This is actually kinda possible, and two moons of saturn do this. Check out "Horseshoe orbit" on wikipedia.

“Look, Sir Marwin. Lady Rina sits still at the lakeshore awaiting the return of her long-lost prince. Isn’t it romantic? A love story come to life.”

“Ok, look. Ever since I moved to this Kingdom this has bugged me. Until now I’ve stayed my tongue for fear of execution, but…God I can’t contain it any longer.”

“Speak freely, Sir Marwin. Tell me of what it is that bothers you so.”

“That’s a lake right? The ‘Lake of Longing’?”

“Yes. Named for our Lady’s devotion to the great love of her life.”

“Ok, but it’s a fucking lake…”

“…I’m not sure what you’re getting at, good sir.”

“The dude didn’t sail off to war across a god damn lake. Why the hell does she think he’s gonna float in from across the lake? It’s a small lake for god’s sakes. You can see the other side!”

“But….Sir Marwin. I was there on the day that Lord Humphrey sailed into battle. It was a most somber affair. He climbed aboard a small vessel at the lakeshore—the very place our Lady stands to this day— and sailed away and into battle.”

“You must tell me then: was this a foggy day? Was visibility poor? Did other men go into battle?”

“Why…yes it was a very foggy day. Our Lady oft remarks that her love was swallowed by the clouds. And a small crew ventured off with our Lord but the others had already ventured into battle in the hinterlands.”

“Ok…and how did these other men go to battle? By horseback I imagine?”

“Well, yes. But Lord Humphrey said that there was strategic benefit to his seafaring mission. He would flank the enemy and this maneuver would prove the death-knell of the resistance.”

“Come on. Surely I needn’t pull out a map and show you how he could never have possibly ‘flanked’ anyone. He would have been sailing north while the battle raged 100 miles south of here.”

“Sir Marwin, it is not my place—nor yours—to question the strategic acumen of one such as Lord Humphrey. Surely he had his reasons.”

“Tell me, what is across the lake? Is there a town?”

“Yes, Sir. A town most foul. We are forbidden to step foot in that disgusting place by order of Lady Rina.”

“Yeah. That does it.”

“Whatever do you mean, Sir Marwin.”

“That dude isn’t at battle! He never was. He sailed across the lake to the town, and probably had a bender—probably stumbled his way through a brothel or two. My guess is Lady Rina found out and told him to stay the hell away.”

“Blasphemy! I will not tolerate such words. Do not besmirch the good names of Lord Humphrey and Lady Rina. I say, Sir Marwin. Take your leave of me at once and never speak of this treachery again.”

Sir Marwin bowed and walked away. Lady Rina turned away from the lake and walked toward her attendant.

“Ah Lady Rina, how was thine time at the Lakeside.”

“Oh, fine Cyril, just fine. No sign of that philandering bastard. Probably either drunk in a gutter or dead in the streets.”

“Excellent, my Lady, last time you sighted him it was not a pretty sight.”

“Indeed. ‘Tis wise my father taught me archery and how to light a fire. That bastard won’t try to sail across any time soon. And god knows he’s too lazy to walk the 2 miles around the lake.”

“Hell hath no fury, right my Lady?”

“Damn right, Cyril. Any news for me?”

“Nothing of import. Sir Marwin has volunteered for the war effort in the South. I suggest we send him on his way by morning.”

“Ah, after conquest and glory I see.”

“Something like that.”

Lol indeed

"Hey, I like the filter you're using."

"It's not a filter."

"Costume?"

"No"

"...wha?"

well done

The tavern was quietening down, as the evening swallowed the light and the regulars swallowed their drinks. Those looking for fighting or fornicating had either found what they were looking for, or taken their search elsewhere. Those that remained were there for the company of friends or for drinking in silence. So it was with the group of young men and women talking loudly of romance and loss at one table and the single old man at the table next to them.

"....and every day she goes to wait for him, at the Lake of Longing", said the young man with a smile at the women to his left. "Hoping that today might be the day she is finally reunited with her love". The woman smiled back, both believing incorrectly that no-one else at the table saw them flirting.

"Oh, it's so beautiful", said the woman.

"Fuck", said the man at the next table. "Can you kids just shut up about it? There is nothing beautiful about what I help my lady do at that lake each day, and one day soon you'll know that first hand, I'd wager. She's not going to be able to carry on for long."

