"Dragon Dreams" (H/D, PG-13)
ETA 02/01/06: here is the fic after its metamorphoses.
Title:"Dragon Dreams"
Author: lilian_cho
Beta: rea_saint
Genre: Humor, romance
Audience: [Almost Anyone]
Pairing: H/D
Warnings: fluff with delusions of grandeur (such as demanding to be an AU!Book Two through Seven)
Length/Complete?: 2263 words, one-shot
Summary: A Harry Potter adaptation of "Sleeping Beauty," featuring godfather!Snape, turbanned!Voldemort, dragon-rider!Draco and designated!savior!Harry.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This was one-third done back in July and finished recently, and I felt that the story is a bit disjointed because of this. It wants to be short and long, archaic and modern, serious and funny, AU and canon-compliant...At some points I felt that I should cut out some parts and expand others, but none of my flist feels that way about the fic, apparently.
Please tell me which parts:
1) should be clarified/longer
2) should be shortened/taken out entirely
3) feel jarring (abrupt language shift etc.)
Dragon Dreams
Then he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team
arrived for the match riding dragons.
THERE was formerly a pure-blood couple reigning over Slytherin House, who formed an advantageous match upon graduation with their parents' approval. It was a turbulent time, and so they were not sorry at all that they had no children; on the contrary, they employed charms and potions to ensure their childlessness.
But it happened that once when the lady was bathing, her potions were tampered with. Perhaps it was their parents, unwilling to wait longer for a grandchild. Perhaps it was her husband, acting on the Dark Lord's wishes. The lady kept her suspicions to herself.
And so the lady had a little boy who was so pretty that her husband was torn between joy and despair at his heir's looks. He would say--to anyone whose gaze lingered on his son's pale features--that the little boy would surely grow into his Malfoy features. He had worried to no purpose, for his son ceased to look pretty (although still pale and pointy) nearing the end of his eleventh year.
The father's relief was so great that he ordered a great feast for his son's twelfth birthday that summer. He said that his son deserved this after suffering a most traumatic--and unjustified--detention at the Forbidden Forest. His wife arched a delicate eyebrow but said nothing.
It was a very fine birthday party; instead of godfathers, the heir welcomed his father's old associates (they invited seven), that every one of them might give him a gift. By this means the heir had all the most amazing useless gifts imaginable.
After the necessary niceties were over, all the company entered the manor's ballroom, where a great feast was prepared. Before every one of them was a set of spoons, knife and forks, all of pure silver set with diamonds and emeralds. Jokes as old as the heirloom silverware were retold ("A werewolf, hiding his nature, once applied as a tutor for my great-great-grandfather...")
As they were all sitting down at the table they saw come into the hall a very old Wizard, who fifty years ago opened the Chamber of Secrets. They had not invited him, because it was above ten years since he had been hit by a certain Killing Curse, and he was believed to be either dead or, at the very least, disembodied.
The father quickly (and easily) set him a place at the table, because a Malfoy never runs out of silverware. Nevertheless, the old Wizard felt slighted for the lack of invitation, and muttered some curses between his teeth. It was only good manners that prevented the seven guests from thrashing on the floor and screaming in pain.
One of the guests who sat by him suspected that he might give the little heir some unlucky "gift." As soon as they rose from the table, he went and hid himself behind the hangings, that he might be spared from the evil which the old Wizard intended.
Meanwhile, all the other guests began to give their gifts to the heir. The first gave him the most beautiful, blemish-free skin (Malfoys never have acne). The next, the utmost perfect hair at all times (the boy preened). The third, that he should dress perfectly well. The fourth, wonderful grace on a broom. The fifth, that he should lie like a charm. And the sixth, the wit of the devil (a Malfoy smirk).
The old Wizard's turn coming next, he wished to avenge himself for not having been invited. Turbanned head shaking with spite, he cried out with a loud voice, "The heir shall have his hand pricked with a splintered broom, and fall down dead."
This "terrible gift" left the whole company in a loss. But, interpreting that the Dark Lord wishes to inspire dread, everybody fell a-trembling and a-crying. Satisfied that he still had not lost his touch, the old Wizard turned round and left for Hogwarts in search of a certain stone.
