Her heart exploded.

That was all. It was there, and then it was bursting out her rib cage like a mouse on speed.

And the dragon smirked, and she wondered aloud why, and the wind sang through the holed and whittled mountains like a ghost in the desert.

There was blood everywhere, in the drawing room, and I watched with wary eyes when the scene began to truly unfold.

The dragon smirked, and blew smoke like a stroke of calligraphy, and her heart began to beat again, all the pieces together on the floor, like glass singing after the stroke of iron.

I said nothing, and the drawing room continued to be too fine for this sort of shit.

She blinked at him like a maiden betrayed, watching the shards of bone that should've been her saving knit once again, in all the wrong places, leaving her poor unstabled heart to lie, unprotected and vulnerable, upon the table where the dragon could feast on his sacrifice.

The master of the house, of course, would not have approved - but what was I to do? One does not interfere in the matters of dragons; they will as they will, after all. She knew it from the start, anyway, she chose to drink with him, and she ignored the sparks when they flew. What was I to do?

I did as I was paid to do, and I filled their glasses once again while the traitorous silence continued to reign. The table, polished neatly, gleamed in the candlelight despite the clearing smoke. All tackled and taken, the silver lay forgotten on the edges of the reasonableness that could have been.

She forgave the dragon, I think, with not her dying breath, because the eyes in all their depth and wisdom lie, and sometimes it's all you can do not to believe lies. What would you have done, after all? What was I to do?

It's easy to say, oh yes. It's easy to decide after the fact, and oh, it's hard to forgive someone's giving a drink to a dragon in your own home, but her heart lay beating on the table and the walls, and what would you have had me do, then? With her eyes suddenly staring, with her bones knitting to the silver and her silence begging me for peace?

I do not judge your response, of course. I did what I did. I did as I was paid to do, I filled their glasses again and watched him breathe again, a deep inhale, and of course the smoke flew when he breathed out. They always do. She was as she was, it's like incense when you've had that much to drink, and it was only then they rose. She rose, and stood with him, and when he took her hand those staring eyes smiled. And when he walked from the room, she followed him, and left her heart there in the room, in pieces and she the lighter for it.

The blood will be cleaned, of course. I don't do that, though, that is after. What comes after, when the party has left, the maiden and the dragon, and someone has to make sure the drawing room stays tidy.