Once upon a time, there were three princesses. They were two years apart in age, and their names were known by every knight. 

Their father was kind towards his country, but he had no time for his daughters. He knew nothing of their wishes. He was strong and stubborn with a powerful grip. Their mother was a gentlewoman in every way; soothing and soft. Her family was from a far off land, and her beliefs clashed with those of her daughters. 

Still, the kingdom grew and prospered under their reign.

Amara was the eldest. She was sent to live in a tower at the age of seventeen to wait for her knight to rescue her. She went willingly but found life in the tower terribly boring. She had little faith in her parents' wishes, for she knew love did not happen at first sight; love took time.  

While in the tower, Amara missed her sisters. They had rarely been apart. She spent her time watching travelers on distant roads, and she dreamed of their adventures.  

Letters arrived occasionally, and she responded to every one. Her youngest sister told her stories of the court to amuse her, while the middle sister confided secrets in her. Then one day, as Amara's eighteenth birthday drew near, the letters stopped. 

It wasn't until a year after that, when she was nineteen, that her first and second knights arrived. The reason for their lateness was explained in a letter, which said that the king and queen had made sure to test every knight in the kingdom before the true trials.  

She watched from her window, through an enchanted looking glass, as they appeared over the horizon; twin specks in the distance. She watched them advance. By the time they reached the tower, Amara could tell that their hearts did not belong to her but to one another.  

With an exchange of blessings and books, Amara sent the two knights on their way. Then she dedicated her time to reading the stories they had given her. 

Her third knight was a bore. He was a huge, brutish man with a heavy sword and heavy step. He had violent tendencies and a loud voice. He knew nothing but swordsmanship. Like her first two suitors, Amara sent him away. Angered by her behavior, her parents sent a fourth, fifth, and sixth knight. None of them could pass her tests, however. Amara had begun to crave a change beyond the seasons. 

It was nearly a year before another knight appeared. His armor was scratched and over his shoulder he carried a burlap sack so large that he was bent under the weight. When he arrived at the tower, he knocked politely on the wooden door. 

She went to the window to greet him. He gave her a letter with metallic silver ink, which asked for her love. But her heart was not ready for him, and so the door did not open. He smiled as another letter was sent up to tell her that he would wait. 

He opened his bag. Amara was shocked to see books spill out of it, some worn with love and some with spines unbroken. With the gift of the books he gave her his name: Viyan.  

The days passed with them recalling their favorite quotes, his written across pages of paper, hers called down from her tower. She became comforted by his presence. 

Her parents wrote to her, and she gave them sparse answers. Viyan taught her to speak with her hands instead of with words. Days soon began to pass without a murmur. They would practice their silent language by retelling the many stories with gestures. Amara’s favorite was that of a good king who had been betrayed by a loyal knight and whose revenge was left unfilled. 

Days blended into weeks and then into months. It was summer when Amara was surprised by a noise she hadn’t heard in years: a creak of an unused door. She rushed down the spiraling stairs to find an open door and a warm embrace from her Viyan. 

Together they traveled across the land to reunite her with her parents, who had grown sick with worry for their eldest daughter. The marriage that followed was small, a disappointment to the public. But the silent princess and her silver prince were anything but disappointed.

Dysis, the second sister, was everything her sister was not. She knew her fate. She knew of the years she would spend trapped in stone. They terrified her, shook her to her very core. The castle she could bear, spending most of her time in the garden or in the town, listening to stories from far-off travelers. 

Just days before her birthday, merely two years after her elder sister had left, she got into a terrible argument with the king. No one knew what the argument was about, but the fire in Dysis’s eyes prevented people from asking.  

The king was a wonderful king. But he was not a wonderful father. Dysis's skin burned where a red handprint began to fade, but she steadied herself. Rubbing at the hot tears that ran down her face, she steeled herself with a promise. On her sixteenth birthday, Dysis would disappear from the grounds of the castle. She would spend no time thinking of what she had left behind as she ran. 

When the day came, she hung her scarf from the tallest point of the tallest tree along the edge of the forest. She left it waving like a banner across the sky. With that, she disappeared. 

Her hair grew long, and her dress soon bore the wood’s colors instead of red garnet. She ran with the nymphs through the trees and the rivers. She whispered secrets to the mermaids in exchange for gifts of shells and glass. She traded stories with the centaurs for objects that glittered. The Unseelies traded potions to wipe unwanted memories from her mind. 

“She tries to forget,” the mermaids whispered to one another. And for a long time, it worked. Dysis couldn't, and wouldn't, remember what it was she had made herself forget.  

Then one day, she raced a nymph to the top of the tallest tree they could find. As the peak bowed under her weight, she found a scrap of cloth. As she touched the edges, she remembered what it was that she had left behind. And so, for the first time in over a year, Dysis left the forest. 

As her bare and calloused feet hit the cold cobbled streets, Dysis shuddered. She heard rejoicing. The eldest princess had married. In disbelief, Dysis ran to the castle where Amara and Viyan now stayed. She waited until nightfall, since the forest was easier to sneak around in at night, but she was dismayed to find that the palace was even more guarded during moon-high. 

The next morning, Dysis snuck up to the castle again. There she came face to face with her sister. Amara looked at Dysis with the eyes of a stranger until Dysis held out the shimmering scrap of fabric she had found. 

Amara suddenly recognized her sister. She reached down to take Dysis’s hands in her own. Her skin was soft compared to Dysis’s, whose was tanned and covered with scars and calluses. Amara begged her sister to stay, to become a princess again.  

The words wounded Dysis. She told Amara what had happened to her. Amara wept quietly over Dysis, missing the carefree sister who was now torn to pieces by the scars that littered her body. When Dysis left, Amara offered no word of goodbye. Dysis did not know why she stood silent. 

Dysis retreated back to the forest, as it was her forest now. She let out a wail as mournful as that of the banshee’s. If her sisters could not understand her, she was destined to be alone forever.  

She followed the river to the mouth of a yawning cave that she made her home. She let the chime of a chandelier of glass and mirrors lull her to sleep. 

In the night, when she slept, a dark figure passed over the sky for the briefest of seconds before landing with a thud. 

Dysis awoke confused. No light had yet broken the darkness. Instead, there was a monstrous creature curled around itself, covered in red scales as big as her head. She moved and her foot slipped over a gold coin that skidded across the floor.  

The beast awakened with a yawn, revealing sharp teeth and a forked tongue. She let out the smallest of squeals and grabbed the nearest object, a rusted sword. She held it out in front of her.  

The beast’s eyes focused on her with a lazy gaze. It stretched, letting faint light in through the thin membrane of its wings. With a start, Dysis realized what the creature was. A dragon. The sword clattered from her hand, and she felt true fear. 

The dragon gasped, wings snapping shut against its body, golden eyes widening as it lowered itself. It spoke in a rumbling voice. He introduced himself as Vasilios and asked her for her name. When she responded, Vasilios apologized for scaring her. He asked her if she was feeling well. He explained that he had heard a cry of anguish, so he had landed and found her small form. He asked for a story and to stay for the night, admitting that he was looking for a home.  

Sadly, she told him that she had told her story so many times that she couldn’t tell it again. Vasilios asked her to weave him a different story instead. By the time her tale was done, the moon had risen in between words and worlds, for the first of many shared nights. 

Vasilios and Dysis traveled the world together. They traded stories for items around the world. They became known as the Story Weaver and her dragon.  

Knights came to Dysis, but none were a match for the sheer might of Vasilios. The cave finally felt like home to her, and she felt like a home to Vasilios.