#clovermusing

the dragon watches with pride as their princess becomes much more selfish, loud, messy, tucking little treasures into cubbies in the dragon's den and putting her elbows on the table while she eats and shooting possessive glances at the dragon whenever they fly home with some poor hapless knight's sword stuck between their teeth.

The princess doesn't even notice when she grows bigger, her nails harden into claws and her teeth extending into fangs, when her delicate salads harvested from the nearby forest are replaced with rare steaks and roasted turkey legs and she no longer picks up a knife and fork before diving in to a meal fang-first.

She does notice when nubby tail and wings start poking out of her back, once dainty and now muscular in preparation for powerful flight. She does notice when walking upright means her head scrapes the ceiling of the den and hurts her knees so she starts to walk on all fours. She does notice when she snaps at her dragon lover over a pretty rock they find in the woods. She does notice when hair is replaced with horns and skin crusts over with scales.

She doesn't care anymore when her once flat face elongates into a snout, when her once short tail sways behind her and tangles with the dragon's when they curl up in front of the fire on cold nights.

the pair of dragons emerge from the den one day and the first roars proudly when the second flaps shaky wings and takes flight under the beaming summer sun. the dragon, princess no longer, no longer watches jealously as their lover hunts down knights alone, and the joy of mating, locking bodies and hearts together in the charred remains of the long-gone princess' ruined castle is much more pleasurable than any frilly dress or elegant ball ever was.

the music made her feel as though, even in this strange, earth-bound form, she could fly. she never meant to even speak to the princess, but she fell into her arms during the dizzying dance. her golden hair fell in waves around the dragon's shoulders, shimmered brighter than any coins in the dragon's hoard might in the candlelight.

it was only natural that, when that stuffy middle-aged prince knelt down, a patheticly tiny diamond ring in one hand, the dragon prickled. her wings flared before she could stop herself, lifting high up, into the rafters, with smoke billowing with each breath. the princess didn't run, didn't join the horde of scared little ants stampeding towards the double doors. she stood still, on the dais, transfixed by the sight of the sleazy prince disappearing down the dragon's gaping maw. the sight of her glamorous gilded cage going up in flames.

the eroticism of anonymity, to be able to dance and laugh and touch freely with no fear of reputation or rank or societal expectations

to flirt and tease with someone who you think you know, maybe by the color of their eyes or the dimples when they smile but maybe they are a total stranger.

no one could say who, exactly, the princess disappeared with at the ball, too many sultry shadows and swirling skirts and the dark mask concealing their face, but they all know she left hand in hand with someone in the middle of a fast-paced waltz, everyone spinning madly about the room.

but the maids still gossip about finding her majesty pressed against the wall with her legs in the air, skirts hiked over her hips while a handsome stranger curled their fingers deeper inside her.

the waiters recall watching her sink to her royal knees before a devilish-looking knight.

it's spring so everyone is dancing in the gardens, it's so easy to sneak off together in the hedge maze, trading kisses and trailing touches

no one sees the pair, the princess with her dress hiked over her hips and the knight kneeling in front of her, swearing his loyalty with his tongue, and if they did they certainly wouldn't know who it was.

they fight hard but the devil fights dirty, pinning the angel down by their wings on the altar and smearing infernal soot on their pure white wings. ripping their holy armor off and taking them right there in the church.

the angel fights, at first, thrashing and twisting and muttering an exorcism, but the devil hangs on and keeps the angel spread out under her. shouts of fear and anger quickly turn into gasps of pleasure because even an angel can't pretend that the devil isn't well-versed in earthly pleasures that the angel has never allowed themself to feel before. finally, they submit enough that the devil can release their wings, now stained a dingy grey, and yank their halo from above their head to around their neck like a collar.