron to boil over. (They let out a snort that stinks of brimstone.) 

On the other side of the screen, typing these words, I sniff. It’s my Cauldron, Prue. 

Quartz: (chuckling) Aye, we wouldn’t want that. 

There’s no need to agree with her, Quartz, although I suppose I should expect you to get snarky. 

Prunella: (aware of my scratching at the fourth wall and paying no attention whatsoever) Good luck, Quartz.

The golden eye closes, leaving Quartz in the tantalizing pulse of magical darkness, listening to the crystal’s song. 

I, the scribbler mentioned by Prue, wince as I finish writing at how well my characters know me and my weaknesses. 

As for you, dear readers, come and meet the daughter Quartz mentioned and the princess who loves her in Fairest

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#RainbowSnippets: Fairest

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets!

Every Saturday or Sunday, those participating post and share six sentences of LGBTQIA+ on their blogs. It can be their own. It can be someone else’s. It just needs to be LGBTQIA+.

To sample different LGBTQIA+ snippets, go to…

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For mine, Rose continues her conversation with the girl in the magic mirror in Fairest

“Ask her,” the princess witch in the mirror said. 

“Ask who what?” The glass was so close to my face. If I leaned any closer, my head would bump into the mirror. Or maybe I’d find myself in whatever place this mysterious maiden was. It was so tempting to find out. I could fall through the glass…

Ready to fall in with Rose? Follow, follow, follow the buy links…

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#QueerBlogWed: Wildflowers and a Broken Hinge

On October 25, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving a broken hinge, wildflowers, and two months.

This poem was the result…

It’s been two months

Perhaps longer than that

Wildflowers grow around the broken hinge

Where it was dumped upon the ground

A piece of a shattered door

Once shut and locked

Busted from the efforts to escape

When it was a barrier to freedom

Trapping the inhabitant within

Someone not meant to be caged

The strength of their desire to flee

Exceeded the solid wood in the way

Let alone the poor hinge

It wasn’t the hinge’s fault

It was simply part of a door

A door others shut and locked

Leaving the prisoner to their fate

The only part their captors left was the door

All the captive had left to blame

All they could batter themselves against

They were the one in the way

They were the one broken

In a desperate attempt at flight

An angry assault upon an obstacle

They scattered wildflowers in their wake

Even if the flowers took a while to grow

Allowing new life to thrive

In the aftermath of angry destruction. 

Conversations with Christopher: Prunella

He steps out of the shadows and into a rain of gold. Coins spin in the air around him, offering glimpses a haughty monach’s profile stamped upon them. 

He almost doesn’t recognize the haughty, sullen face of King Richard, Rose’s father. A woman with thin lips and flaring nostrils follows, stamped with a similarity in her shadowed eyes to Richard’s. Perhaps she was his mother? 

A voice speaks; echoing with many voices in a cavernous space. Christopher realizes he’s in a cavern.

The Voice: She was Queen Merlicent. She was the mother of the current monarch of Dawn and Twilight. 

Christopher looks around for the voice, but more coins are falling, landing with a clatter upon a mound of them. Jewels are mixed with the coins. 

He’s standing in a sea of treasure, yet mingled with the wealth are half-melted picture frames. Once they were of cold and silver. A few have the tattered remains of a portrait in the center. 

Another coin tumbles in front of his eyes. A melancholy man gazes at nothing in particular from its golden surface, a man who looks somehow familiar. 

The Voice: He was Reynard the Romantic. Humans accused him of being too romantic.

Christopher: (looking up) Why is that?

He can see he’s in a great cavern. The voice is coming from high above him. Something glitters like pearl; scales upon a long, sinuously serpentine neck.

The neck lowers, giving Christopher a glimpse of a triangular head with trailing whiskers. Slitted golden eyes, as gold as the coins gaze upon him. 

The Dragon: (for it is a dragon) This Reynard loved his first queen so excessively, he lost all interest in living after he lost her. He neglected his duties, along with his only child, leaving her upbringing to various court members and the palace staff. He let himself be enchanted by a golden-haired maiden whom he made his second queen. So smitten was he, he hardly noticed when his daughter disappeared. 

