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He says he’ll build us a castle somewhere.

And our castle will be guarded by a dragon.

A dragon who plays the mandolin.

And eats unwelcome visitors.

And in this castle, guarded by its carnivorous, mandolin-playing dragon, we will live happily ever after.

I tell him that I don’t need a castle.

And I already have my own mandolin and he knows that because he gave it to me.

And someday I will learn to play it properly, for love song serenades.

And we are already living happily right here and right now, and we will continue to do so ever after, whatever that means, regardless of location, because that’s how this story goes.

But if he actually knows where to get a dragon, especially one who plays the mandolin better than I can, that might be nice.

 

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

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