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On tiptoe, she skipped over mossy rocks and fallen trunks. Though she was barefoot in the woods, no sharp objects hurt her unprotected feet.
These were her woods, after all. A world created by her imagination. Nothing could harm her here.
Magical elk and downy fawns nibbled at the golden grass. A red and silver fox chased each other through delicately blossoming cherry trees. And a herd of unicorn saluted her with bowed heads as she passed.
Though it was already the twilight hours, and the woods were blanketed by inky darkness, the shadows didn’t frighten, lit as they were by a thousand fireflies.
Brigid herself was surrounded by the twinkling lights. They moved with her, casting their soft, yellow glows along her chosen path. Like tiny floating lanterns in the mist.
Soon, she neared a meadow bathed in moonlight, shielded from view by the curtain of weeping willow trees. She ducked her head to navigate beneath the arching branches and pulled apart the veil—
And sucked in a sharp gasp at the most entrancing sight she’d ever beheld.
A silver dragon coiled around itself upon a bed of daisies and dandelions, seemingly asleep.
Two golden deer-like antlers curved on top of his head. Fins fanned from the sides of his face like elaborate sideburns. His snout was narrow and long like a horse, but with ridges that ran down the center of his face.
In fact, he looked rather like a seahorse with the spiky fins that arched along his long, serpent neck. They looked at once delicate and sharp. Soft enough to fold without jabbing into him, all curled upon himself like that. But hard enough to snap erect in defense should he need them.
The other aspect that looked like a horse was the silky platinum mane that cascaded down his face and neck. Over scales that were so shiny and bright, they gleamed like silver-tipped opals in a thousand fragments of light.
The mane was where his equine similarities ended. His long, curving body was entirely serpentine, ending in a fish-fin tail, all covered in those same opal and silver scales. He had four legs and four gigantic claws, currently curled and tucked beneath his body. Folded into his sides were two objects that looked like ship sails, half like wings, and half like fins.
He was altogether too beautiful for words.
A sea dragon in her dreams.
How did he get here? And more importantly, now that he was here, did this mean that he was hers to keep?
She approached carefully, as quietly as she could. Hardly daring to breathe. Afraid that if he awoke to see her, this magical, mythical creature would simply disappear.
Oh, how she ached to touch him. He looked so real and warm.
Despite his icy, crystalline appearance, she could feel the heat he exuded. She could hear the steady, slow beat of his heart. Like waves rolling into each other, sweeping upon the shore.
Closer and closer she tiptoed, and reached out with one tentative arm, fingers outstretched.
When she barely brushed the tip of his snout, just enough to feel the warmth of his breath, his long, black, silver-tipped lashes fluttered and raised.
And she stared straight into eerily familiar diamond eyes...
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
Victorian England. Rathbourne Place, Pimlico, London.
On the appointed Tuesday, Prince Saiyan arrived without the pomp and fanfare one would expect of royalty, exotic and foreign though they might be. But he brought just enough dazzle that the entire neighborhood was abuzz with excitement.
The Rathbournes’ neighbors suddenly found themselves in need of fresh air, coming outside in droves to perambulate around the square. Or leaning out of their windows and balconies. They kept a respectable distance away from the visitor so that they didn’t crowd, but close enough to witness the goings-on and report back to their friends to fuel the rumor mill with vivid, first-hand accounts.
At least, they didn’t need to exaggerate. For, reality was already more than impressive.
Ben was rather bedazzled himself. He’d always had a soft spot for fairytales.
The “Prince” arrived in an exquisite yet understated black and silver phaeton pulled by two matching white horses. The carriage was unmarked by any royal or noble crests, but instead decorated in an almost whimsical design, as if it rolled literally out of a storybook.
Two servants carried in a gigantic crystal vase overflowing with flowers before promptly disappearing. Ben would be hard-pressed to identify all of the blossoms, despite having memorized the encyclopedia of botany before the age of ten. He didn’t think some of the flowers existed in real life. They practically sparkled in certain light, like gems.
The man himself dressed in pristine black this day with silver piping along his lapels and coat sleeves, as well as a dark blue and silver waistcoat. Though tied, longish hair had gone out of fashion decades, if not centuries, ago, the prince eschewed popular sensibilities and daringly pulled his shoulder-length platinum locks into a neat queue at the base of his head. No bow to adorn it. Simply a ribbon that was all but invisible.
