Page 45 of Dragon in Boots

Yep, we live in their asylum.

“Last chance.” Cimil made a slicing motion with her finger across her neck.

“Fine. I’ll go.” Jac followed Cimil backstage, and Damien was right behind her, still arguing with Cimil. He wanted her to turn herself in. She told him to shove it up his “gorgeous, hard ass.” The three stopped right outside Dash’s dressing room.

“Now what?” Jac said.

“Our dragon refuses to shift back to his natural state and perform his manly duties,” Cimil said with a huff.

“What do you want me to do about it? He doesn’t want to make more dragons. The younger ones snack on children. The older ones dine on adults. And giraffes.”

“Everything has to eat.” Cimil swiped a dismissive hand through the air. “But he doesn’t need to make a gaggle of baby dragons. He only has to shift and then let nature take its course. He’s free to miss.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Jack said.

“You don’t have to, chicky bean. I just need you,” Cimil grabbed Jac’s shoulders, “to say yes.”

“Yes to what?” she asked.

“He will only agree to shift and complete the mating ritual if you’re part of it.”

Now she was really lost. Dash said the ritual tonight was some sort of cleansing thing. “You mean sex?” Not that she’d ever say yes, but how would that even work? Dragons were really big.

“No, silly,” Cimil said. “It’s a ritual. All you have to do is follow along with the other women.”

Suddenly, boos and death threats began pouring from the crowd in the theater.

“The dragonettes grow restless, Jac, and midnight is near. Will you or won’t you save the dragon species?” Cimil pushed.

“Those…those are dragons outside?” Damien asked.

“Yes. Hello?” Cimil rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Apparently not, because they look like a bunch of horny old women.” Damien straightened his tie nervously.

“Fuck no. Those are dragons,” said a tiny voice.

Jac’s eyes followed the sound. On Damien’s shoulder was a lavender birdlike creature in a white, see-through toga. It had boobs!

Jac jumped back. “What the hell is that?”

“Pet.” Damien flicked the thing off him.

“It’s your pet?” Jac asked.

“No, absolutely not,” he shirked. “Everyone knows that sex fairies make terrible companions. Her name is Petra, Pet for short.”

Jac pressed one hand to the wall next to the dressing room and braced herself from a wave of stomach pain. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Suddenly, outside, the women’s booing grew louder:

“Get off the stage!”

“We don’t want a god!”

“Put some pants on!”

Cimil walked to stage left and peeked around the curtains. She shook her head and came back. “Belch is doing the Funky Chicken.”

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