Damsel In Distress

Drafty...

Lelouch really shouldn't be surprised how much like a wind tunnel his room can be – he is miles up in the air, at the very top of this spirally, spindly, rickety, old tower. In no less than a few years time, he's more than positive that some lazy old gale from that supercilious west wind will blow through this old tower, equaling it to nothing but rubble, and as a result, equal Lelouch to a week's feast for a lot of vultures...

(It is more than safe to say that he is really hoping for his rescue to be as swift and speedy as he has always heard it should be.)

But of course, if the fall doesn't happen to break him in every way imaginable, then that nasty, vile, scaly creature outside his near-toppling tower would be more than willing to gulp him down in what would be just a day's snack.

Lelouch shudders as he recalls that feral dragon that lingers and lounges (far lazier than any fantastical reptile he has ever read about) on the grassy grounds around his brick prison. Its eyes alone are enough to send any apt and courageous man running home to their mother or hide underneath their blankets until the ghastly horrendous nightmares of the glowering, piercing golden eyes vanish by the will of repression. Those eyes are like a white hot shard – sharper than any needle or knife known to exist – that penetrates through the heart of one's body; leaving behind the very distinct traces of Hell's fury and depression that will echo forever and then a day in their minds with the blaze of the shrilling rage of its roar...

So you see, it isn't the nicest animal in the world. Which is a real shame, it is a very stunning specimen: with those vibrant electric green scales that plate its slim – but powerful – body and wings, the almost ivory looking spikes that trail its back and adorn its head in two proud horns as the same colour spikes from its hands – those claws are definitely more beautiful the farther away one is; but then again, that applies to the beast in general. For not only is it ferocious to the core, it is also has a very bad attitude. Snooty in a way. It snubs those who it deems unworthy of wasting its precious time (but really, what better things does it have to do?) and will languidly fling would-be rescuers away with its tail... or simply eat them.

(Its personality is said to be so domineeringly repellent and atrocious that it has kept one very interested artist prince from coming to Lelouch's rescue...)

Lelouch would damn that beast (in reality, he has) but it seems to be helpful, in a way. He has seen a vast majority of those men try and fail miserably (sometimes fatally) when attempting to spring him from his forced entrapment. At the beginning – the few that appeared – were... less than, shall we say. If Lelouch didn't know better, he'd say that dragon was weeding through the crops for the best picks.

Lelouch sighs to himself as he sits on his bed, leaning against the wall with one knee drawn into the air, while trying to ignore the way that infernal wind insists on flipping the pages of his shabby old book he's read dozens of times over – essentially, losing count. He's actually at his favorite part, but the damn wind won't let up and it is frustrating – never mind that Lelouch could recite the text blindly at this point. And not only will the pages not keep still, but his hair is flailing in a flurry, the biting tips of the raven strands sting his eyes. He furrows his brow, forming a tight frown, and grasping as much of his sable hair as he can, pinning it vainly to his head with one hand – the other battling the yellowed, cracking pages of his book. He hears a faint groan seep through the crusty gaps deteriorating between the bricks behind him as a gust blows through them, sparking an odd chill down his spine.

He doesn't understand why the speed of the breeze is so... furious today. Normally, there wouldn't be enough force behind them to push tumbleweed, let alone flip several pages of any book he reads – because that's really all he has to do other than sleep. The only time a hurricane torrents through his little room is when—