After ascertaining that the old Wizard was truly gone, the hiding guest came out from behind the hangings, and drawled these words:
"Assure yourselves, O Lord and Lady of the Manor, that your son shall not die of this disaster. It is true, I have no power to undo this evil sentence entirely. The boy shall indeed prick his hand with a splintered broom; but, instead of dying, he shall only fall into a profound sleep, which shall last until the demise of the Dark Lord, when a noble savior shall come and awake him."
The Lord of the Manor, to avoid the misfortune foretold by the old Wizard, immediately told the House-elves to burn all the brooms in Malfoy Manor.
At this proclamation the heir falls into a terrible tantrum, for had not his father promised him the latest racing broom? Without a broom, what was the use of having wonderful grace on it? How was he supposed to win glory for the Slytherin House team?
Meanwhile the gifts of his father's associates were plenteously fulfilled on the young boy, for even in the midst of this terrible tantrum his complexion stayed smooth and his hair stayed in its utmost perfection. However, his charming lies and devil's wit did not move his father to lift the broom ban.
*******
About two weeks after, the lord and lady being gone on one of their pleasure trips, the young heir happened to divert himself in marching up and down the manor--aggravating one squeaking House-elf after another by trampling on their toes. He came into a little room on the top floor, where a House-elf was crouching in front of the fire.
"What are you doing there, Doody?" said the heir.
"It is Dobby, Master Draco. And I am carrying out Master Malfoy's orders," said the House-elf, his hand on a shiny black broomstick handle.
"Ha!" said the heir, "these are beautiful racing brooms; what do you think you're doing, turning them into firewood?"
Sensing the House-elf's hesitation, the heir continued, "Father meant them as gifts for the Slytherin House team."
He had no sooner gripped one of the brooms than, whether the broom being somewhat defective, or that the Dark Lord's decree had so ordained it, a splinter pricked his palm, and he fell down clutching the broom.
The House-elf, whose toes were injured in the process, squeaked for help. It took several more squeaks for other House-elves, nursing their toes, to come in from every quarter. They threw water upon the heir's face, took off his socks, attempted to muss his hair; but nothing would bring him to himself. Further, they could not loosen his grip on the broom.
At this, the House-elves wailed and struck their heads repeatedly on the wall.
And now the father, who came up at the noise, bethought himself of the fateful prediction, and caused the heir to be laid upon a bed all embroidered with silver as befitted the Malfoy complexion. The lord commanded that his heir should sleep undisturbed till his hour of awaking was come.
The family friend who had saved the heir's life by condemning him to sleep was in Hogwarts, but he was instantly informed of the accident by Dobby. He arrived seconds later in the lord's private library.
Seeing that the lord was in genuine distress over the state of his heir, the friend thought it safe to share certain confidences with him; and this was what they did: they began to gather the scattered pieces of the Dark Lord's soul in order to precipitate his demise.
Immediately the lord remembered a certain diary which had been entrusted to him by the Dark Lord. Using Dobby, they crafted a plan to ascertain the diary's destruction in the hands of the Wizarding world's designated savior. All this was done painstakingly as they did not wish to make their activities known.
And now the lord and the lady, having kissed their dear child without waking him, wrote a letter to Hogwarts proclaiming that their child is recuperating from a sudden ailment in a Wizarding facility abroad.
This, of course, resulted in rampant speculation as to the nature of his ailment. Some thought it was a werewolf bite; others a backlash from Unforgivable curses. Another suggested a failed attempt at the Wronski Feint. Nobody suspected that the boy continued sleeping in his own bedroom at Malfoy Manor.
About two years afterward, the designated savior of the Wizarding world had a dream of the sleeping boy.
He saw dragons soaring above the Quidditch field. In the middle, sitting astride a dragon with pearly scales, was the boy, his hair gleaming in the moonlight.
Hands gripping his broom, he watched the dragon opened its jaws, sending a spurt of flames straight at him. Heart beating faster and faster, he frantically flew away when the dream suddenly deprived him of his broomstick. He started falling into the darkness below when a voice interrupted his descent. "Quidditch jitters, Potter? How common of you."
He turned his head and saw Malfoy next to him, absently patting the dragon's head. What was Malfoy doing in his dream? Did he finally die of his Wronski Feint injuries? Was he now condemned to haunt Quidditch dreams forever?
