SAVE POINT 27

Loading Mansion Level... Adding Mischief & Hilarity...100%

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Sparo

I didn't mean to do this. Humans are so frail—Grand Dragon, even you, Rosabella. You—who I can literally SEE the strength in—your vessel is so weak, crumbling at almost nothing. No wonder we dragons have scales and teeth. —Better to keep all this bullshit out.

...And the fear that comes with it.

Fear is such an asinine emotion when you're the size of a house.

And, yet, I'm scared for you.

My massive heart thrums, pounding against the flesh of my chest. The air currents billow and push against my giant wings. I feel the scales there bristle from both the urgency lighting every nerve in my body and from the lift—pressure scooping under my wings and hoisting me up. The landscape hurls and rushes by below my outstretched talons, foggy tendrils of green and yellow colliding and mixing.

I've carried prey before.

And prisoners.

But, never, an unconscious human who I care about.

Are my talons too sharp? My grip, too hard? I'm hoping I don't accidently crush you. Your face is so pale against the lush landscape racing under us.

"Not to be a pain in the ass," a girl's voice filters into my swiveling ears, "But could you slow the fuck down? I'm gonna hurl chunks—"

She must be the one clutching at my scales painfully; it feels like one heck of an earache.

A wicked grin slides onto my face without my consent because, I can't help it, her complaint just makes me want to go faster out of spite. I've been noticing that girl's general dislike of you, Rosabella, and it gets under my—

"Don't listen to her," Callen calls—the leader one—his voice clear even with the rushing of the wind this high up and his placement at my shoulder, "We have to get Rosabella that health pack as soon as possible."

> I said I'm on it; I'm on it.

I growl back. The gray-haired one's direction frankly annoys me. If we're being completely honest, dragons have a far better track record of keeping their word than humans...

I told him I'd fix this, and I will fix it. I even managed to get all the humans on my back, and this load is heavier than I'd typically carry...

> Hold on, Rosabella.

I whisper gently into your mind, knowing you can't hear me but, somehow, still hoping you can.

What's wrong with me? ...Getting sentimental over a human, another species? I thought I'd learned my lesson on that one already... And, yet, here I am scouring the earth below for the one place that I should have burned to the ground decades ago.

—Before it burned me.

And, yet, I hadn't.

Maybe, now, it's a good thing because you need the health pack.

Maybe.

...Even just the thought of the woman we're going to visit has my heart frantically trying to get out of my chest. I have to get it together; I'll need a level head to deal with what comes next—

There.

I see the place.

The familiar slate, gable peaks and flat portions of the roof—white but weathered with age—like a memory surfacing even though I've long tried to suppress it. The shrubbery around the place has grown up so far that I can barely make out the stone fence that runs along the perimeter of the parcel and the garden which used to sit out front.

Perhaps she was as bitter about what happened in that garden as I am and decided to let it decay like the rest of the place... My heart hardens at the thought. Maybe this was a mistake coming here. And, yet, you need that pack, Rosabella. I clench my teeth, fighting inwardly with myself.

> Hold on.

I tell the guards on my back as I dive downward.

I take the pitch a little harder than I should...just for that pink-haired one with the mouth on her. The wind sweeps past my face, bringing me back to life with the thrill of it as my jowls flap against my teeth. But I have to be careful, I remind myself, as I watch your brown hair fly back from your despondent face. I have to make sure not to harm anyone in the landing.

I hit the grass in the front courtyard like a discarded school bus that my cousin, Darklin the Dumpyard dragon, is done with.

The force of it slams into me with a jolt.

My talons scrabble in the dirt, tearing up the lawn—a fact which I am most certainly not sorry for.

But the hand holding you, Rosabella, stays steady.

Still.

And your head only lolls a little to the side.

As I rush you forward after the rest of the humans slide off my back and to the ground.

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"I've heard of this place," the nerdy-looking one stares over his head at the grand mansion with a sense of awe. "An enchantress lives here—a witch—"

> You wouldn't be so enamored if you knew what she's like. Hell in a hand-basket that one—

I start, but I'm rudely interrupted by none other than that stupid, pink-haired fiend. There should be a law against people like her.

"I heard there was a dragon who was in love with the witch who lives here, but things ended badly," she places a hand on her hip, throwing an accusatory eyebrow up in my direction, "You wouldn't happen to know that dragon...would you?"

I wish it didn't bother me as much as it does, but I can't let that show now...

> You first, annoying one.

I spit, gesturing for the pink-haired girl to lead the way in. If there's any traps, at least she'll blow up first.

