The Last Moon Dragon

PSA to idiots on the internet who think it's ok to plagiarise, this story has already been reposted once by a user on wattpad and I (OP / author) reported them immediately. Don't copy and paste other people's stuff. It's against the law. Think of your own idea before stealing an 11 year old's.

CAUTION: TWO YEAR OLD DRAFT VERSION. FULL OF SPELLING MISTAKES AND OTHER GRAMMATICAL ERRORS. "The kingdom of Heriven isn't exactly the best place to live. Ruled by a twisted King and a power-hungry Baron, the poor exist to serve the rich. Attacks from other kingdoms have finally ceased over hundreds of years, but only because of a bigger problem. Other places have infestations of lice and vermin, Heriven has dragons. Although there has not been a dragon sighted in the kingdom for over a decade, and the people are at ease, it won't be long before it all changes, and a legendary dragon shall make its reappearance...This was voted best Fantasy Movella 2012


5. The Princess

Ocello kept touching her hair. She couldn't help it. It itched. Her head lady in waiting, Agatha, had told her countless times that it wasn't ladylike to scratch, but Ocello didn't care. Agatha should try having her hair scraped back this tightly, she should be made to wear the awkward ankle-length veil and the uncomfortable metal headress inlaid with precious gems.

Through the small carriage window, Ocello had a clear view of the evening sky, which was dark pink, the exact colour of the roses in the garden back at the manor house. The sun was deep orange, a glowing ball of fire that was slowly descending into the distance. Ocello closed her eyes tightly as she remembered where she was going. The Baron's birthday celebrations. What fun. Her father and brother would eat too much and get drunk, as always, and she would stand in the corner, constantly being asked to dance by the sons of knights who were after her wealth, not love. A typical banquet at the castle.

Ocello's father, King Osslor, and her brother, Prince Oskar, sat opposite her. The King was tall and and strong, though as he had grown older, his features had become more skeletal and his old battle scars more prominent. His hair hung on his shoulders in a stringy black curtain, and his murky green eyes stared at the floor of the carriage.

Prince Oskar, Ocello's brother, greatly resembled the king, except he was younger and his skin bore no ever-lasting marks from war, he had only been alive for a few; and even then he had been to young. His dark hair, though considerably more groomed than his father's, could not escape the natural limpness. His green eyes, the exact colour of rotting plants, stared straight through Ocello, as if she was not there at all. This was often how she felt around her 'close' family.

Ocello had inherited only one thing from her father, which was her long black hair that fell almost to her ribs. The rest; her blue eyes, her milky-white skin, her fine, pointed features, were deemed to have come from her deceased mother, although Ocello had never even seen a painting of the long-dead Queen.

She looked out of the window once more, trying to clear these uncomfortable thoughts from her mind. She had long since stopped asking the King about her mother. He refused to tell her anything.

As the carriage trundled into the village, the people moved aside to make space for it to pass. None of them cheered, or smiled, they just looked on in awe. Good, thought Ocello. There is nothing to cheer for anyway. Just three overly-wealthy people who used the poor's hard earned money to pay for fine clothes and jewels. Who used it to pay for banquets. For celebrations.

Ocello suddenly came to her senses. She did not wish to attend the Baron's banquet at all. What did she care if it was his 55th birthday? So the old fool was a year older, what did it matter? She didn't understand why she would even need to be there.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because her father spoke up.

"You look like you can smell something dead," he remarked, cruelly.

"She probably can," sneered Prince Oskar. "People die all the time around here, that's what I heard."

Ocello shook her head in disgust. Her brother, though practically a man at seventeen years, was so ignorant. Why did he think peasants died all the time? Maybe because all they had to consume was rotten food and spoiled water? All they did was work? The truth was, diseases were about as common as rocks in the kingdom of Heriven, but the nobility thought it a waste to make use of a healer or doctor on the underclass.

Ocello breathed deeply to stop herself from getting angry, and returned her gaze to the outside world. The carriage was now making its way past a blacksmiths; there was an iron sign on the door. As she looked closer, she saw a boy in the window. He was quite tall, yet he could have only been fourteen or so. He had thick blonde hair and dark eyes. Ocello's own, bright blue eyes widened as he stared at her intensley.

The King suddenly realised what his daughter was doing.

"Don't look at them. They are not worthy of your attention."

And it was those last seven words that cracked her.

"Why aren't they? We are all the same race, are we not? In your, eyes, father, it is only money that defines us-"

"Enough!" said the King. "You are a stupid girl, Ocello. Yes, money defines us, that it the way the world works. Maybe when you are positioned as a servant to your brother you will understand."

Ocello was silenced. She knew she was illegitimate, she knew she would never get the throne. She disliked the idea of being married off to some foreign prince but hated the idea of becoming a servant when her brother became King; she would have no other purpose but to serve him, right up until she died.

The sun was nothing more than a faint orange glow, and night was beginning to fall. A single star shone brightly in the ruby sky.

Ocello folded her hands in her lap, and tried not to think that she would not be a princess for much longer. The carriage started its journey up the hill, towards the castle.




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