"Fine, don’t answer me," said Malfoy sulkily. "Just dream me into existence and then ignore me."
He urged his dragon to fly away, leaving the falling boy to the mercy of gravity.
"Malfoy!" shouted Harry, a bit panicked. "A little help here!"
"Oh, alright," the boy steered the dragon under the falling savior. "Although I don’t see why you don't just dream up another dragon for yourself."
"Well, I can't exactly control my nightmares," Harry found himself riding comfortably behind Malfoy. "As demonstrated by your presence here."
Malfoy looked pleased at that. "You mean I'm your greatest fear in Quidditch, Potter? Your faith in my skills is entirely justified."
"You're not even in the Quidditch team, Malfoy. What with your not being at Hogwarts and all."
Malfoy went silent at that. His face turned wistful as he turned to look at the lightening horizon. "Time to wake up, Potter," he said sedately, "I can hear the Weasel calling your name."
"Where are you going?" Harry asked, taking hold of Malfoy's arm. "Will I see you again? Do you appear in other people's dreams?"
Malfoy just gave him a crooked smile.
*******
Harry stood in the Headmaster's office, not knowing what to believe, as he listened to the prophecy concerning him thus:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
He had heard that Draco must sleep until the Dark Lord's demise, and he now saw that he was the only one with the power to put this to an end; and, pushed on by friendship, he resolved at that moment to destroy the Dark Lord utterly.
Pulling in resources from the Malfoys and the Blacks, the last piece of the Dark Lord's soul was finally destroyed. Order Wizards engaged the Dark Lord's followers to let Harry pass through; he walked up to the throne and finished the old Wizard with a wandless Unforgivable. After helping with the injured Wizards, Harry did not celebrate the freedom of the Wizarding world; instead he continued his way to Malfoy Manor.
He came into a court paved with marble, went up the stairs and came into the second floor, where House-elves in monogrammed pillowcases stood wringing their hands in excitement. He walked past several paintings of gentlemen and ladies, all staring after his progress down the hall.
At last he came into a chamber decorated with golden suns and silver moons, where upon a bed was Draco, who still gripped the broom strongly in his sleep. Trembling with exhaustion, he sat down gingerly on the bed.
"Draco," he said fondly, "You do realize you're holding a Nimbus 2001? They already released Firebolt Version Two to the market." Draco's grip immediately slackened, and the broom fell to the floor.
Bringing Draco's hand to his lips, Harry whispered a spell into Draco's palm. A tiny splinter fell out, bringing the enchantment to an end.
Pale eyelashes lifted, revealing eyes more warm than their grey color might admit:
"Harry," he breathed with a smile. Harry blushed, squeezing Draco's hand in his.
"It sure took you a while," Draco continued briskly, leaning against the headboard. "I thought I was going to miss my N.E.W.T.s in addition to my O.W.L.s."
If Harry's laughter was a bit hysterical, neither felt compelled to point it out.
After a few moments, solemn green eyes held Draco's. "I deserve a holiday, don't you think? For now, I'll help you catch up with your classes and O.W.L.s, then we can take our N.E.W.T.s together."
"And then," Harry smiled fiercely, "then we both play for England."
Draco's eyes shone at this. At a loss of words in the face of their future, they sat there looking at each other, hands still intertwined.
And there they sat unmoving when the Lord and the Lady of the Manor found them. Their son's smile worthed more than all the racing brooms in the world--and surely more than any old Dark Lord. Looking at Harry and Draco's beaming faces, the lord was resigned that his son would always be pretty.
*******
Resources:
Basile, Giambattista. "Sun, Moon and Talia." The Pentamerone, or The Story of Stories. John Edward Taylor, trans. London: David Bogue, 1850.
Perrault, Charles. "Sleeping Beauty." The Blue Fairy Book. Andrew Lang, ed. New York: Dover, 1965. (Original published 1889.)
Icon art: The icon is a cropped image from the cover of Hiwatari Saki's manga Global Garden.
Author’s notes: Thank you for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the thoughtful comments realreview members gave to my WIP I am Responsible for My Rose back in April and May. Now that I'm back writing, I'll be more active in this community :-)
And, once I'm satisfied with revising this story, I will post it in my fairy tale adaptation community: mukashi2.
