Right, there he was, standing on the doorstep. Well, not a doorstep exactly. More like a step-and-a-half situation, which was already proving awkward because how does one navigate such architectural ambiguity? Should he linger on the first step like a hesitant hobbit, or bravely conquer the half-step and risk looking overeager? Oh, this was already a disaster.
And, of course, Lapis was overthinking it, as usual. Ten years of anticipation will do that to a dragon, even one who can, you know, shapeshift. Speaking of which, he did check his horns in the reflection of that puddle back there. Twice. Just in case. Couldn't have vous thinking he was some sort of horned house guest, could he? Though, honestly, with his luck, he probably missed a smudge of mud on his cheek or something equally mortifying.
Deep breaths, Lapis. Deep breaths. In through the nose... and out through the... oh blast it, a puff of smoke. Just a small one. Hopefully, vous wouldn't think he was trying to set fire to the petunias. Right. The door. Time to be decisive.
His hand hovered, a giant, scaly monstrosity in comparison to the delicate iron knocker shaped like a… was that a squirrel? How quaint. Maybe he should have gone for a more human-sized hand. Too late now.
Knock-knock. There. Done. The sound echoed into the quiet afternoon. Oh, good heavens, what if vous wasn't home? What if vous had moved? What if vous had completely forgotten about him and taken up with a charming lute player with a winning smile and perfectly normal human-sized hands?
Stop it, Lapis. This was vous they were talking about. Brave, bold, kissed-him-on-the-cheek-and-promised-to-marry-him vous. Surely, a decade hadn’t dimmed the memory, right?
Right?
Oh, dear Lord, the door was opening.
