Bloom doesn't believe in fairy tales

      But Bloom doesn't believe in fairy tales. And into good fairies, and into princes on white horses. So down to earth, not at all romantic. Neither father nor mother. However, it’s not strange. That's what adopted children are like. Who knows what heredity they have? Gardenia is a small town, and every third person likes to gossip about the fact that the foundling girl, carried out of the fire by the valiant fireman, is not at all like her adoptive parents, and every second person likes to speculate about where she could have come from. After all, they are not their breed at all. The hair is bright and red. Intertwined with fiery flashes, flowing like fiery ribbons onto the shoulders. It seems that if you touch it, you will get burned, burn. Only the wind dares to tug at the bright strands and is not afraid to run invisible fingers through them, bewitching those who happen to be nearby. Bloom squints like a cat, smiles, hiding her azure eyes behind her eyelashes, and laughs at those who call her a witch. She doesn't believe in witches either. Although, of course, he knows about magic. What can it be, when sparks are struck from a snap of fingers, and from a bad mood the temperature in the room jumps by at least two dozen degrees. And little things can happen. Either the flowers will bloom at the wrong time, or the glass in the window will crack, or my father’s headache will be relieved just by placing his hand... Magic as it is. Almost like in a fairy tale. She just doesn’t believe in fairy tales. Fairy tales, that's right. Fairy tales are nonsense. Because life always hides behind fairy tales. In all its ugly reality. Any prince, in addition to a white horse, a sword and a gilded crown, will have a mountain of responsibilities and tasks attached to the throne that he simply must redo and complete - or he is a bad prince. And the fairies... well, what fairies... Beautiful, slender girls in translucent dresses and fluttering wings from which golden-silver dust falls, smile sparkling smiles and cannot see beyond their own noses. Plastic dolls from a store window... Bloom doesn’t know what else to call those who, even at twenty years old, sincerely believe that the world is divided into good and evil. In a world where good always defeats evil with superior forces, incinerating darkness with burning light, there is no place for halftones. Only children believe in the philosophy of good and evil. And then people grow up, and if the world does not become more complex than a black and white cell, it means that the person has stopped developing. Bloom reverently sorts through the herbs in her mother's flower shop - what difference does it make if it's not native? Raised, taught, bestowed love. And she closed her eyes to the strangeness. Who would know what would have happened to Bloom if the girl had fallen in with more pious people, or at least more fearful ones? At best, it would have ended in a scientific laboratory or an exorcism ceremony. Bloom gives flowers her energy, carefully dosing the strength so as not to burn. It’s difficult, but the stunted leaves are still filled with life, gaining juice and color. It’s so strange - it seems like fire, not water... ...the shadow in the depths of his soul smiles kindly, whispering barely audibly in an unfamiliar growling language: This is the fire of life, princess. You are a dragon, which means it is subject to you... The whisper is quiet, almost inaudible, indistinguishable. But he is always with her. As is the shadow. Dark, almost black, dangerous and frightening, but Bloom is not afraid. She is connected to this shadow by a thin, but the strongest thread in the world - golden-fiery, like an ancient force, tossing and turning in her chest. You and I are links in the same chain. He always says that. Whispers like the greatest confession, like a hidden secret. Weakened, dying, frozen to the bones despite all his strength. Bloom doesn't like the cold, and doesn't hesitate to share her power. That's right. Just keep warm. And he laughs and whispers in a broken voice tales about the Great Dragon who created the Universe. That in the kingdom of his final refuge a girl was once born who inherited his warm heart and fiery breath. The bright beginning of the Dragon Fire. And somewhere deep in the darkness, the heir of the Dark Flame was waiting for her. Together, they could finally restore the balance that had been shaken since Magix's dominance began... The shadow reaches out to her with distinctly clawed hands, but Bloom is not afraid. The shadow is hot, despite the eternal ice surrounding it. ..but the princess’s parents refused to even allow them to meet... They took you from me!..They took you away!.. The shadow screams, shaking the darkness surrounding him with rage. Bloom reaches out to him, taking away the pain and anger. Her flame dances in tiny sparks, surrounding the wounded and ice-burned body. Still, she is a good child. And she's not afraid. She just feels a little sorry for him. He calls her the Fire Princess... Bloom doesn't want to be a princess. The princesses have a heavy crown and uncomfortable shoes, a company of princes and, in the future, a marriage for the good of the state. Etiquette, protocol and balls... A couple of loads of responsibilities by default and fake smiles in the mirrors and faces opposite.       Somewhere among the prickly and cold fragments of stars, a planet encased in ice and a curse - Domino - is waiting in the wings. Where every resident is alive, but experiences the punishment brought down by the dark dragon on stupid rulers... Bloom is sure that she doesn't want to be the one to free them. The shadow laughs, curling up in her sleep on her lap, and whispers, clinging to her hot hands. One day we will be together. This is his promise. She is inclined to believe him. And in Magix they have been looking for the Dragon Keeper of the Fire for years. They need it because magic, deprived of the support of the Flame of the Great Dragon, loses its power. Every year it becomes more and more difficult for fairies to cast spells. And this is not a fairy tale.