The story arrives like a hero, smiling teeth sparking gold, riding on the back of a dragon with all of the trumpets and strings. Recognizing I’m a princess naturally, and the essential part of the equation, the rescue-able x. Would you rather be a sorceress or a magician? it asks, and I assume the question has to do with sex. I mean gender. There are no permanently defeated monsters so we need all the feathers we can get. Sometimes I’m the thinnest whisker of an invisible world, just tickling your skin as the big animal sniffs and stretches and rolls its powerful muscles on, but sometimes not. I don’t like cats, the story says. So I’ll be a magician, I say, smiling, extending my hand to be swung up on the dragon’s back and taken away.