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This is a story which was started by an odd dream that shoved all my knowledge of Arthurian legend into a weird non-time that was both Victorian and Renaissance Faire. Some of my stranger ideas start out that way. Someday I will actually write the book about dragons in a time bubble.

She was precisely two hours old when it became apparent that something was wrong with her. The new princess, Ninimue, was sobbing loudly and could not be soothed by anything. She could not be shushed, rocked, fed, changed, or left alone. Nothing made her quiet.
The older princess, heiress Gweneviere, had never had to deal with a small child before. She had never in fact ever even met a child more than one year her junior. But somehow the king, in his frustrations at his younger daughter as she continued to cry, had thrust the care of Ninimue into Gweneviere’s not particularly capable hands.

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