"I...sorry", said the woman with eyes downcast. The old man frowned. He'd not meant to be so harsh. It wasn't the girl's fault.

"What do you mean 'you help your lady'?", asked another of the group. "Who are you?"

"I attend the Princess", said the old man. "Have done for my whole life. And will do until one or both of us is dead and hopefully gone."

"Come", urged the man working to impress his beau, "join us, share a drink. You can tell us what really happens!"

The old man shook his head, but the girl who'd apologised looked up at him with a smile that was so like his Lady's that he couldn't help himself.

"I'll thank you kindly for a drink, and if you really want to hear it, I'll tell it". He eased himself from his seat and came to join them. "I'll snap straight to it, if you don't mind. I'm sure you don't want to spend too much of your evening with an old soak like me. You've got better things to be doing", he said and pointed at the flirting couple. "Especially you two", he said, to the amusement of the other drinkers.

The old man filled their glasses, and leaned in to tell his tale.

"You said that my Lady goes to wait for the love that never returned from war, but I'm afraid you are only part right about that. The Prince did return, and does return over and over again to this day. At least something that looks like the Prince. He came home many years ago. He spoke like the Prince and moved like the Prince, but both my Lady and I knew something was wrong. You know when you surprise someone, and in that moment you see what they really think, as the facade they were wearing slips? Well, it was like that. In a certain light, or when he thought no-one was looking you saw something else looking out from inside."

The tavern grew quieter, and a few other ears on other tables began to turn toward the old man and his yarn.

"My Lady grew suspicious. She hid his return from her family and instead took him out to the Lake, to confront him at the place they first fell in love. It was just those two, that first time, so I only heard it from her, but having seen it since I can believe her story. She came back that first night, alone, soaked through, and shaking in grief."

"What happened?", interrupted a man on another table, and get groans of frustration from the other listeners.

"She confronted him, and his true nature was revealed. It was not her Prince, but something vile that lived and grew in the suffering and filth of war, and it wore his likeness. She drowned it in the Lake, staring at the face she loved, to protect us all from what that thing could do to this land."

The old man drained his glass.

"And since that day I've helped her protect us all many times. It returns to the Lake. Sometimes months hence, sometimes years. But it always returns. It's hungry, you see. Hungry for suffering and death. The war that created it has only whetted its appetite. So it comes back and it tries to convince her it's her Prince. Each time it does a little better and gets a little closer to being convincing, but each time she sees through it, and drowns it once more, with my help."

"But one day soon, she'll be too old, too weak. Or it will find the right words to convince her this time it's really him. One way or another, she won't be able to stop it forever. So enjoy your drinks, and enjoy each other", he said as he stood up. "You might not have forever left to do either."

___________________________________________________________

r/talleresttales

Sarah tried to free herself from the ropes that tied her unsuccessfully, her captors kept dragging her and threw her onto a wooden floor. Someone removed the binding that had been covering her eyes. The first thing she noticed was the strange circle that had been etched into the floor. The runes on it were pulsating with light under a thin coat of something she really hoped wasn't blood.

Then, she noticed her. Amber, she was sitting on an old sofa in front of her, the low living room table in front of her was filled with strange tools and ingredients. A few men in masks were assisting her as she prepared, though Sarah wasn't sure what for.

"What the hell Amber" she groaned. "Don't you think this whole cult bullshit is a bit of an overreaction?"

Amber lifted her head angrily "You took everything from me! And now you will pay..."

"Holy shit, really? Listen, if you used your energy to get better at cooking rather than doing...well, whatever this is... I'm sure you'd win the next contest"

Amber muttered something under her breath and two men came and helped Sarah to her knees so that she could look Amber in the eyes.

"You know i love Daniel, he was supposed to try my cake and fall in love with me. But yours won, so he didn't even try mine, now... I'm going to make sure you can never cook again"

Sarah sighed "Girl, Dan is my DM and my friend. He would have tried my cake even if i had lost... On the other hand you haven't ever spoken to him. Stop being a creepy stalker"

Amber looked at her with horror in her face "YOU! You have made my darling play those horrible satanic games??"

The brunette just looked around in disbelief, but found no sympathy in the masked men. This HAD to be some kind of prank. "D&D isn't satanic Amber. Whatever the hell this is really looks the part, though. LET. ME. GO"

The girl in red robes sneered at her and turned around "It's time" she snapped.

