So. I realize it's been a really long time since I posted the first chapter. Sorry. I'd like to say it won't happen again, but…

Anyway! I had an epiphany a while back. Previously, I always thought it was kind of silly how people begged for reviews. I mean, who cares, right? Turns out, I do. Reviews are like crack, caffeine, and motivation all wrapped up in one digital package. So please review. Especially because I'm still accepting suggestions for later scenes. If you inspire me, I'll update more regularly.

As usual, Fairy Tail and all its characters belong to Hiro Mashima.

Enjoy.

And so it happened that on the very day Layla Heartfilia passed from the world of the living, her young daughter passed from the world of the waking. The citizens of Fiore wept all the more for its doubly bereaved King, but sleeping curses were not so uncommon in that day and age, so Princess Lucy passed quickly from the minds and hearts of the common people.

From that day forth her aging body has lain within a great fortress in Fiore's western mountains, guarded by three (theoretically) insurmountable obstacles. The first was an enchantment upon the castle itself, laid by one equal in power to a Wizard Saint (although so far none of them have owned up to the deed). It barred from the grounds any man with a mind bent upon political dominion. The second was a beast, a dragon of great intelligence and terrible power, to protect the princess's defenseless body from the touch of the unworthy. The third and most daunting obstacle was the princess herself, rocked to sleep by magic and a mother's love. Only a heart that held true affection for Lucy could call her back from the depths of her own mind.

And let there be no mistake: while the princess's body slept, her mind was very much awake. Awake and-

"Bored!" Lucy shouted, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling of her inner sanctum. She closed the cover of her favorite Zekua Melon novel with a snap, having finished it for at least the fifteenth time. Melon was the best, every word he wrote a testament to his genius, but even genius got old eventually.

She tossed the book on top of the teetering stack next to her and eyed the perilous maze of similar towers radiating out from her lone armchair. The tiny carpeted island containing her lone armchair, side tables, some squashy cushions, and a cozy hearth was the only place in the entire Library where things would remain as she left them, and she kept her special favorites here, within easy reach.

Unfortunately, when one is trapped in a state of living death with nothing to do except read from the collection of books your captor has so obliging provided for you, "special favorites" accumulate surprisingly quickly. The faded carpet and side tables had long ago vanished under mountains of leather-covered tomes.

Lucy sighed. She'd have to go through them all again soon and clear out her least-special favorites before she accidentally walled herself in again. But for now…she was feeling adventurous. It was time to make a new acquaintance.

Nodding decisively to herself, Lucy set off in a random direction through the rows of gleaming wooden shelves that surrounded her reading nook. Her footsteps made no sound on the grey flagstone floor, nor did her breathing seem abnormally loud in the silence. She didn't bother keeping track of the direction she walked in or the turns she took. She had long since learned that it didn't matter as long as she pictured clearly in her mind what sort of book she was looking for.

Right now though, she wanted something new, so she let her mind wander, humming to herself as her fingers skimmed the spines of tomes covering everything from math to magic to the culinary arts. Hmm…those math texts were appearing more often than they usually did. The Library would probably make her read one soon, not giving her any other options until it was satisfied that she had furthered her understanding of the subject. It was terribly pushy when it came to the requirements of basic, well-rounded education.

But not yet, so Lucy kept going, pausing when her hand stopped on an adventure novel. That sounded good—she had been feeling adventurous—but she wasn't a fan of this particular author. She turned away from that shelf and examined the one behind her. This one contained only adventure novels, or at least it did now that she was looking for one. She picked one that looked interesting, and turned to walk back to her chair, already flipping to the first page. She didn't think to question that, even though she had wandered through the stacks for a solid twenty minutes, her reading nook was just around the next turn. The Library was considerate like that.

She plopped back down in her seat, but instead of bending her head over the book in her hand, she stared absently into the hearth's dancing flames. She loved that fire, not for the light— the Library's soft, ever-present glow provided plenty of illumination to read by—but because it was the only thing in the entire Library (besides her) that seemed alive. That was why she had pulled her chair so close to it that she practically toasted her toes as she read. In a tomb of silent words and static people, they had to keep each other company.

