She Consumes Me

There once was a warrior who didn't want to kill the dragon, not because the dragon had been his wife before transforming. He would have had every right to refuse the King's proclamation.

Nor was it the fact that he, himself, was subject to the same curse that had caused his wife to turn.

No, the true reason he didn't want to kill the dragon was simply because dragons are cool as shit—and he rather liked transforming into one and going on rampages with his wife.

They would fly over the beautiful countryside and barrel-roll through the skies until a town caught their eye. She would give him a knowing look and off they would go, swooping low, delivering some hellfire to the residents of some sleepy town.

Oh, the fun they had! And laughs aplenty.

After satisfying their bloodlust, they glided to a lush glade and basked in the afternoon rays while picking the occasional shoe or pitchfork from their dragon teeth.

Life was good and the killing was easy. But eventually, he would morph back into human form. The first time this happened, he was lying next to his dragon wife staring at his human hands where, moments before, claws of immense power were his to wield.

He felt small and weak. She snorted and nudged him away. He stumbled backward, trying to find the strength to stand on shaky legs. As she fixed her gaze upon him, sadness stirred within him.

With a few mighty flaps of her wings, she was gone.

He fell back to the ground and wept.

On most occasions, the warrior would stumble back to the village on his own power, but this time was different: the King's appointed constable picked him up on the outskirts of a dense forest. The constable described a terrible scene:. Fire and screaming. Chaos was delivered by some fearsome flying creature. The King in a fevered panic.

The warrior stroked his chin as if contemplating the King's plight, but inwardly smiled. My lovely wife, how I love thee.

The constable stared intently, awaiting his reply. The warrior nodded grimly.

He had no intention, however, of tracking down and slaying the dragon—not his wife, anyway.

The King's court was in considerable disarray since the attack. Some of the royal banners dressing the cracked western wall were still smoking. Others were charred and tattered. Well done, my sweet wife, thought the warrior as he approached the bottom step of the King's throne.

The King issued instructions and equipment to the warrior, as well as a small regiment of soldiers.

A secret mountain pass loomed ahead. He easily lost the soldiers, discarded the ornate armor, and set off to find the specter who forever changed his wife into dragonkind.

He encountered many obstacles, not the least of which was his hunger: smoked pork sandwiches danced on the periphery of his taste buds.

The warrior set up camp north of the King's domain, high up in the rugged mountains where he built a small fire. As he roasted two boulder vermin on the spit, he scanned the valley below for signs of activity.

A bird of prey flew below him and screeched as he lost sight of it.

He directed his attention back to the crackling vittles, gently squeezing the meat between his fingers to test for doneness. Nodding to himself, he began to eat.

Halfway through his meal, he heard a twig snap. Silently, the warrior rose and drew his blade.

* * *

In the darkest recesses of a secret mountain lair, a bloody assassin drags himself to his master's feet. The specter seizes him, much as one might a rag doll, enraged that he would lead the warrior to her front door with his blood trail.

The specter flings the assassin against the wall and thus concludes his service to her.

She knows the warrior will be here soon. So much to do!

With an enchantment, she alters the web-covered cave into a dazzling ballroom. Live music echoes through the chambers as phantom court dancers gracefully spin and bow. The specter even re-creates a chocolate fountain in the center of the dining hall. It's a bit much, even for a specter.

A mountain storm whips up as the specter awaits the warrior's arrival.

Some time passes, but the warrior hasn't shown. The specter gets bored. Maybe he was injured in the altercation with my assassin. Or fell from a precipice? A win! Perhaps he lost the assassin's blood trail and will never find my lair. Another win! But who am I fooling? This is the warrior we're talking about. The guy who just barely escaped with his life, and only a partial transformation spell, when I changed his wife into a dragon. Nah, he's pissed!

The specter must have nodded off because she didn't even see the warrior enter her lair.

He was over by the punchbowl, slurping the enchanted drink like a parched peasant. He glanced back at her. She rose to meet him and smiled. He projected only loathing.

The specter could read his mind. Many images—so much pain and anger, especially the memory of the time the warrior and his wife had sought the specter's help in destroying the King after that fateful decree.

She peered deeper into his mind and saw a scene of the warrior's son riding into battle, riding to his death. It was not in her power to restore the life of his son. Instead, the specter offered immense power to the couple. His wife accepted without hesitation. He, however, sensed deception. Stumbling back, he received only partial transformation.

At the moment his wife was being changed into a beast, he knew the specter intended to keep him as her own dragon pet.

The warrior tossed the crystal punch goblet and it shattered into a thousand pieces. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic and stepped towards the specter. She projected into his mind the futility of trying to destroy her; she was, after all, a phantom.

The stare-off continued until a wicked grin appeared on her face. The specter moved to the center of the room and with a sleight gesture, transformed the cave into a tacky game show set with three portals to pick from.

The warrior crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. Specter was now adorned in a rhinestone evening gown. Making a sweeping motion with her arm, Portal One lit up and opened dramatically to reveal a scene portraying the King's ruin. The castle was reduced to rubble, the King lying under the debris, while the specter and the warrior sat atop the slain dragon—his beloved wife!—toasting the moment with golden ale.

In front of Portal One, the angry warrior slashes wildly at the image.

Specter tilts her head and shrugs before theatrically motioning to Portal Two.

The second scene shows a dazzling white washer and dryer combo, with wondrous new features like high-efficiency spin cycles and temperature-sensitive fabric settings.

Portal Two sends the warrior into a frenzy, violently stabbing at the image until he pants like a wolfhound. He tosses his blade to the floor and rests his hands on his knees.

Fury is exhausting.

The specter waits for the warrior to regain his composure. She gestures to Portal Three, but he waves it off as if to say give me a moment, will ya?

When the specter finally reveals the third option, the warrior stands with mouth agape: the sky is filled with dragons circling the King's ruined castle. The warrior smiles warmly when one of the dragons swooshes past. My sweet wife! We will yet be reunited.

The specter considers the warrior, knowing his heart's desire—knowing what he would sacrifice to be with her.

The warrior drops to his knees and puts out his hands as if to receive this dark enchantment. Specter transforms into a swirl of black smoke, scales, and horns. She pulls the partial enchantment from the warrior as he screams.

* * *

It's been a minute since the warrior was fooled by the specter. He can no longer transform into a dragon and rampage with his lovely wife, but knowing that she's up there somewhere—flying free, without fear of the King's army hunting her—is a comfort. And she has lots of company now, since all the kingdom's people were turned into dragons…except for him.

Life is funny that way.

As he lives out the rest of his days, hiding from these dragons, he can only hope that when his number is up, it will be his dragon that catches and consumes him.

Only fitting, since, even now, she consumes his every waking thought.