Fools. All of them.
They come with their sharp swords and polished armor, so eager to be the hero of the tale. To win over the maiden with a single, life-defying act of bravery.
No words. No flowers. No real attempt at a lasting connection.
For them, she’s no everlasting love, no happily ever after. She’s a prize. A living, breathing symbol of their masculine power. She might as well be carved of gold, for all she’s worth to them.
That’s what draws them after all. The riches. The promise of it being an enchanted princess. The glory of fables forever carrying their name. The allure of the beautiful, mysterious maiden waiting in the tower. They never stop to think of after.
After the newness wears off. After the adrenaline is gone. After the glow of appreciation fades to nothing… for what else do they even know about each other except that she was once a woman in need of saving. A woman who is now married and settled and cold. Who turns away from his strange touch, sits in tense silence across the dinner table.
Her beloved knight, who never thinks to learn her name. To discover her favorite color or favorite food. To learn and memorize the sound of her laughter until he exists everyday unable to live because he yearns for it so deeply.
These things do not matter to Sir Knight. For his only job is to slay the dragon and drag the woman home, whether she wants to go or not.
It never occurs to the man playing the hero that the woman IS the dragon. That she is not trapped by it, but saved, as it weeds out every pompous, violent, selfish, arrogant, disgusting man coming to claim his prize in an effort to find THE ONE.
If once, just once, a knight were to try and tame this dragon, to run his warm hand down its silver scales and leathery wings, he might actually survive its flames… and find happiness beyond his wildest imagination.