The place really has gone to shit, which, sadly, is probably a decent omen regarding what to expect of the mental state of the woman I know is waiting inside. Ivy has nearly decimated the remaining shell of the building; it laces up what used to be stately, Roman columns—now peeling paint and plaster—and covers a full side of the manor where the overgrown shadows of trees don't. The front porch steps are broken in several places and the black lantern there hangs askew from a broken chain. Brick, like a bone skeleton, shows through around the gothic windows where the plaster has cracked away. It looks...nearly haunted.

But, now, it's your only hope, Rosabella.

This Grand Dragon-awful house and the mad woman inside are your only hope.

I shove the pink-haired guard forward first as the chunky warrior one draws a sword and steps after her, his eyes swishing back and forth between dark corners. I know from experience that the doors are too small for my entry, but, way back when, she'd blown a dragon entrance in the back using dynamite and covered it with a purple cloth door. If the hole's still there, I'll find it.

> Down the side alley, around to the rear.

I tell the group. We can't waste any time. Your face is growing whiter by the second, Rosabella. I cradle you in both gnarled talons now as my awkward and heavy footfalls take me towards the rear of the place.

Around a sagging marigold plant.

And a hedge grown up against a white-washed wall that should have been trimmed years ago.

The place is nearly unrecognizable. I wouldn't have even known I'd been here except—

I hear the warrior human sniggering from the front.

And I pull up short to find the hole I'd been looking for—

Papered with posters, faded from the sun and crinkled from the rain...

With crude, hand-written messages scrawled on them and elementary doodles.

Of a red dragon.

Of me.

With a big 'x's over my chest.

'If you're Sparo, you can kiss my ass.'

'If you're an emotional dragon, tell it to someone who cares.'

'Sparo can suck my—'

There's even a picture.

...Real mature of her.

A low growl slips up and through my teeth as I swipe down the propaganda with one annoyed thwap of the spikes on my tail.

The pink-haired girl whips around, that smug smile all but stitched on her impish face. "Anything you want to tell us about, Sparo? Background we should know walking in?" she goads.

Oh, she is loving this too much.

> Anyone who wants to mention a word about this is walking back.

I hiss.

> I'm going in.

And I brush past the purple velvet that has seen better days like we all have. And I'm careful to keep it from slapping you in the face as I enter with your limp body in my hands. If you'd told me I'd be here today, I would have laughed in your face. I would have told you 'not in a million years'.

So, there must be something you have over me if I'm standing here—in the back of what used to be a parlor—Rosabella.

And, to be honest, it scares me a little bit.

Even more than this shithole.

I can't let you die.

"This place is like a relic—a time capsule," the nerdy kid inspects the room without fear, running his finger over the table and peering into the large, gold mirror balancing on the fireplace mantle while the rest of the group clutches their swords.

It's ironic.

> It was a museum back in the day—a place where people would tour to learn about the architecture and old way of living and such.

I tell him, wincing as more glass crunches under my enormous feet. I can't move in this place without breaking things; I never could. Typical of human dwellings, the room is filled to the brim with fragile objects.

Fine China dots an ornate dining room table, surrounded by nearly all the dusty cushions of the chairs. The curtains, somehow, made it through hell and back—still hanging regally with faded gold and white threads from the gothic-style windows framing the room. A lonely fireplace sits at the head of the table with smashed glass glinting on the floor near it and ivy trailing up the wall to a crooked picture of a serene-looking woman.

NOT the woman inside.

"It's a puzzle," the nerd kid exclaims excitedly, his hands tracing over the detailed carvings on the mantle, "This entrance is a puzzle—brilliant. I bet we have to find a lighter and burn something in this fireplace to get through the glitch—"

> Step aside, exuberant one. You don't need a lighter. You have a dragon.

I dictate bluntly.

And, before he can step to the side, I let a volley of fire out.

Towards the fireplace.

I know I have good aim.

The kid ruffles an embarrassed and sheepish hand through his dark, almost-singed hair, "Oh, err—right, sorry." But the light flickers right back into his eyes as the white back of the fireplace and the back wall melts into an enormous wood door with a wrought iron lion knocker. "Oh cool!" he exclaims.

But he shouldn't get so excited yet.

All I can do is pray that the crazy woman behind the door can help us.

> Entara.

I speak, the magic, entrance code. It rolls off my tongue—

...

Nothing.

"Was something...supposed to..." the pink-haired loser twirls her hair around a slender finger as a know-it-all, expectant expression slides onto her face.

That's when it dawns on me: that bitch changed the passcode.

...Well, it's only been three decades...

I stomp my huge foot, shaking the floor—the longer we mess around with this, the closer to death's door you are...

> Prickgada!

I roar.

> Open the damn door! It's an emergency.

There's silence.

Then, the slightest creak as the lock pops open.

Thank the Grand Dragon—

I shove the door in to find the woman I've been avoiding for the last three decades standing there, a hand on one very annoyed hip.

"Hello, Sparo," she sneers.