The Prophecy | A Freewrite Story

Author's note: A story that was tickled to life from a walk along the streets of Barcelona on Sant Jordi day (and just maybe a hint of listening to a song with its same name).

I was on my knees staring up into eyes that would have made any beg for their life, yet here I was about to strike a bargain with the devil’s incarnate.

“Is there no other way to stop this cycle of sacrifice?”

Instead of breathing fire on where she placed herself, she was surprised when the scaly beast tilted its head and regarded her in a manner of comprehension. Words then suddenly flowed into her mind, in a voice she could not see the source, yet knew how it come from the creature before her.

“The prophecy dictates that in order to annihilate my being, you must grant me eternal living. No one before you has ever bothered to end these generations of suffering – some have despaired themselves to their own deaths, while most have only led their saviours to experience the same fate along with their own demise. Tell me young princess, how much faith do you have in your knight?”

“I am confident that George will come through. I am mostly confused with your testament, however. You mean to be willingly slayed if one could uphold their part in this bargain?”

“If your saviour’s strike be true, then it is not mere blood that will flow from my hide. If you be successful in granting me my wish, then no other beast shall rise to avenge my death.”

I was worth a try, was it not? Though never in the books had there been a princess who struck a deal with their dragon captor, instead the story goes with how courageous knight George saved his beloved princess from the evil clutches of the dragon. Though curiously enough, the moment its thick blood flowed to the earth, out burst forth bushes that rapidly bloomed with the reddest of roses.

“Wait, George, take its heart as well!” And so, the princess was then whisked away back to the safety of her kingdom, but not before giving away the roses that bloomed from the dragon along the way.

Wives and lovers sang their praises and relief for future generations of their daughters and sisters, while the bards and historians wrote and recounted the feat for centuries to come. A Tale it had turned, one of legends to be celebrated even in modern years, and whatever became of the dragon’s heart, you may ask?

‘Tis but a take from my own personal imaginings but perchance, somewhere in the courtyard of medieval castles long abandoned and never to reach the public’s eye, stood a tree – no longer a bush – that produced the finest of red roses. If one would just close their eyes, they might be able to hear the trunk beating its own heartbeat.
For in the end, fairytales exist to grant eternity.