My Midlife Crisis: No Virgins, Just Violets

More about My Midlife Crisis: No Virgins, Just Violets

The Final Performance: "My Midlife Crisis: No Virgins, Just Violets"
(A lone spotlight hits a massive, shimmering dragon sitting awkwardly on a large rock amidst a field of flowers. He taps a smaller, smoking rock in front of him.)

"Is this thing on? Good. A puff of smoke means yes.

Good evening, mortals... and flora, apparently. My name is Brimstone the Magnificent, Annihilator of the Northern Wastes, Lord of the Ashen Peak, and... currently... deeply concerned about my pollen count.

(He sighs, a small flame singes a nearby daisy)

I turned fifteen hundred last Tuesday. Fifteen hundred! Do you know what that means? It means my therapist—a lovely wood nymph, very calming, terrible with fire safety—calls it a 'Midlife Crisis'. I call it false advertising.

See, when you're a young drake, you read the brochures, you know? The ancient prophecies, the epic poems... they're very clear. 'Terrify the countryside,' 'hoard mountains of gold,' and 'maybe snatch a virgin for dramatic effect.' Standard stuff! It's the cornerstone of the whole 'fearsome beast' benefits package!

So I get here, ready to fulfill my mythological destiny. And what do I find?

Violets.

Not virgins. Violets. Do you have any idea how disappointing that is? It's like being promised a company chariot and getting a bus pass. A very... floral... bus pass.

My 'reign of terror' has been replaced by a reign of pollen. My mighty, earth-shattering roar is now 70% sneeze. Last week I tried to incinerate a village—standard Tuesday—and halfway through my intimidating monologue, I had to stop because a bumblebee flew up my nose. Do you know how hard it is to look terrifying when you're trying not to inhale an insect that's making your entire skull vibrate? The villagers didn't flee in terror. They offered me a tissue!

And the hoard! My financial advisor—a goblin, very shrewd, smells of damp socks—keeps telling me to 'diversify'. 'Brimstone,' he says, 'gold is a stable asset, but have you considered venturing into enchanted artifacts with high growth potential?' It's a scam! I know a scam when I hear one. He just wants to get his grubby hands on my cursed amulets.

You think you have problems? Try sleeping on a pile of gold coins for a thousand years. My chiropractor—a troll with surprisingly gentle hands—says I have the spine of a two-thousand-year-old. I told him, 'I'M FIFTEEN HUNDRED!' He just shrugged and charged me three flawless rubies.

So this is it. My epic saga. The great Brimstone the Magnificent. My midlife crisis involves no terrified peasants, no vanquished heroes, and absolutely no virgins.

Just violets. And a crippling, newfound fear of bees.

Thank you, you've been a lovely meadow. Try the veal, it's probably a knight I scorched by accident while sneezing last week. Goodnight!



Thank you Ron for inspiration ;)
https://deepdreamgenerator.com/u/ron2020