SAVE POINT 79

Loading A Dangerous Green-Haired Girl...100%

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EmeraldCity_88

I don't know about everyone else, but I'm having a ball. I've made an army. You can't be a queen without an army, right? Ooh, this is so much fun! I never dreamed a lame chat room with a hyper niche on a dumb book would open this many doors for me...literally. Yaheee!

I open my arms wide, letting the wind ripple through the ends of my green hair and ruffle over every goosebump of joy forming on my arms. I open and close my fingers, feeling the air billow—pretending I can grab the willowy tuffs of clouds as they pass by in the pink early morning sky. Riding aback a Jagwindo is so much better than sticking your hand out the window of a car. Absa-fucking-lutly better. I was born for this, motherfuckers, and I will rule this world or have some freaking fun destroying it. Who knows where the wind will take me?

Literally.

I watch it ruffle through the dark feathers of the Jagwindo I'm seated on. Jagwindo—yep, I came up with that. The world 'Jaguar' mixed with something that sounds like air properties since they fly...although, I do think they came out rather black, spotted leopard-looking...no biggie. I'm a genius. And, now, I have an army of winged, black cats. I turn my head just for the gratification of seeing them. Their ebony shadows fill the pastel sky like a million dark-winged paper cranes hanging from a ceiling. And they're all following me—except for that daft one that couldn't take orders—

I take a deep breath.

Remain in the present, Cassandra, I tell myself. Be positive. Only positive.

Back to my dark takeover—right.

The Dragon's Sea Town isn't going to know what hit it. One dragon can't hope to take down my army. See...told you I was smart. And look how fucking positive too.

But I'm, also, hungry and have to use the little girl's room. And riding Simba's cousin is jostling my bladder worse than a constant waterfall joke.

"Down!" I order, my scream high-pitched and shrill. And the Jagwindo's ears swivel back to hear me as we start an obedient dive. And the rest of my horde follows suit, diving out of Heavens like a mass of black swans that finally leaves the sky its pleasant orange and pink. What good little foot soldiers. I really think this is going to work out perfect.

The creature's claws dig into green grass, mowing deep rivets in it as we thud to a stop.

And I slide off its back, already filing my nails with a nail file because boredom got a hold of me for three seconds, and I just refuse to let that happen ever again. I'm like a Great Dane—you know, those huge fucking dogs that chew through couches when their owners leave to get the mail? I'm like one when bored, destructive as fuck. And, honestly, I'd like to save some of that creative energy for whenever it is we get to this illusive sea town.

I drop the nail file I made into the grass, snapping my fingers and creating instead a—

A blue Porta John rocks into view.

Ew, no.

I can make better. I deserve better.

I poof the Porta Potty into absolute inexistence and concentrate harder.

A purple and gold peaked tent appears instead—

Much better.

I begin to step towards it, but several Jagwindos approach, bowing their dark heads.

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> Your grace, we wondered if we could have a word.

The first beast speaks in my mind. But I already know what it's about. I can see the famine in their eyes.

"Oh you're hungry are you?" I ask, puckering my lips and leaning into the creature's face, "Your tummy has a rumbling?"

They all nod.

Really? They choose now to annoy me with this? I can't possibly have to create both the beasts AND, then, food to feed them all...this is bogus.

"Deal with it," I snap dismissively, "You'll eat when you get me to the dragon—"

"Which might be now." Something silver flashes near my neck, pressing a cold, metal edge against my skin. I try to tug at the arm securing me in a tight hold, but I'm caught like a fish in what appears to be a burly man's hold. Is this guy dressed in leaves and burlap? Gross look, Fabio. I squirm harder. "Your lot has made enough ruckus for half the world to hear," my captor digs the knife deeper, "including the Dark Dragon. She doesn't like being awakened. Give me three reasons I shouldn't kill you."

Dragon?

My ears perk up like a dog's.

Oooh, reasons he shouldn't kill me. I can have fun with this.

"Um..." I purse my lips, "One, I'm awesome. Two, I'm...awesome—oh and, three, it wouldn't be doing you any favors because I typically kill those who want to kill me."

"You don't look like you're in a position to kill anyone," snarls a second man, leading an group of warriors out of the trees. Their camouflage is good; I'll give them that. But that doesn't mean I'm going to play favorites.

"Oh, just hold your banana socks, would you?" I gripe, "Tides change every second. For instance, this tide could change right now if I want it to. But, laying it out here, real with you, I'd really just like to take a wee and eat my granola if you don't mind." I hesitate, trying to read the squinting, black war-paint-streaked face of the man before me. "You kinda look like you mind," I amend quickly, "In that case—"

I whistle.

And, at my command, my entire army of Jagwindos starts to attack. Sleek, black, athletic bodies rushing forward. Claws ripping. Fangs slicing.

Men screaming.

The blade at my neck plinks into the grass my feet as the supposedly iron-strong, rough-and-tumble warrior who'd been holding me captive runs for his life.

And I stand, amidst the slaughter—in the middle of it.

And I reach into my pocket and pull out a granola bar. Finally. Alone at last.

And I carefully tear the packaging, pulling back the paper with careful, casual concentration like peeling a banana.

A man staggers towards me, his entire right arm missing—the socket bloody and his eyes glazed. He leans heavily on a huge spear.

"So that tide," I say, chewing loudly, " it really fucking changed, didn't it." I look him up and down. Apparently, the man has no answer except for patheticness. He's sweating. The weakness beads out of him, running like tears down his face. Pain pools in his eyes.

"Please," he whispers, "Spare us."

I'm vaguely aware of one of my leopards throwing a soldier with a shriek into the air, somewhere behind him, before its bloody muzzle comes down.

"Nice spear," I pluck it from the man; he nearly falls, "I'm gonna keep it." I spin the weapon expertly, so the point is aimed at his forehead, "And you're gonna tell me where that dragon is before I kill you."

The man whimpers, shaking his head, "Please—"

I narrow my eyes, "Oh no? Not you?" This is exactly like all those video games I've mastered: you can use a fancy weapon, or you can go into beast mode and do it with a simple one. Desperate times call for...you know. I heft the weapon forward with all my strength, running the length of spear straight through him. I watch his shocked face fall, kneeling then, tumbling face-first into the grass...dead. As red pools around him.

Ew.

I step away, but not before noticing another man laying—trembling—on the ground near my feet.

Reconsidering, I step back to yank the spear out of the last man's body, lowering the bloody point towards his comrade's shuttering face.

"What about you?" I goad, "You want to tell me where the dragon is?"

This one's younger—probably just a teenager. He can't seem to get air in his lungs fast enough, "The Commandress's fortress is north. Take fifteen large steps north, and you'll find an entrance—"

"Finally, someone with some honesty," I interrupt him, squatting to shove my granola bar wrapper in the pocket of his shirt.

I lean into his terrified face. "I'm not a fan of littering, you know? That's why I invented the jaguars...leopard things," I correct myself, "They don't leave any scraps."

I watch as the words seep under his skin.

I listen to his last-ditch effort to stop me, "No, please!"

But no one can.

Stop me, that is. I've always known it, deep down. Now, I've found the proof.

"Sicum!" I call to my little pets.

And five Jagwindos dive for the one man.

And I turn with a flourish away from all this gruesome blood and gore, staining the green grass. And I pee in my glorious purple and gold tent and breathe in deeply of the mountain air when I'm back out in the open again.

I lift my chin, and I walk into the forest with new direction.

15 paces north, they say? Hm. I'm game.

...And I like the taste of power. The thrill of it. And I like this new course of winds.

I like it all very much.