PROLOGUE CUTSCENE
Goran
Rosabella had never been in a dragon's mouth. Of course, she hadn't.
I'd protected her; I'd kept her safe. Of course, she'd never been near a beast.
Not yet.
…Not since I'd kept her secluded; she didn't even know what I'd done for her.
I watched her trot across the tot lot yard, her tangled, brown hair bumping back in the still-chilly spring wind with each running step… Her fist was full of dandelions.
Outstretched.
Towards me.
Her eyes, filled with mirth and joy.
I ruffled her hair when she stopped short in front of my sneakers. And she gave me the flowers and straightened her jumper before turning to dash back to the slide, kicking up mulch behind her and barely slowing down. And I knew in that moment that I'd never seen her so happy. Not since she'd been with me.
We lived in the city since her mother legally kept my childhood home, but honking horns were only steel and rushing businessmen had no pointed teeth, so I figured I'd done more than my job as a parent.
If a stranger were to casually stroll by, observing us, he'd see an endearing moment: a father out at the street park with his daughter on a beautiful New York day.
He'd probably smile—not noticing the tears that were forming around the collar of my coat from age and wear... The way I'd glued Rosabella's tiny, Mary-Jane slip-ons together with Gorilla Glue for the fourth time. ...Would he have noticed the gap growing larger near my cheekbones each day because of the hunger? I'd seen it in the dusty mirror of the little league baseball stadium bathroom the other day. I'd pulled at my eyes and seen the blood-shot whites. I'd washed my hair in the sink there.
The majority of my food went to my little girl, and she didn't even know we were hiding in plain sight.
...And, worse, I couldn't tell her.
I could only remind her of the way out.
In case she ever needed it, but I prayed she wouldn't.
Because, if she needed it, it meant they'd caught me—they'd broken through the portal and found us.
Here, in our happy place.
My eyes darted down to my digital wristwatch—like yet another nervous itch I couldn't seem to scratch. My breath caught in my throat as I brushed one finger across the dark screen, discreetly scanning the stats there, again, with a palm up to shade the numbers from the sunlight filtering through the surrounding trees, shining off the metal park playground:
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
[GDP – 51/100]
I berated myself for checking the Game Damage Points again—what? Was it the fiftieth time that morning? I kept telling myself if the number hit a certain ceiling, I could breathe again; I'd know they'd be too preoccupied with the decaying Game world to come looking for me—for Rosabella. But that ceiling crept up with every daily increase of the percentage. ...Ratcheting skyward with my paranoia as my satisfaction, ultimately, bottomed out. Because I could never be satisfied—never be sure.
That today wasn't the day. …The day they'd find us. Or the day she remembered. I wasn't sure which would be worse. I swiped through the screen, checking her memory stats from the day we'd left:
[Current MRP / ROSABELLA, GAME MAKER 1: 3640/6205]
I let out a breath. With Memory Recall Points that low, there was no way the girl could recall, I placated myself. I'd done what was necessary. I'd had to save Rosabella even from her own memory.
The smell of roasting hotdogs filled my ravenous nostrils as I turned my head, scanning the surrounding area for shadows or anyone watching, but my vision only fell on a cart nearby where an Italian man served food boisterously to a mother with a kid about Rosabella's age. And, for a second, I smiled, imagining my little girl biting into that same hotdog and getting mustard all over her face.
...Licking it off, laughing.
But my fists clenched in my pockets because I didn't have the money.
And my stomach clenched...otherwise.
"Rosabella!" I called her, watching her brunette head instantly perk up behind the monkey bars.
She always came when I called.
She always did what she was told.
She was a good kid.
Which I couldn't express enough how good that was for me. ...While we were being hunted and I needed her by my side every minute.
Because, if I lost her...
If I lost her...
No.
I wouldn't go there; I wouldn't let my mind sit on it. I'd rather die.
My lips pressed together as I patted Rosabella's beautiful head and directed her away from the delicious, roasting hotdogs and down the street. I'd told her we were on another adventure. That new adventure was finding somewhere to sleep for the night, and we’d conquer it, but not before I gave her the key again.
I'd give it to her over and over.
Till she got it.
Right then, it was our game—something seemingly silly or trivial. My way of giving her what I already knew she might need.
"Have you ever been in a dragon's mouth, Rosabella?" I asked her, waiting for her typical giggle which always came. Her eyes were the most perfect shade of sapphire as she blinked up at me, nearly falling as she missed a rut in the pavement.
"No!" she squealed in delight.
"But have you ever seen a dragon's mouth?" I asked playfully.
She knew it was coming; it was the same phrase I asked every day.
Her mouth curled up in the little bow I liked, "Well, I saw one once that had a purple and pink tongue...polka dots," she started, her words slurry around the gaps in her teeth and her eyes changing as she began her made-up story.
And my mouth pinched because I could see it—that glossed-over stare.
I knew she was there.
And I prayed that, someday, the little game we played might just save her innocent life.