Diary of a Dragon (3 page)
Dear Diary
I woke up this morning to a most unusual sound. When I opened my eyes, I was doubly surprised, first to discover that Princess Lillian had left her hiding hole, secondly to see that she was sweeping the cave!
I briefly considered devouring her, more out of reflex than anything else, but I have rather gone off the idea now. Still, I wondered if she might take the opportunity and bolt out of the cave and back to the castle and the family that is presumably missing her. Instead, after she had swept the midden out the front door (I’m certain I had some sheep bones there with some perfectly good marrow left in them!), she dusted the Crusader helmets (I’m afraid I had forgotten again) and even straightened the old volumes of my journal. Then she took more sheepskins and went back to her hole.
Does that mean she actually wants to stay here? With me? What an odd thought.
Dear Diary
Princess Lillian has decided to come out into the main part of the cave in the evenings, because she says the light is better for drawing. At her request, I even lit a fire. Now we shall need a chimney. Women are certainly a botheration! It is more than ever clear to me why I am so happy in my bachelorhood.
Still, it is not entirely unpleasant to have some company.
Dear Diary
Hah! I knew it was a mistake to become so sentimental and forgiving. That princess-thing has taken a completely unacceptable liberty. I am furious! If I had not already rashly promised her that I would not devour or otherwise harm her, and were a dragon’s word not his solemn bond, I would toast her on the spot.
She has sent her brainless suitor off on a quest to locate a female dragon, and worse than that, he has found one! This morning he came clumping up and left this letter on my doorstep.
Dear Mr. Vermistorix,
(that baggage Lillian has learned my name from my journals! So much for privacy!)
I read your letter with interest.
(What letter?)
Yes, I too have often thought that it was a shame that we dragons must establish our territories so far apart. Although I am happy here in my high mountain home, with my books and my puma, Browniekin, for company…
(Browniekin! It is worse than I could have imagined! No wonder I have remained a bachelor.)
…there are moments when I too have wondered what it would be like to spend my time in the company of a kindred soul.
(Reading this, I cannot bear to think what nonsense about me the princess-thing has put in her forged letter.)
Should you care to correspond, this kind little human says he will be pleased to act as courier for any missive you might wish to send.
Respectfully yours,
Ms. Ophidia Montedraco
The most shocking thing is, the princess was not even ashamed. In fact, she pretended not to understand why I am angry. “You’re lonely,” she said. “And I can’t hang around forever.”
Words failed me. I pushed the rock in front of the doorway again—at the very least, it will prevent her hatching any more schemes with her wooden-headed paramour—and went out to swoop some steadings. I burned a barn and a deserted church, then felt very foolish. All that waste of flame and flying, and not a single sheep snaffled, knight sizzled, or presumptuous princess scorched.
Dear Diary
Somehow I have been talked into sending a letter back to Ms. Montedraco—Ms.? Have even the dragons of today fallen into modernistic nonsense? What is a Ms., anyway? It sounds like an insect buzzing. Here is a copy of what I wrote.
Dear etc.
Very pleasant to hear from you. I of course am a confirmed bachelor, and quite content with my lot in life, but would be willing from time to time to indulge in a civil correspondence.
Yours respectfully, and so on.
The princess, not content to have ruined my peaceful life, also insists on sending along a portrait of me, although what purpose that can serve I have no idea. Does she think Ms. Montedraco has never seen another dragon before?
I have not worn any of these things since the graduation revels at Reptilicus University, absolutely centuries ago. They do fit surprisingly well, though, don’t they?
Dear Diary
Sir Greg has come thumping and bumping back with another letter. I find myself oddly eager to read it, so I have put it off until after tea. I suppose it is not entirely a bad thing to have some conversation with another of my kind after all these years.
Dear Flammiferus (if I may call you by your first name),
(and who told her my first name? I signed my missive with a dignified “F. Vermistorix, esq.”)
Your bold words intrigue me. Although I had thought myself reconciled to spinsterhood, I feel a certain fire now burning in my womanly heart where after many cold years, the last embers had almost been extinguished.
(Bold words? Was it my cautious use of the verb “indulge”? I agonized over that.)
I have thought long and hard about your invitation, and think that I can indeed find some time in my schedule to come and visit you near the end of the month. Maidenly modesty forbids me to suggest how much I am looking forward to a personal meeting.
WHAT?!
Smolderingly,
Ophidia