Amber placed the old parchment close to the open flame of a repurposed Bunsen burner (most likely stolen from the local college) and read from it as her assistants threw ingredients onto her makeshift cauldron. Once she was done she let the edge of the parchment catch flame and slowly placed it atop the mix .

Sarah cursed remembering she never did share her location with the group after the d&d session was over, whatever these idots were trying to do would surely not end well for her.

Amber stood up holding the cauldron with some old-yet-matching red oven mitts. She was smiling triumphantly as she walked towards Sarah.

"You don't expect me to drink that, do you?"

"Oh of course not!" She grinned as she flipped the pot over Sarah's head, bathing her in the scalding hot potion.

Amber stepped out of the circle quickly as Sarah screamed.

"Agghh it burns you psycho!"

"You have been cursed!! Soon you will become a beast!! Something so monstrous your mind won't even survive the change"

Sarah curled inwards in pain, she was panicking, she knew she needed to go to a hospital fast...these were surely at least third degree burns. She needed to release herself from the ropes somehow. Sarah looked down at her hands in hopes of finding a way out and then.. she noticed. Her skin which had always been of a beautiful tan was now mottled with silver scales. Whatever Amber had done.. it was actually working! There had to be a way to resist this, she focused all her mind and energy staying her breath..on not becoming whatever this was..and then Amber spoke again.

"You're already changing! You will be an ugly dragon! As stupid as any animal! People will come to hunt you and you will die and be hung up as a trophy somewhere" she cackled maniacly as she watched.

"Dragon?" Sarah blinked twice. "I'm becoming a dragon?!" The horror and fear immediately left her and she grinned happily as she let go all resistance. Her transformation finished almost instantly.

The dust hadn't even settled when Sarah bulldozed her way out of that room, her restraints had not survived her transformation and she was set on making the most out of that. As she was escaping she managed to find her things. She put her head through her messenger bag's armstrap as best she could and broke through the kitchen door into freedom.

As soon as she was out she took flight. The cool air of the winter night felt like bliss itself on her scales and the clouds made her feel safe and at home.

She parked herself atop some clouds noticing she could actually rest upon them and then she took a moment to evaluate how much she had changed.

Under the moonlight she inspected her new shape, marveling in the majesty of her scales, wings and tail. She let out a giddy laugh. This has always been one of her fantasies but more than that, now it felt right, like this is what she truly was meant to be, even if it meant she could never be normal again.

Once the excitement and shock had settled down, it suddenly dawned on her.. "Oh I've GOT to tell Dan about this!" Laying her bag onto the solid cloud she pushed through the contents until found her phone, she grinned upon finding it and said "Ok Google, Call DanDan"

I want to read your book of fairytales, my good lady scribe.

Part 2

I look back into the mirror and realize more scales have appeared, covering my face and forearms. In fact, I can see more forming into existence on my face. My teeth look a little sharper too, and my clothes feel tighter than ever. Now, in case you didn't know, 25% of the human population (current statistic as of rn) have a condition known as a phototropic sneeze. This is mostly harmless, and causes sneezes to be easily triggered by bright lights and that's a recipe for disaster sometimes. I look directly into the bathroom lights by accident, then sneeze out a friggin' inferno. I scream briefly but cover my mouth to make sure nobody heard, and feel the urge to sneeze again. I still think that if I cover my mouth before I flame sneeze again, my head will explode in a blast of fire and germs. So I take my hand off quickly and try to not burn down the bathroom as I sneeze again and again, knocking myself into walls from the recoil.

I hear banging on the door. It's my boss.

"It's been 10 minutes! I thought maybe something had happened and as such you would be allowed to stay in the bathroom a little longer, but this is ridiculous! Are you stalling for time?!"

"No of course not I-"

"Get out here this minute, I can hear the sink is on, I know you're practically done."

The sink? I turn around and scream internally. The sink is a singed white mass of rubble and porcelain, with water spraying out of a broken pipe.

"Ooooooh... that sink."

"Yeah, 'Oh'."

Before I can react he opens the door and sees the blackened walls, the smashed sink and melted plastic stall doors.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?! ARE YOU SOME KIND OF ARSONIST?! I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

"NO SIR PLEASE STOP! IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!"

We get into a brief tussle as I attempt to wrestle the phone out of his hands.

"Get! Off! Me!"

