Iwake up once again, being kicked in the face.
To think that I went decades with no one in my nest and this is the third time this week I’ve been invaded and have woken up exactly like this.
The owner of the foot in my face is called Sky. She’s just about to turn three years old and somehow she sleeps like a little pretzel and without fail, turns herself upside down. I sit up and am greeted by her sleepy smile and I couldn’t even be upset if I wanted to.
Lark is our eldest. She sits at the far side of the nest, raising her cornflower blue eyes to meet mine for just a moment before she turns back to the task in hand. It takes me a moment to wipe my gritty, tired eyes to notice that her ‘task’ is gluing something to the front of her dolly. It takes another long moment to recognize that she’s gluing gemstones from my hoard to help give her favorite toy more pizazz.
Rubies, emeralds, even a few glittering diamonds. Little Lucy is certainly looking sharp. Glittery. Is that…? Yep, her little coat is glittering with diamond dust.
Just a few short years ago, I might have had a… reaction. Some might call it a minor breakdown, to seeing pieces of my precious hoard being treated so casually. But not now. I chuckle.Laughingat the fact my priceless hoard has been scavenged yet again and will no doubt wind up discarded on the floor within the hour.
How can I blame my sweet daughter when she shares the same interest in shiny things as me?
“Dagon Finn, are we gonna go see the princess after breakfast?” Sky asks me, kicking me in the face once again as she pushes herself up to sitting.
That’s me. I am now ‘Dagon Finn’ because it’s a weird mixture of ‘daddy’ plus ‘dragon’. I used to be a fearsome motherfucker. But I fucking love being these little girls’ dagon.
“The princess, little one? Which princess would that be?”
“Mommy took me to see her yesterday.”
“Uh huh and where did mommy take you?” I ask, smoothing her hair back from her face.
“To see the princess.” She gives me a look that is devastating from a three-year-old. Clearly, Dagon Finn is a dum dum. “The princess in the gate,” she clarifies.
“There’s a princess in the gate?”
“Duh, Dagon Finn.” She rolls her eyes adorably at me, just like her stroppiest dad, Soren. “Sheisthe gate. She doesn’t remember that she’s a princess because she’s been here so long and she’s still waiting for her prince to come and wake her up and to remember her.”
What. The. Fuck? The gate, my gate, is secretly a princess? I have a feeling Sky has got a fair bit of weaver to her, but then again, she told me she doesn’t like to eat the potatoes on her plate because she doesn’t like how they scream when she puts the fork in them.
If she has weaver powers, if any of our daughters do, there’s no way we’re letting that fucking academy have them. They’ll stay here until they’re old enough to go off to college, or maybe once they’re in their thirties and are ready to flee the nest.
I stand up from the nest, peering around for my mate or the girls’ other daddies, but there’s no one around. And then our youngest, Alba, toddles up to me, flashing her gummy smile. She’s covered in something sticky and I have a horrible feeling that it’s a whole lot of Lark’s glue …
… and then she sneezes and shifts into her dragon form, still absolutely caked in wet glue.
Shit.
My mate is sheer perfection, with a heart of gold, but even she might not be understanding when I show up with our daughter covered in glue before we’ve even managed breakfast.
I have a gluey child stuck to my front and two others trailing me. Both have a sudden desperate need for breakfast that can only be sated in the next five minutes when Soren turns up, looking decidedly smug about the absolute shitshow of my morning.
He runs a hand over Alba’s head and coos down at her. “Oh dear, sweet one, did you get into the craft stores again?”
I ignore him, instead focusing on my task of trying to wash the glue off in the kitchen sink while our other two girls tug at my pant legs.
“It’s not coming off.” In fact, I think it’s gettingstickier.
“Oh, well, maybe next time you’ll think twice before disturbing my quality time with Echo.”
I freeze, side-eye him and am momentarily tempted to shove his head through the wall.
His expression isveryfucking smug and I wonder exactly how he managed to orchestrate this whole thing. Thefucker.
Yeah, yeah, so last week Imayhave set fire to the kitchen while we were testing out whether my breath could help to dry the washing…
… and hemayhave been mid-fuck with our glorious mate when he had to help me douse the flames.
