The Sleeping Prince

For a while we both had secret names. People know his now though they don’t know what he’ll want to be called; there are several possibilities. One day I’ll tell him my secret name, perhaps today, if he wakes long enough. He slumbers, curled up in his sleep sack, dreaming of past lives and a life to come. I have much to tell him when he wakes, songs to sing, games to play, more secrets…

His familiar, not yet accustomed to new duties, waits, ears erect, and follows each visitor to sniff out their intention.

This prince was a more conventional arrival than previous descendants. His room is serene, perfect for a sleeping prince. My kiss doesn’t wake him, only the taste of mana and the disruption of his wrapping.

Eileen Mullin

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