Monica was going to her favorite place. The place people would probably have told her not to go to, but since no one cared enough to tell her so, she went. The Crevasse, the townspeople around the castle called it in awed voices. They never went near it if they could help themselves. Rumor said that a dragon lived within the deep canyon, and the townsfolk believed deeply in rumors. The Crevasse stretched for more than a mile, so if something did live down there, it had lots of room.

But Monica quite frankly did not believe in dragons. Oh, she had heard the stories of how they devoured maidens. Read books that featured them as terrifying and brutal antagonists. Rolled her eyes at the paintings of some knight called George killing a dragon smaller than his horse, and everyone gushing at how brave that was. Dragons, dragons, dragons!! She was sick of hearing about them. She glanced up at the dim, dim sun sheltered behind its gray clouds. If dragons did exist, why did no one see them anymore? 

She had tried to argue with a merchant about the subject. In their conversation, he fell back on the claim that they were all in hiding. Monica had inquired why, since if they were so terrible how could they be afraid of humans? Of course, the merchant glibly told her that the painting of George had thrown them into a frenzy of terror, and they had never been seen since. He seemed so proud of himself with that counter that she had just let him be. Sometimes it was better that way.

The forest around her opened up, its densely packed trees dispersing into a grassy field with a few shrubs. It was a peaceful meadow. A family of deer that liked to graze in it were romping along, ignoring her completely. Monica rolled her lovely eyes. The villagers claimed the animals avoided the area. For there, on the other side of the field, strangely menacing despite its immovability, was the Crevasse. Monica scooped up a buttercup as she strolled towards the ominous chasm nonchalantly. She tucked the flower behind her ear. As she stood on the edge on the massive canyon, the wind blew hard in her face. It was still chilly, but the wind that whistled down into the canyon and then came back up seemed...warmer than the ordinary breeze.

Monica shrugged her delicate shoulders. There was some kind of scientific explanation for it, she was sure. Carefully settling her story on the warm grass around the chasm, she sat down and arranged her skirts neatly about her. You never knew when a prince might happen by.