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Three thousand years ago, the seers did foretell,
Of a dragon born of fire in human shell.
With skin as tough as diamond, and eyes a fiery red,
This chosen one would save the world from evil dread.
He will shine like the sun in the morning sky,
And with wings spread wide, he will take flight and fly.
From the darkness, he will bring light,
And protect all who live with his might.
This dragon will have a heart of gold,
Brave and true as stories oft are told.
With scales ablaze, he'll make his way,
To fulfill the prophecy of the day.
The Chosen One will come in a time of need,
And humanity will be blessed indeed.
For by his hand, peace shall reign,
His glory will shine like the sun in the rain.
From the depths of the earth and heavens above,
He will rise up and declare his love.
For his fated mate, who only appears small,
And then he will answer the prophecy's call.
The chosenone will unite the land,
And free dragon kind from the iron hand.
With his strength and his might,
He will guide us to a future bright.
So let us wait and watch with bated breath,
For the chosen one is coming, the prophecy saith.
From the ashes of darkness and pain,
He will give rise to a new golden age, majestic and sane.
I might bewilling to just dismiss all this drivel as… well, as drivel, if not for the fact that every other nursery rhyme in the book is typical. There’s plenty of Mother Goose crap in there. Ring around the Rosey. You name it. All of the other verses are at least vaguely familiar to me. It’s almost like this particular rhyme is in here just to be hidden away in a children’s book. The damned book is called Dragon Rhymes and there’s only one fucking thing about dragons!
I take a breath and put the book back in the drawer of my desk. I get up and pour myself a water glass. I don’t fill it with water but with ninety percent alcohol by volume absinthe. I’ll be buzzed for about five minutes if I’m lucky. I lift the glass to my lips and don’t stop drinking until it’s empty. As I feel the warmth of the booze I return to my desk and sit. I’m angry, of course, because I’m convinced the Chosen One in the poem is the Chosen One referred to by Valentia.
