The little princess and the dragon got along wonderfully.

Though the dragon himself had no clue why he’d snatched the Fairy Tale Kingdom’s little princess and brought her to his lair… well, she was already here. No point sending her back now.

Soon, he discovered just how delightfully entertaining she was.

She crafted playing cards from paper and ink, then coaxed him to seal them with draconic magic so they could play together.

Dragons weren’t unintelligent—just lazy, thanks to overwhelming strength. But when focused? Beating humans at cards should’ve been effortless.

Yet against *her*, he kept losing.

Her strategies were bizarrely unpredictable, her luck absurdly radiant—practically Lady Luck’s favorite child. She’d pull off wild comebacks through sheer whimsy.

After every game, his broad face would be plastered with tiny score-keeping strips. From afar, he looked like a wall smothered in white ivy, rustling *whoosh-whoosh* in the breeze.

Truth was, no one beats a luck magnet—not humans, not dragons.

Frustration simmered: all that power, nowhere to channel it. Eventually, he quit playing altogether.

Then she unveiled *upgraded* card battles.

More complex rules, weirdly fresh mechanics. The dragon—who’d sworn *never again*—quickly found himself drawn back in.

And just as predictably? Utterly routed. Fled in disarray.

He hadn’t realized how heavily "god-draws" swayed this version. Had he known, he might not have turned into such a nag afterward.

But none of that mattered. He’d learned his lesson: never play cards with the deceptively harmless little princess… or become a walking paper-strip gallery.

Still… without cards? Honestly, unbearably dull.

He’d lived alone for centuries, never feeling lonely. But with her in the lair, his old solitude now felt hollow.

Like these card-less days.

He’d feel an itch—as if ants crawled on his scales… no, impossible. His scales were too thick. *She* was the itch.

He *wanted* to play. But losing hurt. Reason screamed *don’t*. Emotion whispered *just try*.

*Try?* …No. Couldn’t.

Reason won. He refused. And for a moment, his heart felt dead—joy and sorrow gone forever.

“Oh! I made Jungle Chess and Stratego! Wanna play?”

“Yay!”

Tail wagging like a puppy, he followed her into their dedicated game room.

…

Games were fun, but moderation mattered.

So after chess—face still dotted with paper strips—he let her drag him outside for a flight.

He spread his wings. A gentle flap stirred a roaring gale. She sat safely within his back’s magic barrier, gazing up at the ink-black sky, counting stars one by one.

Nights in this fairy tale world were serene. No factories, no skyscrapers—just a dazzling star-sea overhead. Sometimes, it felt like you could reach up and pluck a star.

Soaring high, the paper strips on his face rustled wildly… then tore free, swirling behind them into the emerald forest below.

She lay back on his scales, eyes on the cosmos, and murmured:

“Hey, silly dragon… tell me your story? I’ll trade you mine.”

“I’m not silly!”

“Then you’re dumb! No arguing—you lose to me *every* time. Cards, chess… all of it.”

“…”

He hung his head. She was right. His wins barely filled one hand; her victories outnumbered the stars.

A dragon of honor, he sighed in surrender:

“I’ve got no story worth telling.”

“How? You’ve lived *thousands* of years! You must’ve seen more than me!”

“Mostly… I slept.”

“But you woke to hunt! Think—anything vivid?”

“…Alright.”

He closed his eyes, searching his memory palace.

Nothing.

The past was a blank sheet—front and back. No matter how hard he strained, emptiness remained.

As if… he’d appeared from nowhere. No past needed. Only present. Only future.

Something felt *wrong*. Digging deeper sent soul-deep agony ripping through him, weakness flooding in. A voice warned: *Keep searching… and you’ll be cast out.*

Cast out *by what*? *From where*?

His massive frame trembled.

Then—warmth. A familiar scent brushed his soul. Lavender. Soothing the panic, the confusion.

“If you can’t remember, don’t force it,” she murmured, stroking his head. “I’ll tell *my* story instead.”

He blinked awake, dazed. “Okay.”

And so she began.

“I had a friend,” she smiled. “Also a dragon.”

*(Liar,* he thought. *After the Dragon God led the race into seclusion, only I remained—a forgotten egg, hatched alone, grown wild.)*

But he stayed quiet, curious.

“My dragon friend… knew a human princess. Like us.”

“He snatched her. One sunny day, she was staring blankly from her prison tower when he descended.”

“He crushed the guards, shattered the tower, carried her away.”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Why would humans *imprison* their princess?”

“I don’t know,” she smiled faintly. “No one told me.”

She continued without pause:

“He was wounded in battle—not fatal, but painful. He planned to sleep it off… until she tiptoed close. ‘Mister Dragon,’ she whispered, ‘I can help.’ She healed him with her power… then collapsed from exhaustion, asleep in moments.”

“He stared at her sleeping face… then curled around her. Human and dragon, dreaming together.”

“What a cliché!” he grumbled. “A foolish princess helping her kidnapper? A dragon treating a ‘trophy’ gently? Nonsense!”

She paused, lips curving softly. “How would I know? I really don’t.”

“Later,” she went on, “they lived happily. She decorated his cold lair with light and laughter. They built tables, chairs… made beautiful memories.”

“But adventurers hired by the king came. While they flew at night… they burned his home.”

“*What?!*” he growled. “How *dare* they?!”

“So they fled to the wild forest at the Fairy Tale Kingdom’s edge. Built a new home—a treehouse for her, a stone lair for him. Simple… but two days of pure joy.”

“And then?”

“Then… the prince arrived.”

She nestled closer, arms around his neck. “He came for her. The dragon fought to protect *his* princess… and died.”

“That’s the story.”

Silence.

He felt fragments stirring—anger with nowhere to go, pain wrapped in void. Self-doubt clawed deep. Soul-ache returned, sharp and hollow.

Then, her voice, feather-soft:

“So… will you protect me? *My* fierce dragon?”

Story and reality blurred. That night’s rage, helplessness, sorrow flooded back—

—but so did warmth. Contentment. A happiness he’d never known.

His slit pupils glowed softly. He lowered his head.

“I will,” he whispered. “My little princess.”

[To be continued]