These dragons were purchased by me for my step-dad for his birthday (or Christmas, I can't quite remember) last year. It explores the idea of mystical beings and dragon-lore, whilst attempting to include extended (sort of) metaphors and just general description. This was written in three minutes, and minus some type-up, has not been edited.
The fire-breathers, as they once were: a tall and proud mystical creature; stood side-by-side-by-side upon the dust. Bright young colours dimming their natural beauty - black stones where emeralds should shine.
They have no princess to guard, only dust.
They are regarded as a proud creature, but how could one be proud if made of stone and the stroke of a machines mechanical brush? Not loving; not adoring; not even fully aware of the presence of such magnificence: are the dragon owners, but rather: consciously observant of two-inch tall "cute" dragon statues on a forgotten mantelpiece, out of reach to anyone with the imagination to love them.
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