He pushes me and I stumble, leaning precariously against the open window. My coworkers look on in shock.

"Hello? Police? I'd like to report arson and assault. My employee- GADZOOKS WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

I glance down and see a large bulge at the back of my pants, leading down the left leg. That wasn't there before. Suddenly my pants tear and a large tail flops to the floor. What the hell is happening to me?!

Screams of absolute horror begin to come from my coworkers.

Then I suddenly feel the urge to sneeze.

"HA-CHOOOOO!"

Flames shoot out of my mouth in a blast of fiery hell as I fly out the window from the sheer force of it. And now I'm falling to my death."OOOOH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I feel the parking lot crunch from the impact. I wait 5 seconds. Then 10. I don't feel the pain of falling 20 stories. I quickly look at myself and see now I'm covered in scales fully, and my massive wings and reptilian features.

"Oh my god. That witch turned me into a dragon."

Normally, someone else would go scream in terror then drown themselves in a volcano or something (which is most likely what that witch intended). But, being an aspiring fantasy writer, this was a dream come true.

"WOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO!"

I soar into the sky, passing the open window where I fell out. All my previous limitations are gone. I feel reborn, like I could do anything. I was given a fresh start, I'm not gonna waste it.

~~The End~~

Any criticisms and tips are welcome!

Okay, this is a great prompt. Also, r/usernamechecksout. (apologies if the opening is weird, it all makes sense later)

"BUAHAHAHAHA! DO YOU THINK YOU PITIFUL MORTALS CAN DEFEAT ME, SCALES OF THE DRAGON KIND?!"

My armored scales easily cause arrow and laser alike to bounce off my monstrous form. I spread my massive wings and jump into the sky, vomiting rainbow fire down upon the unfortunate armies of the 7 States. I laugh manically while doing so, but I stop because I ran out of Magic Dragon Juice^(TM). The effects of the concoction are wearing off! My scales dissipate and my wings shrivel up and burst into glitter as I fall to earth, the last of my draconic power shielding me from the fall. I turn to see the armies rushing at me with their sticks and Christmas ornaments, lobbing the later like grenades. With no option to defend myself, I can only hold uselessly my arms in front of my face as the hordes of soccer moms and stoners descend upon me.

My eyes shoot open. I had just woken up from what had quite literally been the most absurd yet awesome dream I have ever been in. Quietly noting to myself never to lucid dream while drunk ever again, I think about how boring today will be in comparison. And yet, despite being in the same old bed in the same old house, I feel... different. Even after the heavy drinking last night, I'm not even hungover! Speaking of which... I really need to figure out what I did last night. Can't remember a damn thing. Oh well, it'll come to me later.

I get up and put on my outfit for today, which feels strangely tight. Odd. I try another combination, same result. Maybe something happened with the laundry machine? Eh, it's not too tight, so I can pass on it for now. Maybe I can go shopping later, I need to get more food anyways. I pour the meager remaining portion of cereal (even though I just opened it last week, it ran out. Maybe it's just me eating it consistently?) into a too-small bowl, then add some milk and begin to eat my breakfast. What happened to my decently sized soup bowls anyway?

Doesn't matter. I turn on the news and watch, dreading the coming workday. Turns out that the company I work for is doing mass-firings and shoving heavier workloads on employees to save money. Yikes, better hope I can adjust to that. On the plus side, IF I'm ever unemployed I can always write fantasy like I dreamed of when I was a kid. On my way to the bathroom, I bang my head on the door frame and groan in frustration. I had made sure that the frame was a good few inches/cm higher than my head, with just enough clearance for me to walk through. Maybe it's started sagging under the weight of my roof. As I start brushing my teeth, I accidentally snap my toothbrush in half. Sighing, I crouch and grab a spare toothbrush from one of the cabinets. As I squeeze the toothpaste onto the brush, the canister explodes from my grip and splatters all over my clothes. Maybe I'm just too stressed right now to do things properly. I quickly change into new clothes and finish brushing using what is essentially a toothpaste-coated stick.

I hop into my old and deteriorating car and adjust the seat size as it feels too small. The damn thing never stays put and it's basically a coin flip on whether it'll stay at the setting you put it at or just a random one it sets while you're not there. As I drive some asshole with a souped-up car with whackass suspension blasting the worst rap songs I have ever heard cuts me off and nearly crashes into me. I slam my hand on the horn and, to no one's surprise, the part of the wheel breaks. This day just keeps on getting better.

