Disclaimer: I do not own Jane and the Dragon. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I'd be writing episodes.
Yeah, can't really think of any other ramblings right now other than the fact that I wish it was Saturday everyday.
"Every memory of walking out the front door/ I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for/ It's hard to say it/ Time to say it/ Goodbye/ Goodbye"~ Photograph by Nickelback.
Time's Wings:
She liked to come by there often, just to relish in times long gone. The old castle ruins still stood tall on the town horizon, the final remains of the kingdom of Kippernia. Most of the doors and rooms were off limits to visitors, but considering that most of her family history and background were here, she had visited enough to make herself relatively welcome to these facilities.
As always, she walked through the throne room, eyes searching through the old relics, the chairs, the tables, and the small display case of artifacts off near the door. After that, her wandering path brought her to the garden, or what could have once been a garden. Off from that, there was a kitchen, still with ancient dust and older than old pots and pans. Most of this, of course, was roped off from tourists, but the visitor was a regular, her eyes had scanned this place over many, many times. She could imagine the memories, the ever-present haunts, which still resided here.
Then she climbed up the back staircase, a different one that led from the gardens, and found herself up in the knight's quarters. There were still old swords and shields on display, each with their own story practically engraved into the metal. A particular shield caught her eye, and she knelt down to take a better look. The background was a cool blue, and dead center were the figures of a dragon, and a smaller person riding on it's back. Her fingers traced their outline, as though by doing this would somehow allow her to see the olden ages once more.
But no miraculous vision came, and the lingering wanderer was reminded of her last stop; the tower at the edge of the old practice yard. She crossed the bridged arch, with all the silence of a shadow, to the stone spire that hung against the sky. The door, of course, was closed and locked, but the window was open, allowing her a very good view into the room. Suddenly, her eyes caught the edge of a tapestry poking out from under the bed, looking for all in the world like someone had stuffed it there to keep it out of the way.
Looking left and right, the wanderer's purpose suddenly served as that of an intruder's. Her feet were swung dexterously over the sill, touching on the dusty floor with the faintest of thumps. In two quick strides she managed to cross the room, and reached carefully down to pluck up the olden fabric. Holding it in front of her like a appraiser with a piece of fine art, her eyes immediately fell on the faded green dragon in the center, apparently the subject of the woven painting. Her mouth cracked into a light grin as she placed it over the bed like an extra comforter, but left it so the dragon would be completely visible, leaving it's mark on the world.
Her sneakered feet trended the distance between the bed and the window with silence. She paused at the sill, her nose detecting what could have been the faintest hint of smoky, almost exotic scent, and a warmth against the old flagstones, like someone had just been there, watching her. Dismissing it as her senses playing tricks, she looked around for a moment before climbing back out. Her eyes briefly wandered over to the large mountain on the outskirts of the small town, the stone an all-present edge against the sky, as solemn and still as the tower.
Her thoughts wandered back to when her grandmother told her stories of her great-great-great[too many greats to list] grandmother, and the legends of a friendship that burned true and strong. Back when the shadows of an old legacy, a flaming wind, still clung to the earth. In what most people considered hearsay, their ancestor had befriended one of the last dragons to walk the earth.
Although multiple people denied and laughed over this part of the stories, this listener's ears were always open, and her heart always treasuring. It was a part of her family history, after all.
But as for where most of their old legacies had gone, they had flown on with time's wings, leaving behind all their stories and memories.
Yeah, if no one liked this, I'll understand. It is a little off. Either way, please review.