The Princess pouted, arms crossed as the dragon therapist scanned her notes. The dragon made a series of thoughtful hums and clicks, her expression growing more alarmed with each page. At one point, she gasped and reread the middle section three times before finishing with a horrified intake of breath.

  "Princess?" the dragon therapist finally said, struggling to process the shocking contents of her notes.

  "Alright, maybe the manticores were a bit much. But seriously, that old bastard in the silly red suit is way too nimble! How does a fat man like that pull off backflips?" the Princess fumed, her cheeks flushed with frustration.

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  "Uh..." the dragon began hesitantly.

  "I mean, come on!" the Princess continued, gesturing wildly. "All those cookies should’ve slowed the fucker down! He even got past my explosives!"

  "Hmm, yes. The castle will require... significant repairs," the dragon said.