As I arrive at my office and head up to work, I look at my watch and see that I at least made it on time. Sitting down on my chair and desk in my undersized cubicle, I begin typing up reports; as I will apparently be doing until the end of gundamned time if my work hours say anything about it. As I finish writing up an email to some guy who's supposedly important, Kevin passes by. He's an absolute workaholic, and his several inch thick glasses always bounce and slide across his nose bridge whenever he moves. I briefly pause and ask him:

"Hey, did the budget cuts reduce desk and chair size too?"

He responds tiredly:

"It wouldn't surprise me at this point."

I was going to get back to work when my best friend Kyle walks in. He's a very straightforward guy who would give me a direct answer to any question, even if the response is a little insulting I know he's just being honest.

"Heya Kyle! Are the chairs changed to be smaller now or is it just me?"

"Oh, the boss never said anything about reduced workspace size. You sure you don't need to check your weight?"

I chuckle nervously and say that I appreciated his input before continuing work. As I sip some coffee I got from a machine close by, I accidentally drop the cup, spilling piping hot coffee all over my screen. I immediately rush over to grab tissues and paper towels from the bathroom and try soaking up all the coffee I can before any damage is done. As I vigorously wipe a terrible scratching sound screams through the office. I move my hand and find a terrible scratch mark cutting across the screen. Looking at the pathetic brown wad of absorbent paper I used to clean up the coffee, I see that it's practically been bisected. I glance at my nails, and they look... sharper? Somehow?

It doesn't matter. I need to finish up my presentation for later today after the lunch break. Even if my screen is cracked I'm sure the IT guy has some stuff for repairs. Speaking of lunch, I take out my leftovers from last night and put it in the office microwave and set the time for 2 minutes. Without warning, I sneeze and the microwave explodes.

I get up, notice my arm is on fire, then yell that there's a fire. Then I stop. Even though I have no barrier between my skin and the flame, I feel, no, am, completely unburned. Quickly swatting the fire away, I see coworkers walk into the room and begin dousing the flames using fire extinguishers. They ask me if I'm okay and check me for any injuries. By some kind of miracle I'm unharmed, or so they say. Glancing at the smoldering remains of my pizza, decide I'm skipping lunch now...

The presentation rolls around and I walk into my boss' room. He looks intimidating. I begin presenting when I notice my right hand looks like it's covered in... scales. I ask to use the bathroom and he gives me 5 minutes.

First I rush in and close the door, checking I'm alone. Then I examine my hand, checking nervously to see if I can just pick it off and call it a day. Nope, as I painfully found out they're firmly bound to my skin. I grab the moisturizer located on the left hand side of the sink and begin covering my hand with it. I hope that it's working. I scrub with increasing force on my scaly hand, hoping it'll go away. Then, the memories of that night flood back:

That night I had been alone at a bar. Too many drinks had lead me to becoming so irresponsible I decide to drive home despite being so dead drunk I might as well be in the afterlife. And of course, I get very lost. So much so I end up in the woods next to my house. As I swerve across the empty off road trails to my house I fail to notice the elderly woman crossing, her black cat perched on her shoulder like a parrot. Well... I failed to notice until I felt I ran something over. I stumble out of the car. She's been hurt bad, fatally even. Her cat was completely flattened. Yet despite these wounds she gets up and staggers over to her cat, as if that was what was at stake here.

"Oh Mittens! Mittens! Please, no, god no! You were my favorite familiar..." She trails off in the last sentence and bursts into tears.

Now, me being drunk I decide to do the worst thing possible and say something so insensitive that, looking back on it, could have saved me from this.

"'Ey misserie... Iz jut a cat, dun be sucha such a sour-push *drunken laughter at my own dumb joke*"

She turns to me:

"YOU! You killed Mittens! And yet you treat her like some kind of ordinary house cat! I will take everything you loved, just as how you've taken from me! Oh great magic, grant me your might! Let me punish some fool's poor sight! May his form be twisted, turned, and more! Let him cause destruction evermore!"

She begins to chant this and I swear I saw her wounds mend.

"Miz I dun spek nonshenshe."

"Oh be quiet you! You'll live to regret this!"

Then she disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

"But we need you!"

I crossed my arms, sitting in the cottage I called home. The spokesman was pale, standing up from his chair in horror.