Title:"Dragon Dreams"
Author: lilian_cho
Beta: rea_saint
Genre: Humor, romance
Audience: [Almost Anyone]
Pairing: H/D
Warnings: fluff with delusions of grandeur (such as demanding to be an AU!Book Two through Seven)
Length/Complete?: 2263 words, one-shot
Summary: A Harry Potter adaptation of "Sleeping Beauty," featuring godfather!Snape, turbanned!Voldemort, dragon-rider!Draco and designated!savior!Harry.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This was one-third done back in July and finished recently, and I felt that the story is a bit disjointed because of this. It wants to be short and long, archaic and modern, serious and funny, AU and canon-compliant...At some points I felt that I should cut out some parts and expand others, but none of my flist feels that way about the fic, apparently.
Please tell me which parts:
1) should be clarified/longer
2) should be shortened/taken out entirely
3) feel jarring (abrupt language shift etc.)
Dragon Dreams
Then he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team
arrived for the match riding dragons.
THERE was formerly a pure-blood couple reigning over Slytherin House, who formed an advantageous match upon graduation with their parents' approval. It was a turbulent time, and so they were not sorry at all that they had no children; on the contrary, they employed charms and potions to ensure their childlessness.
But it happened that once when the lady was bathing, her potions were tampered with. Perhaps it was their parents, unwilling to wait longer for a grandchild. Perhaps it was her husband, acting on the Dark Lord's wishes. The lady kept her suspicions to herself.
And so the lady had a little boy who was so pretty that her husband was torn between joy and despair at his heir's looks. He would say--to anyone whose gaze lingered on his son's pale features--that the little boy would surely grow into his Malfoy features. He had worried to no purpose, for his son ceased to look pretty (although still pale and pointy) nearing the end of his eleventh year.
The father's relief was so great that he ordered a great feast for his son's twelfth birthday that summer. He said that his son deserved this after suffering a most traumatic--and unjustified--detention at the Forbidden Forest. His wife arched a delicate eyebrow but said nothing.
It was a very fine birthday party; instead of godfathers, the heir welcomed his father's old associates (they invited seven), that every one of them might give him a gift. By this means the heir had all the most amazing useless gifts imaginable.
After the necessary niceties were over, all the company entered the manor's ballroom, where a great feast was prepared. Before every one of them was a set of spoons, knife and forks, all of pure silver set with diamonds and emeralds. Jokes as old as the heirloom silverware were retold ("A werewolf, hiding his nature, once applied as a tutor for my great-great-grandfather...")
As they were all sitting down at the table they saw come into the hall a very old Wizard, who fifty years ago opened the Chamber of Secrets. They had not invited him, because it was above ten years since he had been hit by a certain Killing Curse, and he was believed to be either dead or, at the very least, disembodied.
The father quickly (and easily) set him a place at the table, because a Malfoy never runs out of silverware. Nevertheless, the old Wizard felt slighted for the lack of invitation, and muttered some curses between his teeth. It was only good manners that prevented the seven guests from thrashing on the floor and screaming in pain.
One of the guests who sat by him suspected that he might give the little heir some unlucky "gift." As soon as they rose from the table, he went and hid himself behind the hangings, that he might be spared from the evil which the old Wizard intended.
Meanwhile, all the other guests began to give their gifts to the heir. The first gave him the most beautiful, blemish-free skin (Malfoys never have acne). The next, the utmost perfect hair at all times (the boy preened). The third, that he should dress perfectly well. The fourth, wonderful grace on a broom. The fifth, that he should lie like a charm. And the sixth, the wit of the devil (a Malfoy smirk).
The old Wizard's turn coming next, he wished to avenge himself for not having been invited. Turbanned head shaking with spite, he cried out with a loud voice, "The heir shall have his hand pricked with a splintered broom, and fall down dead."
This "terrible gift" left the whole company in a loss. But, interpreting that the Dark Lord wishes to inspire dread, everybody fell a-trembling and a-crying. Satisfied that he still had not lost his touch, the old Wizard turned round and left for Hogwarts in search of a certain stone.
