Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Night falls, and I find myself standing not far off from the place the dragon set me down, a location outside the castle town, somewhere in the fields beneath the mountains. They have been transformed, however, from simple grass meadow to enchanted wedding scene. There is a gorgeous white aisle laid along the ground, lit with dancing bugs who fly obligingly in such a way as to create an arch. At the end of the aisle, there is a stone altar and similar gazebo type arrangement, made of carved stone. It looks like it would take years to make, but it has been conjured here, as far as I am aware. It is a large construction of pillars and arches, beautifully decorated with dragon motifs. That seems a little dark to me, given how deeply Charming and the other inhabitants of this realm seem to loathe dragons.
Again, I do not have much time to think. I have been swept here and there, primped, polished, and propped in place, for my gown is so large I can barely walk in it. It is a beautiful fairytale dress, puffing out in all directions around me in billowing lace and satin. I appear out the top of it, my waist and upper body so disproportionately small to the incredible royal bulk of the gown. I am not entirely certain of the length of the train at the back of the dress, for it seems to go on forever. It runs out behind me through the meadow, over the bridge, and is lost on the way into town somewhere. Fortunately, I am assisted in moving by a small army of animal-headed ladies and footmen, whose combined labors make it possible for me to take one step approximately every twenty seconds or so. I finally understand why wedding marches are low tempo. Traditional gowns do not allow for dancing down the aisle antics.
Charming is waiting for me at the altar, my tall, handsome, alien husband in all his green scaled glory. Amid the strangeness of my situation, he feels like a true anchor. So much of this seems like it might not be entirely real, but he is certainly real. My virginity is gone, thanks to the thorough ravaging of his rough dragon cock. That was real, as is the ache between my thighs and the pulse of my clit with almost every step.
On either side of the aisle, there are chairs, and those chairs are all occupied by perfect strangers who gasp and gawp at me with bulging animal eyes. I have to remind myself that these are not so much alien beasts as beast people, much like Whiskerton the butler. As I reach the head of the aisle, I see tiny little chairs at the front which allow an extended family of dormice to take their seats.
I am thoroughly caught in the fantasy, and though much of this may seem like the contents of a dream, the sensations I have experienced, punishment, defloration, love, they are not instances of imagination. They are as real as any experience I have ever had. More real, in some cases.
Traditionally, my father would give me away, but my father works on an oil rig in the Bering Sea and I haven’t heard from him in around five years. My mother entered menopause and left for a Buddhist community high in the Tibetan mountains. We’re not an especially close family, but we do share a taste for adventure.
No mention has been made of King Charming’s parents. In my experience, when no mention has been made it is best not to bring it up unless it is brought up. Much darkness lurks in the nuclear family unit, and if this world is anything to go by, I can only imagine the potential horror. There are worse fates to endure than a mother who packs a hemp backpack with nothing more than six pairs of cotton underwear and a triangle and gets on a plane. I’m not entirely sure my father actually knows she is gone. Neither one of them know that I’m gone, that much is certain.
“Hello,” I whisper nervously as I finally reach Charming.
“Hello, my love,” he replies, his voice deep, resonant and absolutely imbued with real affection. He loves me, and I think I must love him or else why would I be doing any of this?
The ceremony is presided over by a tall, lanky priest with the undulating neck and smooth, feathered head of a swan, or is it a goose? No. I think it is a swan. He holds the holy book in his wing and perches a thick pair of spectacles on his beak.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of King Charming and Princess Emmaline. We give thanks for the presence of the princess and anticipate her regency with great glee.”