"I said I was done the last time. I meant it. So no, you can go back and say I'm not helping."

The spokeman spluttered, tapping his scroll frantically.

"But.... but.... but it will be the end of our world! The rising tide of corrupted treants and dryads will destroy all of our cities! Countless people will die!"

I shrugged.

"So? Every time I have helped, I have lost. Either something or someone precious. I have nothing left I am willing to give up. So find someone else to break themselves for you. I won't do it anymore."

The spokesman stepped towards me, tightening his fist. The scroll crumpled in his grasp, the pale skin now turning red with anger.

"You are always rewarded! How dare you not care anymore!"

I slowly stood up. My long years of service had left me with a powerful body, one that made me stand over any ordinary person.

"I said I'm done. Now leave, before I lose my temper."

He shivered at the implication. I pointed to the door, letting him make the choice. After dithering for a moment he walked out, though he walked like he wanted to run. I watched him leave, before sighing.

"Is that enough for you?"

A potted plant on my windowsill twitched, before an ethereal voice rose from it.

"That is enough assurance. You have my word your friends will be left unharmed by this transition."

I relaxed, settling into my chair. It turns out the best action for me was inaction.

Oooohhh… she never would have gained regency without her husband’s name.

I stepped up to the microphone, and was nervous. Slowly I started speaking:

"My friends, today I stand before you in a state of melancholia. I know that each one of you has your own struggles and burdens to bear, and I do not wish to burden you with my own. But I must speak of my journey."

A sad beat filled the speakers. My voice deepens, and I start rapping.

"Ya'll wanna give me medals and cheer me on,
Sayin' I'm a hero but it's not that strong
I'm just trying to take a day off and have some fun,
It's time to take a break so let me run!

I said no, no need to try,
Stop askin' me to sacrifice
Been livin' tough but I'm gettin' by,
Time to take a break or else I'll die

All this talk of destinies and warriors,
Always expectin' me to do more
Actions have consequences, that's what I'm seein',
But I can't keep giving up my bein'

All these words flyin' in the air,
Don't wanna go through it no more despair
I won't play your game, no more of this fame,
Gonna take a breather, change my own name

I said no, no need to try,
Stop askin' me to sacrifice
Been livin' tough but I'm gettin' by,
Time to take a break or else I'll die"

And so, I waked off the stage and into the new unknown.

It MIGHT require a particular mind set... However I read fantasy books I loan from library which usually help a lot on piecing things together. How do you have your characters interact etc.

There has been few books particular that have struck a cord on me. (I might misspell the following name incorrectly) His Majesty's Dragon and Jade Throne (which isn't as good as the first one, but it is worth reading.) *Sigh* what else was there. Oh yeah, Dragon Lance series' Draconian Plots is also pretty good.

The heck... It's now +50... Well, I guess, it is now pretty clear I probably should continue.

“There is no question of succession,” Princess Ireni said smoothly. “With the death of his father the king, Prince Reynaud is now King Reynaud the Seventh. We only await his coronation.”

“Your highness-” the archbishop began softly. “The prince has not been seen these twenty years.”

“For heavens’ sake, princess,” Chancellor Mors cut in. “You can’t truly believe that Prince Reynaud is still alive.”

Princess Ireni turned slowly to fix her gaze on the chancellor. “If I did not believe it, my lord, would I continue to stand at the Lake of Longing every evening, day after day and year after year? The prince is now your king. And he will return.”

“The prince is dead, Ireni!” Mors snapped. “He’s been dead twenty years, and your longing is a woman’s madness. I’m sorry,” he said to the rest of the royal councilors. “But someone has to tell her.”

“You poor man,” Princess Ireni shook her head. “Your poor wife, to have been married to you for your family name, her father’s lands. You know nothing of love. Love is not madness. Love is clarity. When two souls are joined as one, when one soul can look out of another’s eyes, yes, that is clarity. Reynaud and I have that love. I have that clarity. Reynaud is our king. And he is returning.”

The rest of the councilors shifted in their seats, glancing to the door as if expecting Reynaud to enter it there and then. Chancellor Mors hesitated, looking around for support. Finding none, he banged his fist on the table. “This is delusion!” he shouted. “The prince is dead!”

“Careful, my lord chancellor,” Princess Ireni warned. “To envision the death of your king is treason.”