Lucy stood. Suddenly she wasn't feeling so adventurous. Leaving her book open in her chair, she strode off. The Library dissolved into darkness around her and suddenly she was standing in a stone corridor, facing a towering set of double-doors that opened onto a modest parlor with wood-paneling and two old-fashioned couches facing each other across a low coffee-table.

"Mom?" she called softly, seating herself on one of the couches.

The air rippled and a projection of Layla Heartfilia appeared seated on the opposite couch. "Hi, Lucy," she said with a smile.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU JERK!"

"Aye!"

The jerk in question had no intention of doing any such thing, nor did he appreciate being chased through a crumbling castle by an obviously homicidal teenager and his flying, talking, blue cat. After all, he was a prince. He was accustomed to being courteously greeted when he walked through a door, not drop-kicked.

"CHEATER! WEAKLING! COWARD! FIGHT ME!"

"Aye!"

"Will you STOP calling me names!" bawled the unfortunate prince over his shoulder. "I don't have time to fight you right now. I have to rescue the princess!"

"Aye!"

He should have known when he decided to rescue this princess that she was too good to be true. Sure, she wasn't a very impressive choice for a prince of his pedigree. Her bloodline—heir apparent to the kingdom of Fiore—was fine, older than his own actually. But the enchantment on her was downright disappointing: there was no deadly fortress of brambles surrounding her castle, no evil sorceress disguised as an old woman, and she'd been asleep barely more than a decade. Her father was still alive and everything.

"THAT'S WHY I'M CALLING YOU NAMES! YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THE DRAGON FIRST! CHEEEEEAAAATEEEEER!"

"Aye!"

"I've searched all over this damned castle, and THERE IS NO DRAGON!"

"Aye!"

Worst of all, no one had been killed trying to save her, not even one prince. The rumors he had heard were vague on the specifics, but that much was certain. No deaths, just a lot of broken bones, bruised egos, and brief letters from other princes politely telling him to take his questions and shove them somewhere uncomfortable.

But his father had given him an ultimatum: go rescue a princess or get out of the castle. Being the sensible sort of prince, he had chosen the one least likely to get him killed. It was better to be a failure, a laughingstock, hell, better to be disowned and live as a commoner than be dead, right?

"THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU, DUMBASS! I AM THE DRAGON!"

"Aye!"

And now, here he was, lost in this unusually clean castle, fleeing from a weirdo who thought he was a dragon.

"NO MATTER HOW YOU LOOK AT IT, YOU ARE NOT A DRAGON, YOU PINK-HAIRED FREAK! GO ACT OUT YOUR KINKY FANTASIES ON SOMEONE ELSE!"

"Ay—"

"AND WOULD YOU SHUT UP, YOU STUPID CAT!"

The cat in question promptly burst into tears, its huge round eyes quivering and streaming. "I am not stupid!" it wailed. "I'm Happy!"

"DON'T CALL HAPPY STUPID, STUPID! AND MY HAIR IS NOT PINK! IT'S SALMON!" The not-a-dragon boy blasted forward, head-butting the prince in the back so that they both tumbled to the rough flagstones. Was that fire under his feet? Surely not, the prince thought. The cat cheered, having recovered from its depression remarkably fast, as the not-a-dragon boy tried to pin the prince down.

"Don't let go of him, Natsu!" called the furry blue creature. "We're right next to the princess's room!"

"Happy," the not-a-dragon boy complained, "that's supposed to be a secret."

"Oh. Sorry, Natsu."

The princess! If he could wake her, maybe this delusional idiot would concede defeat and leave him alone. He twisted in the teenager's grasp, spotting a winding staircase only a little ways ahead of him.

