I stare at the dragon before me. Her skin red as blood, her nose smokes like burning charcoal, her fangs like pointed spears aligned ready to strike without mercy. The heat from her core makes her perspire, yet they evaporate even before they can trickle freely to the floor. No one is free. But that does not grip me. It is her eyes. Piercing like daggers into my soul. Her eyes are fire. Fury has no match against the firestorm that burns in her pupils. I am afraid. But only a fool or an ignorant would not be.
I know the source of the fire. The apex of the source, from which the firemen would aim his hose towards to quench the thirst of the furious flames. It is the discomforts within. The bloatedness of her insides, the excruciating and uncontrollable cramps, the nausea of pain. It causes her to scream into the abyss.
I am scared. But I am scared because I care. This dragon is not a dragon, after all. She is my love. And it is her time of the month. And no matter what my fears may be, I will still stay right here. Looking into the dragon's eyes, I will be burnt, I will be bitten. But, I stand anchored to the ground, I will stay right here for her.
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