Christopher: (unable to look away from that golden gaze) He’s Princess Blanche’s father, isn’t he?

The Dragon: (smiling to show razor-sharp teeth) Not much of a father or a king, would you say? Why did he merit such happiness, Happily Ever After?

Christopher: (with a slight shiver) You have the advantage of me.

The Dragon: Perhaps. You did appear within our lair, little shadow. Do you like our collection? Do you like our kings and queens?

Christopher: I’ve only met one of them. 

The Dragon: Not a bad ruler, young Richard. We do have high hopes for his daughter when she awakens from her enchanted slumber. 

Christopher: We?

The Dragon: We are dragon. Larger than most living beings, beyond gender, we speak with many voices. We echo ages past. We see much that is present. We are gifted and cursed with teasing promises of the future.

Christopher: You are a we. 

The Dragon: Aren’t you as well, Happily Ever After? Aren’t you composed of lost thoughts and memories? Don’t you use those to guide others to a more joyful destiny?

Christopher: I am and I’ve tried to. I chose to live as Christopher.

The Dragon: You cling to the name and life your beloved Damian Ashelocke gave you, yet you are caught between the Tower and the Garden, tasting the many faces of fate. Someday you may have to embrace your destiny as a we.

Christopher: Someday I may, but today I am Christopher, drawn into a world that is not mine, speaking to one who has many names.

The Dragon: We are dragon, but we are not nameless. You may call us Prunella if you like. 

Christopher: Prunella? 

Prunella: Is our name so odd? 

Christopher: It’s not what I’d expect a dragon to call themself. Themselves?

Prunella: Yes. A little dwarf once called us Prue. We rather liked his nickname.

Christopher: A little dwarf?

Prunella: One of seven brothers silly enough to follow a kobold into the Forest of Tears. We fear he sleeps off his folly in a crystal coffin, but there’s a certain nobility in his particular foolishness. 

Christopher: Yes, there is. 

Prunella: You’ve met him.

Christopher: In this Cauldron between worlds, yes. 

Prunella: Why are you here, Christopher? What brings one such as you to our lair?

Christopher: I’m not sure. I’m not even sure where this is, other than your lair which must be somewhere near the Kingdom of Dawn and Twilight. 

Prunella: Kingdom. Once upon a time it was a queendom. Too well do we remember the maidens whose union formed Dawn and Twilight. 

Christopher: Too well?

Prunella. They were the only humans who came to our lair for advice, not treasure. We enjoyed our conversations with both of them.

Christopher: You miss them. 

Prunella: We loved them. Too few mortals are like them. We can only hope certain mortal may rekindle some of the magic they carry with them.

Christopher: Mortals such as the Princesses Rose and Blanche? 

Prunella: Tempting us with a happily ever after, Happily Ever After?

Christopher: You did say you had hopes for Princess Rose once she awoke from her enchanted sleep. 

Prunella: We did. We do. We’ve dreamed of Dawn and Twilight being reborn. We followed a vision, made a request of Quartz when he came with his brothers to gather crystals to create the bed in which a princess might heal, sleep, and awaken as someone greater. 

Christopher: You did?

Prunella: (letting out a snort) We didn’t think Quartz himself would sleep in this bed. He called it a coffin, but it’s for the living, not the dead. 

Christopher: (trying not to wince at the stench of brimstone) You were already aware Quartz was sleeping in this bed, not Rose. Whatever powers it has, she may not be able to use them. 

Prunella: Don’t be so sure. As we said, we have high hopes for this young princess. We have high hopes for her affinity with the princess who did sleep in that bed. 

Christopher: May your hopes not be disappointed.

Prunella: Thank you…Christopher. Now we will sleep. 

The dragon lowers their long neck as gently as they can to their golden bed. It still sends coins and jewels flying. 

Fortunately, Christopher is already fading. The objects pass right through him.

Christopher: Sweet dreams.

Prunella begins to snore, steam wafting from their nostrils, as Christopher vanishes completely. 

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