Title: something monstrous, something great
Description: The story begins with the princess, and it ends with the prince. But I, the dragon, am the middle.
Rating: K+

Author's Note: Written for narqueen, as usual. ;)

You have heard this story before, haven't you?

The princess is locked away in a tower, high and mighty, made of stone and sinister magic. This tower has only one opening to the world: a window. A window so close to the clouds that some days, the princess could reach out a hand and feel the water on her skin.

She is beautiful, this princess, and perhaps that is why she is trapped. Or perhaps she was stolen as a babe, or perhaps she fell asleep too early before the night came forward. Either way, she is trapped in the tower.

And that is where I come in. The dragon.

…

The story begins with the princess, and it ends with the prince. But I, the dragon, am the middle.

You see, a princess must wait before she is rescued by a prince. Fourteen years pass, sometimes eighteen or twenty. I am with them all of those days, and more often than not, we become friends, and I pity them. I pity them deeply.

I feel more than mere pity for this princess in particular.

She sees me through kindness, through glasses made of rose and dreams. She asks me what the world is like, and I am honest; I tell her I have never seen the world, either. We connect this way; she is as unseen by the world as I am.

…

One day, the princess puts a finger to my snout, and I almost regret that her soft skin is being blistered by my gritty scales. But she smells like the sunshine beyond the field of thorns, so I close my eyes and enjoy what I can before she is taken from me like all the ones before her.

"Tell me," she says with a voice full of wonder, "what will happen to you when I am gone?"

I am afraid to be honest with her, so I lie. "There is no dragon without a princess," I say with my eyes still shut, "so when you are rescued, I also will be free."

"You will fly beyond the thorns?"

"I will fly far beyond the thorns. Perhaps I will even visit you between my travels." I open one eye to gauge her reaction.

She is smiling sweetly, like a song. My beastly heart pounds.

"Dragon, did you ever have a name?"

"Did you, Princess?"

A pale and pretty hand comes underneath her chin as she thinks. "No, I don't think so. Not one that I remember."

The words come before I remember that they are against the rules: "I remember."

"You do?"

"You cried an awful lot."

She laughs and the world is in full bloom and in full color. "Tell me, Dragon, what was my name?"

I turn and lock my eyes on hers. They are round and warm and brown, so much like the earth she has never felt beneath her bare feet.

Gathering all of my bravery, I answer: "Kagome."

…

My first memory is waking up and realizing that my soul now lived in the body of a monster. I don't remember who I was before, but I have become used to this. The claws, the fangs, the eyes that sometimes flash red.

There is a fine line between man and monster. I am that fine line.

I ask her this one day: does she think I am a monster?

And she is quiet. And I am afraid.

"I have seen the way you love," she finally says with a tremor echoing through every word, "so quiet, so afraid, so devoted. Who is the real monster?" A hand, white with faintly blue veins, rests upon my forehead and I cannot move. I can hardly breathe. "You, or the one who keeps us chained to this tower?"

I think, with only a flicker of darkness, that I hardly consider myself trapped when I am with her. I wonder if she still thinks herself shackled. I wonder if she wants to leave — if she wants to leave me.

I love her.

The dragon, loving the princess as deeply as he loves the sky on his back and the coming horizon. They didn't mention that in the story either, did they?

…

Names are a powerful, powerful thing. One night, while we both watch the stars in silence, she asks for mine.

I don't know why I do, but I answer, and her breath hitches.

"That's beautiful," she says, "You're beautiful."

Can dragons blush?

Her fingers are upon me, they have a way of finding the most tender of spots.

Her pink lips part to pronounce my name and I blink my warning. "A monster's name," I say, "is powerful, and deadly. It contains the very essence of its being."

Her pink lips curl into a smile. "You are hardly a monster."

I close my eyes and wish for a hand to grab hers with. "Oh, but I am, Princess."

Still, she insists otherwise, and I love her for it. "You have not always been."

"No, but it seems that I always will be. I can hardly remember a time Before."

"Do you ever feel more human than dragon?" she asks.

I don't tell her the truth: that I only feel human at her touch. Like the coward I am, I ignore her question and turn my face up to the stars. Let the night devour us. I would rather that, then have her stolen away by a prince.

…

She tells me she loves me in her own peculiar way.

"I have been thinking, Dragon," she perches on the window seat with an expectant smile. She knows I will always ask what, and why, and please.

"And?"

"And I have decided you are not a monster, after all."

"Oh, but I am." I bare my teeth at her half-heartedly, enough to intimidate but not nearly enough to terrify.

"No," she laughs and shakes her head, "You are a monster who is not a monster at all."

This confuses me. She must see it in my eyes because another laugh escapes her, louder than the last, and she kisses the space between my eyes.

"For when is a monster not a monster?" she sings, "Oh, when you love it."

…

Princesses locked up in a tower are, by nature, naive, and she is no different. I am still a monster, a dragon, the beast you have read about and never considered twice.

I know that she is searching for my heart, for all princesses before her have done the same. It is only natural, that human need to connect. To nurture and be nurtured. To love, to be loved.

I don't know how to tell her that there is no use; my heart has been eaten long ago, by the beast I have become. But I love her; I love her so fiercely my entire body shudders with it.

Some days, it feels like flying. And others, it feels like a thorn is twisting inside of me because I know how this story ends. I have lived it a thousand times, and I will live it a thousand more. She will leave, and be with her kind. And I, the dragon, will be left behind.

It is only natural.

…

When the end comes, the sky is bright. It is her happy ending.

It is not mine. Far beyond the field of thorns, the clouds are black and thunderous.

The prince comes and he is beautiful, too. His hair is long and his eyes are sharp, and he wields a mighty weapon and a bloody, pounding heart.

I play my part in the story: I attack.

Behind me, the princess screams and weeps, wonders who this man is, wonders who this monster is. She recognizes no one, not in the dark of battle. Princesses locked up in a tower are, by nature, naive, and she is no different. She has never seen this before.

I close my eyes when the sword strikes and I rest my head against the ground, afraid to watch him take her away. The red, it's everywhere.

It hurts. The death is not easy, this time, because I want to stay. I want to say goodbye. I want to see her, one last time.

I know how this story ends: she kisses the prince, because it is the way of things, because there is no other option. You kiss your rescuer; it's common courtesy, as everyone knows.

Bitterly, I think: she doesn't even know his name.

I try to lift a claw, a tail, but I am weighed down by the heavy burden of fate and failure, by the terror of love and the darkness of losing what was never yours.

She runs to me before she runs off with the prince, and I am more grateful than I will ever feel again. I am more in love than I will ever be, again.

Her hand upon my cheek, it's cool to the touch. I am dying. She knows this, I know this, and I do not give a flying witch about what the prince knows.

I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. And still, death does not come, because first, she must leave. She must leave, so that I may die again and the cycle may be reborn. There will be another, and I will forget this princess, and the next will come and I will fall in love all over again.

It is only in the last few moments of the story that I ever remember how futile it all is. Because what is the point of continuing the story when you know what happens next?

"Does it hurt, Dragon?" she says, sounding so sweet and so sad.

I try so hard to be strong, but the word comes out as a gasp: "Yes."

Water. Is it raining? I open my eyes and see that she is crying.

For me? For me.

"I will help you," she kisses my cheek, "I will end it all."

"Kagome…"

She smiles, so sweet and so sad, and kisses me one last time before she says my name —

"Naraku."

…

The prince fought valiantly.

He slayed the dragon.

The princess cried for days.

She loved that dragon.