I dreamt of a blonde girl, silent as the dawn, sitting atop a colossal dragon soaring through clouds as soft as whispered lullabies. There was no wind, yet the delicate fabric of her robe drifted as if the air itself breathed around her. The sky was a sea of milk and light, and the dragon — eyes of amber and iridescent scales — didn’t roar, but hummed ancient songs, long forgotten by time.
She didn’t speak. She rested her head against his massive cheek like one might do with an old friend, or a tired god. The dragon didn’t move with power, but with reverence — as if protecting a secret too sacred to name.
All around them, the clouds shifted shape: some turning into celestial beasts, others dissolving like fading thoughts. There was no world beneath them. Just sky. Just the two of them. A gentle giant and a fragile woman, suspended in a moment beyond reason, beyond time.
It was a dream… but more real than anything I could ever explain.
