Dragon

Dragon sat upon a throne of leather. Smothered sunlight filtered into the underground bunker from above.

Dragon was one of the few living who knew the world before the fire rained down. His beard was long and white, and the winkles in his face were carved out like cracks in granite walls.

“A child,” Dragon croaked, “A rare sight in this dark age.” He took thunderous steps toward Mouse and examined her as one would examine an animal. “Good teeth,” he muttered.

Mouse noticed his teeth were not, but was too afraid to speak. Dragon’s breath was like death and flame.