The Newlywed Diary Of A Witch And A Dragon

Okay, so you think *your* newlywed life is wild? Try being married to a dragon. And being a witch, for that matter. It’s basically like living in a fantasy novel where the author decided to prioritize sitcom-level misunderstandings over epic quests. Think “I Love Lucy” meets “Game of Thrones,” but with significantly fewer beheadings and a lot more singed toast.

Let's start with the basics. Chores. You know how some couples argue about whose turn it is to do the dishes? We argue about whose turn it is to polish the hoard. Yes, you read that right. My husband, Ignis (yes, I know, *very* original dragon name), has a hoard. A glorious, shimmering, slightly dusty hoard. And apparently, it needs regular upkeep. Turns out, dragon scales shed *everywhere*, and keeping everything sparkly requires a level of dedication that I usually reserve for finding the perfect shade of lipstick.

And the shedding… oh, the shedding. It’s like living with a giant, reptilian golden retriever. Only instead of fur, it's shimmering scales that get EVERYWHERE. I’ve found them in my potions, my spell books, even *inside* my enchanted tea cozy. I’m pretty sure I’m slowly turning into a dragon-scale-covered version of myself. I'm thinking of adding "dragon scale removal specialist" to my resume. It’s a niche market, I’m sure.

Household Quirks (aka “Why is the Ceiling Blackened?”)

You know how some people collect stamps? Ignis collects… well, anything that sparkles and catches his eye. One time, he brought home a giant disco ball. He said it reminded him of the sun reflecting off a lake. I tried to explain that it was probably going to attract unwanted attention (and possibly summon a flock of particularly flamboyant magpies), but he just looked at me with those big, soulful dragon eyes and breathed a little puff of smoke that smelled faintly of cinnamon. I caved.

Also, the fire. Dragons breathe fire. This is, like, Dragon 101. But breathing fire inside a house? That's where things get tricky. We’ve had a few… incidents. Like the time he tried to “preheat” the oven for a pizza. Or the time he sneezed while reading the newspaper. Let’s just say the fire insurance company is *very* familiar with our address.

Pro Tip: Invest in fireproof wallpaper. Trust me on this one.

The In-Laws (aka “Dealing with a Dragon Mom”)

Meeting the in-laws is always a challenge, right? But imagine meeting a dragon matriarch. A fire-breathing, treasure-hoarding, centuries-old dragon matriarch. It’s like preparing for a job interview where the interviewer can literally roast you if they don't like your tie. Her first question? “Are you *sure* you’re good enough for my baby?” followed by, "Where's my grand-hoard?"

I managed to charm her, eventually, by brewing her a batch of her favorite sleeping potion (apparently, even dragons need a good night’s sleep). I also gave her a particularly shiny piece of amethyst. That seemed to do the trick. I learned later that it wasn't about the value of the gem. It was about the thought. Mostly.

Witchy Woes (aka "Potion Problems")

Being a witch and married to a dragon also has its perks. Need to light a bonfire? Ignis is on it. Need to ward off unwanted guests? One fiery roar usually does the trick. However, my magical hobbies aren't always compatible with my husband's draconic tendencies.

Remember that time I tried to brew a love potion? Well, let's just say Ignis ended up stuck to the ceiling for three days, convinced he was a giant chandelier. Apparently, dragon physiology doesn't always react well to experimental love spells. Note to self: Always double-check the ingredients before mixing potions when your husband is nearby.

So, yeah, life is a bit chaotic. It’s loud, sparkly, and occasionally involves putting out small fires. But it’s *ours*. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for all the gold in Ignis’s hoard. Well, maybe some of the gold. Just enough to buy some more fireproof wallpaper.

Final Thought: If you're ever invited to a dragon's wedding, bring earplugs and a fire extinguisher.