After ascertaining that the old Wizard was truly gone, the hiding guest came out from behind the hangings, and drawled these words:
"Assure yourselves, O Lord and Lady of the Manor, that your son shall not die of this disaster. It is true, I have no power to undo this evil sentence entirely. The boy shall indeed prick his hand with a splintered broom; but, instead of dying, he shall only fall into a profound sleep, which shall last until the demise of the Dark Lord, when a noble savior shall come and awake him."
The Lord of the Manor, to avoid the misfortune foretold by the old Wizard, immediately told the House-elves to burn all the brooms in Malfoy Manor.
At this proclamation the heir falls into a terrible tantrum, for had not his father promised him the latest racing broom? Without a broom, what was the use of having wonderful grace on it? How was he supposed to win glory for the Slytherin House team?
Meanwhile the gifts of his father's associates were plenteously fulfilled on the young boy, for even in the midst of this terrible tantrum his complexion stayed smooth and his hair stayed in its utmost perfection. However, his charming lies and devil's wit did not move his father to lift the broom ban.
*******
About two weeks after, the lord and lady being gone on one of their pleasure trips, the young heir happened to divert himself in marching up and down the manor--aggravating one squeaking House-elf after another by trampling on their toes. He came into a little room on the top floor, where a House-elf was crouching in front of the fire.
"What are you doing there, Doody?" said the heir.
"It is Dobby, Master Draco. And I am carrying out Master Malfoy's orders," said the House-elf, his hand on a shiny black broomstick handle.
"Ha!" said the heir, "these are beautiful racing brooms; what do you think you're doing, turning them into firewood?"
Sensing the House-elf's hesitation, the heir continued, "Father meant them as gifts for the Slytherin House team."
He had no sooner gripped one of the brooms than, whether the broom being somewhat defective, or that the Dark Lord's decree had so ordained it, a splinter pricked his palm, and he fell down clutching the broom.
The House-elf, whose toes were injured in the process, squeaked for help. It took several more squeaks for other House-elves, nursing their toes, to come in from every quarter. They threw water upon the heir's face, took off his socks, attempted to muss his hair; but nothing would bring him to himself. Further, they could not loosen his grip on the broom.
At this, the House-elves wailed and struck their heads repeatedly on the wall.
And now the father, who came up at the noise, bethought himself of the fateful prediction, and caused the heir to be laid upon a bed all embroidered with silver as befitted the Malfoy complexion. The lord commanded that his heir should sleep undisturbed till his hour of awaking was come.
The family friend who had saved the heir's life by condemning him to sleep was in Hogwarts, but he was instantly informed of the accident by Dobby. He arrived seconds later in the lord's private library.
Seeing that the lord was in genuine distress over the state of his heir, the friend thought it safe to share certain confidences with him; and this was what they did: they began to gather the scattered pieces of the Dark Lord's soul in order to precipitate his demise.
Immediately the lord remembered a certain diary which had been entrusted to him by the Dark Lord. Using Dobby, they crafted a plan to ascertain the diary's destruction in the hands of the Wizarding world's designated savior. All this was done painstakingly as they did not wish to make their activities known.
And now the lord and the lady, having kissed their dear child without waking him, wrote a letter to Hogwarts proclaiming that their child is recuperating from a sudden ailment in a Wizarding facility abroad.
This, of course, resulted in rampant speculation as to the nature of his ailment. Some thought it was a werewolf bite; others a backlash from Unforgivable curses. Another suggested a failed attempt at the Wronski Feint. Nobody suspected that the boy continued sleeping in his own bedroom at Malfoy Manor.
About two years afterward, the designated savior of the Wizarding world had a dream of the sleeping boy.
He saw dragons soaring above the Quidditch field. In the middle, sitting astride a dragon with pearly scales, was the boy, his hair gleaming in the moonlight.
Hands gripping his broom, he watched the dragon opened its jaws, sending a spurt of flames straight at him. Heart beating faster and faster, he frantically flew away when the dream suddenly deprived him of his broomstick. He started falling into the darkness below when a voice interrupted his descent. "Quidditch jitters, Potter? How common of you."
He turned his head and saw Malfoy next to him, absently patting the dragon's head. What was Malfoy doing in his dream? Did he finally die of his Wronski Feint injuries? Was he now condemned to haunt Quidditch dreams forever?
