“Any last requests?”
Flames licked the dragon’s scaly lips as she leered at the knight splayed beneath her talons.
“Just one.” The knight tossed his golden curls. “Try not to singe my hair.”
The notice hung from the cathedral gate:
Funeral Service Tonight
For Sir Primpsalot the Vain
Lady Devon the Thoughtful has never met a dragon but doubts one would be inclined to humor a pretentious knight.