Floret

He is dark and angry, huge even for his kind. He doesn’t talk, just sneers viciously, his eyes hidden behind the cowl. He is dying – slowly, painfully, and it’s never pretty.
She is young, small as a fly, he could kill her just by sneezing in her direction.

Of course she is scared.

Still, she sees his wounds. They were rough again, weren’t they? They say, he was a villain, a royal jerk, he should be grateful they didn’t kill him on sight.

Bad idea. But still…

He looks asleep, so she crawls cautiously in his direction, dragging a bag of bandages almost bigger than herself.

It’s the third time she does it and the third time the idea sounds no better than it did before.

She tiptoes around his tail and almost falls on her face, when she sees him looking at her.

Fierce, violet eyes. Shadow dragon.

So much for being cautious.

He doesn’t move, just looks at her – almost curiously. She slowly pours the water on cloth and touches his wound. He hisses and his claw jerks convulsively making her stomach drop. This claw is bigger than all of her body. He doesn’t even need to sneeze, she would die from his lightest breath.

She continues. When she finishes, he is asleep again, too weary to stay awake for long. She silently packs her staff and retreats as quickly as she can to not look like she is running.

Her heart beats too fast in her throat, she feels dizzy.
Still, she is curious.

Bad, bad idea. Terrible.

She doesn’t hide anymore, just comes straight to him and does her business. He is always watching, but doesn’t say anything.

Sometimes there are no new wounds, so she just sits close to him for some time. His steady breath calms her and his claws shine in the dim light. She never touches him aside from bandaging.

The first time she hears his voice is when he tells her his name. After a short hesitation she answers with hers.

He is fascinating. He knows so much and doesn’t mind to share. He says, his collection taught him a lot. She doesn’t fully understand what it means, but knowing him, probably nothing good. His claws make tingling noise against the stone.


Today he is telling her a story about mysterious Starfall Islands. A vicious snake lives there, they say, its bite can turn dragon into stone.
He is emotional, she can feel it. His voice is steady, but his muscles are tense and his claws dig deep into the stone. She cannot take her eyes from them.

Slowly, she puts her tiny hands on his claw. It’s surprisingly warm and just a little bit rough. He stops talking and just looks at her.

But he doesn’t move his claw.

“Bad idea, goldie. Such a bad idea’’, - he smirks, - ''You'll be the death of me.''

The joke isn't funny and she wonders whether he calls her that because he forgot her real name.

He still doesn’t move his claw.



Art by me