"Look!" He pointed at a random spot behind them. "A terrifying armored knight has appeared to punish you, wicked dragon!" His attacker immediately blanched white as his scarf, already apologizing as he turned to cower before this new threat. By the time the pink-haired teenager actually dared to peek at his imagined attacker, the prince had scrambled to the staircase and was disappearing around the corner.

A distinctly dragon-like roar of "CHEAAAAAAAAAAAATEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!" echoed along the corridor behind him, accompanied by footsteps pounding in furious pursuit.

"Hey, Mom." Lucy said. She smiled, unable to stop herself. Even as a projection of her former self, Layla Heartfilia had that effect on people. "Nothing's wrong, it's just really quiet in the Library. I wanted someone to talk to."

Layla nodded. Her blonde hair, twisted up in the elegant style that she had favored in life, was the mirror image of Lucy's own, as were her eyes; although their gentle warmth held a special softness when she looked upon her daughter.

"Just a little longer," Layla promised. "You'll be eighteen in, what? Less than five months? Then the curse will dissolve on its own and you'll be free."

"Yeah." Lucy sat quietly for a moment, fiddling with a crystal key that hung on a ribbon around her neck. It had been there since she'd woken in this dream world, the ribbon lengthening as she grew and changing color to suit her tastes. She wondered if her physical body had one as well, and, if so, who had given it to her. "Mom, today will you tell me about the person who cursed me?"

She asked nearly every day. She couldn't help herself. It was like a hangnail, the niggling questions of who and why. What animosity could such a powerful wizard have held for her, a mere toddler?

But like every other day, Layla only said, "Not yet, sweetheart. I can't tell you yet, but soon." She leaned forward and gripped Lucy's hands. "Just believe me when I tell you that this person was very desperate. They only did what they did because they felt that it was better for you to be imprisoned for ten or fifteen years of your life than for all of it. I promise I'll explain the whole story soon, and when I do, maybe you will come to forgive them."

"Have you forgiven them?"

"Never," Layla replied, giving her hands a squeeze. "I will never, ever forgive anyone who hurts you, Lucy, not for any reason."

Lucy nodded, even though she'd heard these things before too. The projection of her mother was limited to a set of programmed responses, always answering the same questions the same ways. Lucy didn't mind. Asking helped to fill the silence, and she remembered enough from before she was cursed to understand that this Layla was all she had left of her mother.

"Thanks, Mom. Now, tell me again about when you and dad met."

If she'd read Zekua Melon's novels fifteen times, Lucy had heard this story fifteen hundred, but her mother's soft contralto never ceased to soothe her restlessness. She snuggled back into her couch.

"My second favorite," Layla replied with another smile. "Once upon in a time, there was a young woman. She was a mage at the guild Love and Lucky, and…"

Lucy's eyes drifted over the various portraits scattered across the room: her mom holding her as an infant, her as a toddler posed in a stiff dress, her wearing the same dress but sitting on her mother's lap, her mom and her dad a few months after they first met, smiling in front of a riverside sunset, and one big one in a gilt frame of her dad crowned and robed, gazing sternly off to the side. She'd had nearly eighteen years to stare at these photographs. It hadn't taken her long to realize that there were no photos of Lucy and her father together. Not a single one.

She knew her mother was hiding something more than the simple identity of who cursed her, but what could she do? She was trapped in her own sleeping mind, unable to do anything except educate herself from the Library's shelves and talk to her mother's shade. So Lucy would wait and trust. And when she woke up, then she would find her answers. What choice did she have?

Thump.

Lucy bolted upright on her couch as the room shook. Her mother bit off the story with an unladylike curse.

"What was that? Mom, what's going on?" Layla was standing now, staring at something Lucy couldn't see. The worried furrow between her eyes looked wrong on her cheerful, perpetually smiling mother. "Mom?"

"No," she breathed. "It's too soon, way too soon."

Lucy began to feel strange. There was a pulling behind her eyes, as if some very important thought were trying to get her attention, and her body felt…heavy. The room blurred for a moment, and Lucy thought she felt something, like a gentle punch to her midriff. The room came back into focus and she sat down hard: "Mom!"

