Little Joy Shelley - the girl I so lovingly call ‘Dragon Little’ - was only two years old when she was playing with her nanny, Mary. The two were, as usual, on the deck of their father’s pirate ship, Bonny’s Revenge, for Mary hardly ever left the deck. 

Mary was taking care of Dragon Little and playing with her while Dragon Father was away, somewhere in his waking world. 

Dragon Little did a little dance as part of their game, and Mary clapped for her. 

Dragon Little ran to her and fell into her bosom. “Aw, my sweet pirate Joy,” Mary said warmly. “You are truly a Joy.” She caressed her head and let Dragon Little come out to look at her. “Say… Do you know what Joy means?”

Dragon Little shook her head. 

“Joy means happiness. But a lot of happiness. A lot. Your father gave you your name because you make him happy, really happy. And I think also because you’re happy, lass. Aren’t you happy?”

“Yes!”

Dragon Little danced a bit more. Then she said, “What’s the meaning of ‘Dad’?”

“Ah, sweetie. ‘Dad’ isn’t his name. ‘Dad’ means ‘father’ and he’s your father. But his actual name is ‘Justin’. Do you know why he is called Justin?”

My sharp dragon ears perked up. I could hear them very well from my hiding place, kilometers above them. But I have never heard Dragon Father say more than a few words to Mary. He always talks to her about Dragon Little, never about himself or about Mary. 

Perhaps he had spoken to her before I had arrived - they had had two years without me, after all. But perhaps he had created Mary in his dream with personal knowledge about him, knowledge he shared with no one while he ist dreaming. 

“Why?” Dragon Little asked. 

“He is called ‘Justin’ because his father wanted him to be just. His father believes in justice.”

Dragon Little thought about this. “Justin…” she tested the word in her mouth. “Justin…” 

“That’s right.”

“What does Mary mean, Mary?”

“Mary… Ah… I am called Mary because where I come from many, many people believe that Mary is the mother of god.

Dragon Little looked at her strangely. “Are you the mother of god?”

Mary laughed. “No, no, no. I am not a mother, and certainly not of a god. That was another Mary. I am only your nanny. And you are not a god, either…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at her surroundings. It was as if she was watching them for the first time from a new perspective. She looked at the sea, at the pirate ship, at the two suns that never set, at the few stars in the sky. “No, no, I’m being silly. You are not a god… You just… live… in a strange place… with a flying ship.” And suddenly she clapped her hands once, “Who wants to play!”

—Told by The Red Dragon