“Envision? Treason?” Mors sputtered. “King Reynaud has died, and has been reunited with his son in the halls of heaven! These are not visions, these are facts this council must deal with!”

“Guards,” Princess Ireni said serenely. “Take Lord Mors into custody.”

“You will do no such thing!” Mors turned to the guards, but they seized his arms.

“My husband, when he returns, will judge your crime,” Princess Ireni said as he was taken from the room. “But I know he will show mercy.”

The doors closed. The room was silent. Sir Archambault, the Master Treasurer, was the first to kneel. “Long live Reynaud the Seventh!” he declared.

Next came young Lord De Rihe. “Long live Reynaud the Seventh! Long live Queen Ireni, the Queen Regent!”

The rest followed.

“It is done,” said Ireni softly to her attendant, Leyda, when she returned to her chambers.

Leyda lowered herself as gracefully as she could on her aging knees, until her forehead touched the floor. “My queen.” And, in a lower voice once Ireni told her to rise: “Your vengeance is complete at last.”

“He took all I had,” Ireni said softly. “Twenty years ago I took his life, but today I take his birthright.”

“Must we still go to the Lake of Longing, your highness?”

“Of course,” Queen Ireni gestured for Leyda to fetch her cloak. The weather was starting to turn, and the winds across the lake were cold. “My husband will return. I can feel it in my heart.”

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, I have more collected at https://www.reddit.com/r/prejackpottery_barn/)

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The brain is pretty good at piecing things together. As long as it's understandable and your intended artistry is there, it's a good story.

Besides, you managed to do the one thing I can't, actually put a story together. I thank you for using my idea as inspiration.

Part 2 is on a comment to my part 1 if you want to read it

Part 2 is on a comment to my part 1 if you want to read it.

Part 2, sorry for the wait, but I had to get it just right.

Buckshot tore through hearth and home, expensive furniture was rent to splinters and rags of aged leather in instants. Doors and windows blew asunder and the intruder couldn't find his mark as he bellowed, "Santa!" And his wife and child cowered in the false sanctuary of the armchair.

Santa was a powerhouse build with all the agility of an acrobat, he was a granite slab in motion like a meteor when he dove through a doorway at the end of the living room and then back in through the brick wall to the left of the gunman like a bulldozer on legs. Chunks of red brick and plaster erupted in an explosion of shrapnel in front of the snarling bearded monster that was Santa Claus, sending missiles of rubble rocketing through his living room. One of the bigger chunks of masonry clattered against the shotgun knocking it from the gunman's hands. As the shotgun fell in slow motion the white werewolf landed upon his prey. With the ferocity of two wild beasts they fought oblivious to the sound of one little boy who had found the courage to stand up to his father's aggressor and come to his aid.

The fight waged like a storm over the dining area furniture by the window of the frugal room. The boy lifted the loaded shotgun, struggling to hold it level at the hip and gain a bead on the intruder. His hands shook with fear and adrenaline, no one had ever broken into his house before and he had never saw his father, a jolly kind man so violent. He didn't know what scared him more. He muttered a, "Stop." Before his twitching fingers pulled the trigger.

With a thunderous boom, the shotgun spat forth a rain of leaden pellets and leapt from the boys grasp, frightening him into a retreat to the safety of his mother's bosom where he wept blindly. The house was silent, no more violence, no more destruction. The boys mother began to wail as she realized the only person standing after the gunshot was not her husband, not Santa, but the intruder. He stood with a panicked bewilderment on his face as he stained down at the lifeless body of his father's killer and all he felt was disappointment and shame. "Gooo! Get out!" Mrs Clause, the widow, screamed with bile and malice in her words. "But know that you will not live long." Her once beautiful pristine goddess-like features had turned dark, threatening, evil even as the anger gripped her. Her son sat in her arms with the same evil rage covering his once childish feature and the intruder swore he could see thick black hairs sprout from the boys skin that reminded him of the legends of the Christmas devil, the taker of bad children, Krampus. With terror gripping his soul and memories of his German grandfather's horror stories of Krampus flooding his mind he took off into the night.

"My boy, we will get your father back. In time we will get him back and you both shall destroy the evil of this world. Shhh hush your cries my child." The winter witch stroked her bleating spawn's fur between his growing horns as the pain of his changing body took its toll on him. "All we need is the necronomicon from your aunt and, dead or alive, we will have your father back.

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Haha true