PROLOGUE CUTSCENE
In the Dragon's Mouth
image [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1085284310434725999/1088565709656817714/2135f82a-75cd-4192-a1df-34a7509ccac6_1.png]image [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1085284310434725999/1088565708973150258/66799e07-769b-4f50-b5e6-b31b2bcfb7de_1.png]
Goran
HAVE YOU ever been in a dragon's mouth?
Of course, you haven't.
I've sworn to protect you; I've kept you safe.
Of course, you've never been near a beast.
Not yet.
Not since I've kept you secluded; you don't even know what I'm doing for you.
I watch you trot across the tot lot yard, your tangled, brown hair bumping back in the still-chilly spring wind with each running step...
Your fist full of dandelions.
Outstretched.
Towards me.
Your eyes, filled with mirth.
And joy.
Just as they should be.
I ruffle your hair when you stop short in front of my sneakers.
And you give me the flowers and straighten your jumper before turning to dash back to the slide, kicking up mulch behind you and barely slowing down, and I know in that moment that I've never seen you so happy.
Not since you've been with me, Rosabella.
We live in the city since your mother legally got to keep my childhood home, but honking horns are only metal and rushing businessmen have no pointed teeth, so I figure I've done more than my job as a parent so far.
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.
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He'd probably smile. Not noticing the tears forming around the collar of my coat from age and wear... The way I've glued your tiny, Mary-Jane slip-ons together with Gorilla Glue for the fourth time. ...Would he notice the gap that was 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.
I give the majority of my food to you, Rosabella.
And you don't even know we're hiding in plain sight.
...And I can't tell you.
I can only remind you of the way out.
In case you ever need it, but I pray you won't.
Because, if you need it, it means they've caught me—they've broken through the portal and found us.
Here, in our happy place.
The smell of roasting hotdogs fills my ravenous nostrils as I turn my head and observe a cart nearby where an Italian man is serving food boisterously to a mother with a kid about your age. And, for a second, I smile, imagining you biting into that same hotdog and getting mustard all over your face.
...Licking it off, laughing.
But my fists clench in my pockets.
Because I don't have the money.
And my stomach clenches...otherwise.
"Rosabella!" I call you, watching your head instantly perk up behind the monkey bars.
You always come when you're called.
You always do what you're told.
You're a good kid.
Which I can't express enough how good that is for me. ...Now that we're being hunted, and I need you by my side every minute.
Because, if I lost you...
If I lost you...
No.
I will not go there; I won't let my mind sit on it. I'd rather die.
My lips press together as I pat your beautiful head and direct you away from the delicious-roasting hotdogs and down the street.
I've told you we're on another adventure. That new adventure is finding somewhere to sleep for the night, and we'll conquer it, but not before I give you the key again.
I'll give it to you over and over.
Till you get it.
For now, it's our game.
"Have you ever been in a dragon's mouth, Rosabella?" I ask you, waiting for your typical giggle which always comes.
Your eyes are the most perfect shade of sapphire as you blink up at me, nearly falling as you miss a rut in the pavement.
"No!" you squeal in delight.
"But have you ever seen a dragon's mouth?" I ask playfully.
You know it's coming; it's the same phrase I ask every day.
Your mouth curls up in the little bow I like, "Well, I saw one once that had a purple and pink tongue...polka dots," you start, your words slurry around the gaps in your teeth and your eyes changing as you begin your made-up story.
And my mouth pinches because I can see it—that glossed-over stare.
I know you're there.
And I pray that, someday, this little game we play might just save your innocent life.