"Fine, don’t answer me," said Malfoy sulkily. "Just dream me into existence and then ignore me."
He urged his dragon to fly away, leaving the falling boy to the mercy of gravity.
"Malfoy!" shouted Harry, a bit panicked. "A little help here!"
"Oh, alright," the boy steered the dragon under the falling savior. "Although I don’t see why you don't just dream up another dragon for yourself."
"Well, I can't exactly control my nightmares," Harry found himself riding comfortably behind Malfoy. "As demonstrated by your presence here."
Malfoy looked pleased at that. "You mean I'm your greatest fear in Quidditch, Potter? Your faith in my skills is entirely justified."
"You're not even in the Quidditch team, Malfoy. What with your not being at Hogwarts and all."
Malfoy went silent at that. His face turned wistful as he turned to look at the lightening horizon. "Time to wake up, Potter," he said sedately, "I can hear the Weasel calling your name."
"Where are you going?" Harry asked, taking hold of Malfoy's arm. "Will I see you again? Do you appear in other people's dreams?"
Malfoy just gave him a crooked smile.
*******
Harry stood in the Headmaster's office, not knowing what to believe, as he listened to the prophecy concerning him thus:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
He had heard that Draco must sleep until the Dark Lord's demise, and he now saw that he was the only one with the power to put this to an end; and, pushed on by friendship, he resolved at that moment to destroy the Dark Lord utterly.
Pulling in resources from the Malfoys and the Blacks, the last piece of the Dark Lord's soul was finally destroyed. Order Wizards engaged the Dark Lord's followers to let Harry pass through; he walked up to the throne and finished the old Wizard with a wandless Unforgivable. After helping with the injured Wizards, Harry did not celebrate the freedom of the Wizarding world; instead he continued his way to Malfoy Manor.
He came into a court paved with marble, went up the stairs and came into the second floor, where House-elves in monogrammed pillowcases stood wringing their hands in excitement. He walked past several paintings of gentlemen and ladies, all staring after his progress down the hall.
At last he came into a chamber decorated with golden suns and silver moons, where upon a bed was Draco, who still gripped the broom strongly in his sleep. Trembling with exhaustion, he sat down gingerly on the bed.
"Draco," he said fondly, "You do realize you're holding a Nimbus 2001? They already released Firebolt Version Two to the market." Draco's grip immediately slackened, and the broom fell to the floor.
Bringing Draco's hand to his lips, Harry whispered a spell into Draco's palm. A tiny splinter fell out, bringing the enchantment to an end.
Pale eyelashes lifted, revealing eyes more warm than their grey color might admit:
"Harry," he breathed with a smile. Harry blushed, squeezing Draco's hand in his.
"It sure took you a while," Draco continued briskly, leaning against the headboard. "I thought I was going to miss my N.E.W.T.s in addition to my O.W.L.s."
If Harry's laughter was a bit hysterical, neither felt compelled to point it out.
After a few moments, solemn green eyes held Draco's. "I deserve a holiday, don't you think? For now, I'll help you catch up with your classes and O.W.L.s, then we can take our N.E.W.T.s together."
"And then," Harry smiled fiercely, "then we both play for England."
Draco's eyes shone at this. At a loss of words in the face of their future, they sat there looking at each other, hands still intertwined.
And there they sat unmoving when the Lord and the Lady of the Manor found them. Their son's smile worthed more than all the racing brooms in the world--and surely more than any old Dark Lord. Looking at Harry and Draco's beaming faces, the lord was resigned that his son would always be pretty.
*******
Resources:
Basile, Giambattista. "Sun, Moon and Talia." The Pentamerone, or The Story of Stories. John Edward Taylor, trans. London: David Bogue, 1850.
Perrault, Charles. "Sleeping Beauty." The Blue Fairy Book. Andrew Lang, ed. New York: Dover, 1965. (Original published 1889.)
Icon art: The icon is a cropped image from the cover of Hiwatari Saki's manga Global Garden.
Author’s notes: Thank you for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the thoughtful comments realreview members gave to my WIP I am Responsible for My Rose back in April and May. Now that I'm back writing, I'll be more active in this community :-)
And, once I'm satisfied with revising this story, I will post it in my fairy tale adaptation community: mukashi2.