Her mom broke from her trance and moved to grip Lucy shoulders, brown eyes boring into her own. "Lucy, dear, you need to be very brave now. I haven't had time to finish telling you everything yet, so things may be a bit confusing, but you've got to keep your wits about you. Trust the spirits. Trust your instincts. Follow your heart, and whatever you do, make your own decisions. Do that, and you'll always be able to smile. Do you understand? Can you do those things for me?"

"Of course," Lucy said, bewildered, "but what's happening?"

Her mother smiled: "You're waking up."

Up, up, up, the prince climbed, until his legs shook and his breath rasped in his throat. Glimpses through the periodic arrow slits revealed a breathtaking panoramic view of forested mountaintops, smudged blue and purple by distance and the ever-present mist, outlined in the burning gold of the setting sun. So entranced was he by the sight that the prince smacked right into the princess's door.

"Owww…" he moaned, fumbling open the latch. Because his eyes were watering, the prince didn't immediately appreciate what lay before him, but when he noticed…he had to admit that whichever evil sorceress had gotten hold of Princess Lucy, she had style.

Sunlight blazed through the arched windows at just the right angle so that the princess's white gown was touched with holy fire, her hair gleamed like molten gold, and her alabaster skin glowed with an inner light. The prince found himself drawn to the bed, transfixed by her regal beauty.

As he made to kneel on the mattress and press his lips to hers, two things happened: lightning, like the wrath of a vengeful god, shot from a crystal key around the princess's neck to blow him back across the room, and then a flaming fist closed on the the collar of his princely jacket.

"Caught you," growled the dragon. Then the prince felt himself lifted by his shirt and then seat of his pants, and his final thought was: How undignified.

Then there was just the sky and the forest and the ground, growing rapidly closer.

Splash.

"Hey, Natsu, you actually got him in the moat!"

"'Course I did, Happy," said the pink-haired teenager, who really was the dragon after all. "I've had lots of target practice."

"Yeah, but you've never thrown one from this high before. If you had missed, he would have died."

"You think so?" Natsu scratched his head. "Well, he was pretty weak. I suppose it's possible."

The little blue cat sweat-dropped. "Not everyone's freakishly strong like you."

But Natsu wasn't listening. "Hey, Luce," he said, looking down at the sleeping girl. "Sorry if we disturbed you. I really didn't expect that guy to try to sneak past us instead of fighting. Next time, he won't get anywhere near you. Promise."

Happy, whose wings had vanished, came to stand next to Natsu, stretching up on his back paws to see over the edge. "Aye, we're sorry," he said. "Next time, Natsu will do better.

"By the way," the cat said, looking wide-eyed up at his friend, "you better hope Erza never finds out about this."

Natsu shuddered. "I'm trying not to think about it." As he turned to go, Happy's tail tangled around his feet. Natsu tripped, wobbled in midair for a moment, and then tumbled face-first right on top of Princess Lucy with a soft thump.

"Happy!" he complained. "Look what you did!" The dragon-slayer picked himself, vainly attempting to rearrange the princess's mussed hair and clothing to its former perfection. "Sorry again, Lucy! It's all Happy's fault."

Suddenly, the princess sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes opened.

…

Guildmaster Makarov mumbled to himself as he scribbled unintelligible symbols on a piece of parchment. Queen Layla peered over his shoulder.

"And that to keep the castle clean….And that to make her clothing grow as she does….And there's a nasty little shock for any filthy-minded soul who makes it to the tower," he said with an evil chuckle. "And finally, a kiss to seal the deal…"

"Absolutely not!" interrupted the Queen. "No kissing!"

"What!?" Makarov exclaimed. "It's traditional!"

"My daughter is not losing her first kiss to the some strange man who invades her bedroom while she sleeps," she hissed. "Are you insane?"

Makarov grumbled. "Very well then, how about 'a chaste embrace?'"

"Fine. But if the perverts try for anything else, shock the living daylights out of them."