Fortress

living painting

palette though she was going mad, the first time she met fortress. palette had always enjoyed that painting, that vast canvas, its earthy tones and brilliant light, the warmth of that long-gone day palpable. the castle, its intricate bricks and moss and twisting vines. she always paused as she passed it, just for a moment, to admire its brushstrokes.

one day, she noticed something she'd never noticed before. hidden among the castle's bricks, a point of deep red against the green and grey. she thought little of it, and went on her way. the next day, as she stopped to enjoy its warm, fluffy clouds, that point of red drew her in. she looked a bit closer, and saw it had grown. over the next week, she watched as that red speck grew into a thin line, as it spread into what was becoming more clearly an eye. watching her.

palette was so unsettled by this staring eye, appearing so suddenly on a centuries-old painting, that she didn't see the grinning mouth until it, too, began to open. nor the curling claws, or spiraling horns, or coiled tail. she thought this must be it, all those paint fumes are melting my brain. and then the painting- once a cozy, crumbling castle, now undeniably dragon-shaped- spoke to her.