(My reworked prose poetry piece for Poetry Thursday)
When I say it's over, I mean this: the dragon is now without power. The jewels she guarded, the rubies and emeralds and precious rocks with names older than we know, jewels from ancient seas now turned to desert and mountain, these jewels have lost their lustre. Worthless now, they have bled their color over the stones of her lair, they are like pieces of coal, black lumps of nothingness. Her scales, once her greenest glory, glimmers of gold and silver in the moonlight, these have turned into grey scabs, one by one by one. Her triumphant wings, like tongues of blue fire, are broken now. She can no longer fly across the star scattered sky, breathing destruction over sleeping villages. All the sulphorous fire and smoke in her lungs is snuffed out, leaving ashes on her tongue, mere fairytale puffs snake from her nose.
All danger is gone. It is over now. Go now, tell this story. Fear is no more.