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The crimson dragon crashed through the ceiling in a fireball of hot orange flame, scattering the revelers into rainbow clouds of angel dust. “I AM THE MASTER OF MAGIC!
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Fireflies feed me diamonds in the forest green. Remember to remember, I whisper. Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York.
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The worried droid stopped beside the huge window, it's metallic glass casting a Violet hue across the floor of the transport capsule. Xarg would be slithering off that ugly old heap of rusty steel he calls a spaceship any minute now... She shivered... and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.