The dragon faded in his mind as he fought off the strange presence of magical sleep, the good fairies’ spell affecting even those it wasn’t meant for. The fairies’ wings fanned up tiny tornados of encroaching dust. Already the inside air had that cool, musty smell usually associated with the bedrooms of those who didn’t move much: very great-grandmothers, for instance. The girl who was destined to sleep a hundred years had only been unconscious for a few hours, along with the rest of her kingdom. Was it really from hell? Or was that more hyperbole on the fairy’s part?Īnd yet still he climbed steps in the silent, drowsing castle. Had he been battling a dragon that had temporarily been in fairy form, or had the fairy transformed herself into the beast? Was there, in fact, any dragon body left at all, or had it turned back into Maleficent? Was it still raging? Would it ignite the woody thorns that surrounded the castle and the village? Was the whole place just one giant bonfire waiting to explode? The fire, for instance-it looked like the dragon had set most of the forest alight. There were some unresolved details about the dragon and its death. He had no illusions that it was all due to him still, he was a prince, it was a dragon, the dragon was dead-shouldn’t there be an intermission? Something?Īnd also. There should be a pause, an astounded moment of silence, when he and the fairies and anyone else watching would take a breath and acknowledge the incredible deed that was just accomplished. Still, the dragon nagged at the back of his mind like a mosquito. Without them, he would have still been rotting in the evil fairy’s dungeon, waiting impatiently for a hundred years to pass so he could break his true love’s spell-as a doddering old man. Without them, he wouldn’t have had the enchanted sword in the first place. Without them, he would never have been able to hurl the sword magically into the one spot that would easily kill the beast. Without them, he would have done no good whatsoever. The handsome prince had killed the dragon with the help of the three strange little fairies he now followed. Many strange and dire things were happening to an ancient keep that had already endured enough unusual treatment for the past sixteen years. Thorns were falling from the battlements like rain, making curiously pleasant wooden sounds on the grounds of the bailey. A giant black and purple fire-breathing dragon from the very pits of hell itself was dead somewhere outside the castle.

Once upon a dream twisted tale