Dragons fall in love slowly.
       It creeps like a late thaw or a thunderstorm you hear long before you feel. No words are spoken. No grand declarations are made. No ceremonies are held. But little by little, their hoards begin to grow together. Every dragon has one. When dragons fall in love, pieces are exchanged--an ancient coin here, a curved seashell there. Treasures borrowed cease to be returned. New acquisitions appear in one hoard one week and the other the next. Eventually, it is impossible to tell where one hoard ends and the other begins.
       Ursula watched it happen to the others back when there were others. Watched them bring bundles of bric-a-brac back and forth between the giant oak trees of the North Forest, their claws cradling crocheted scarves and fireplace pokers. She didn't see much use in it. She curated her hoard--and only her hoard--with a discerning eye for almost a hundred years. She even specialized, which the others didn't understand. They liked variety. They liked spontaneity. They liked humans, which baffled Ursula even more than their hodgepodge hoards.
       "I simply don't see the point," she said once to Morthold, her clan elder. "We are enough as we are. We don't need to meddle in their fleeting lives."
       Morthold nodded. "We all find our joy somewhere," he said in his slow, deep voice. "Some find it among humans. Some find it with each other." He gave her an appraising look. "You are strong-willed," he said. "You find it within yourself."
       She preened at that, ignoring the way Morthold winced as he unfurled his wings. He was growing old. One day, he would be gone. Although she didn't know it at the time, one day, all of them would be gone.
       Now, Ursula was alone. Free to collect. Free to wander. She returned to her hoard only to add to its growing collection, trusting the magic of the North Forest to protect it from mischievous pixies or wandering trolls. To get to the North Forest, one had to not only go north, but had to believe that north was the only direction left to go. Even Ursula sometimes got lost.
       Lately, she'd been hunting for vinyl records. She did not own a record player, but she'd always loved their shape. No two records were alike; she could tell one set of grooves from another with a simple trace of a claw. Back when there were others, records had been her specialty; now that she was alone, she set her mind to other pursuits, but she couldn't resist the wet-smooth sheen of the vinyl. She spent her afternoons in record stores, her scales and wings transformed to smooth skin and lithe limbs, choosing only the shiniest or deeply grooved records.
       She was flipping through a box of 45s--Beach Boys, Beatles, Billie Eilish--when a voice came from behind her.
       "Do you need help finding anything?"
       Ursula froze. She'd honed her aura over a hundred years to allow her to blend into any background, a faceless form as easily dismissed as any other humdrum human. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken to one. She wasn't sure her voice would work.
       "I..." she croaked, then closed her mouth and cleared her throat. "I'm fine," she said. She turned around, smiling the practiced smile of those who would simply like to go about their business.
       The woman smiled back. "Okay," she said. She seemed tall for a human, with tan skin and black hair that reached the small of her back. She was wearing a t-shirt bearing the name of the record store and one of the only pairs of pants Ursula had ever seen with a practical number of pockets. Ursula was unskilled in determining human ages, but this woman seemed to be well into full maturity. She had gemstones in her ears.
       "I like those," Ursula said, pointing, which is when she knew she was out of practice. She would normally never initiate a new topic of conversation with a human.
       "Oh," the woman said, one hand coming up to tug at her earlobe. "Thanks. They're my mom's, actually. I stole them during one of our annual Thanksgiving arguments. I think they're real rubies, or maybe she was just saying that."
       "They look real," Ursula said. Very out of practice. She should leave as soon as possible.
       "Really?" The woman took one earring out and laid it in her palm, rolling it around so the light caught it at all angles. "A miracle that she would tell the truth. It'd be nice if they were. I'd never sell them, but it'd be nice to know."
       Ursula nodded.
       The woman put her earring back in. "So, we're closing in a few minutes," she said. "That's why I came over here. No rush, but you know."
       Ursula nodded again.
       "I'll take these," she said, pulling two records at random.
       The woman smiled. "Okay," she said. "I'll ring you up."

       When Ursula returned a week later, the same human was standing behind the counter, a different set of gemstones in her ears. Ursula thought they might be opals.
       The human was deep in conversation with another customer, so Ursula, used to making herself invisible, sneaked to the back of the store, burying herself in the dusty corner that housed records X-Z. The trip proved itself worth it. This establishment's records were clearly superior to all others, rounder and shinier and more pleasant to the touch.
       "You're back!"
       Ursula whipped around to see the woman standing behind her. She was wearing overalls, and upon closer inspection, her earrings appeared to be more amethyst than opal.
       "I...am," Ursula said.
       The woman smiled. "I'm here to see if you need anything."
       Ursula shook her head. "I'm managing fine on my own, thank you." She was proud of herself for remembering human pleasantries.
       "They were real rubies, by the way," the woman said.
       Ursula blinked. "I'm sorry?"
       "I actually called my mother, if you can believe it, and then I took them to a jeweler. Just to be sure."
       Ursula nodded. The woman gestured at her earlobes.
       "I know these are fake. I'm not even sure they're a real gem. I just thought they were pretty. They were two dollars at the antique mall."
       That's why Ursula couldn't identify them. When the woman turned her head to the light, they almost resembled the crystals that grew in the caves she would visit with the others. The thought caught Ursula off guard; she sucked in a breath, trying to ease the ache in her chest.
       "I'm Lucy, by the way," the woman said.
       Ursula didn't know what the human response to this would be, so she nodded again.
       Lucy seemed to have run out of conversation. "Well, let me know if you need anything," she said. "You should really come by more often. We get more stock all the time, way more often than those other places."
       Ursula's breath quickened. "Really?"
       "Yeah," Lucy said. "We get at least a couple rare ones every day. We have awesome suppliers."
       That explained the high quality of the store's selection. Perhaps Ursula could get away with slightly more frequent visits. "Okay," she said. "I'll come again."
       Lucy grinned. "Great," she said. Her expression shifted for a moment. "You should come by around two," she said.
       "Why?"
       "Because I work from one to close most days," Lucy said.
       Ursula stared at her for a few moments. This was another aspect of human ritual: a point of promised connection. Ursula was familiar with this ritual because she had spent the last hundred years avoiding it. "I'll keep that in mind," she said.
       Lucy smiled. "Okay," she said. "Good. I'll look for you."
       She headed back to the register, where a small line had formed. Ursula hadn't noticed there were other customers.

       She stayed away from records after that. She felt guilty for indulging old habits. She spent a few days wading in the river, her opalescent scales glistening in the sunlight as she dove for rocks and bits of glass. She spent another few days in town, diving into dumpsters and emerging with splinters of furniture and waterlogged books. She brought her spoils back to her hoard with pride in her chest. The others would have liked these. They would have praised her for her variety.
       Now that there were no longer others, Ursula's hoard was impossibly large. While her original hoard was contained in the oak tree she'd nursed as a youngling, her newest acquisitions were housed in a large cave in the northernmost region of the North Forest. She had caverns for silverware and glass bottles and cuckoo clocks and lampshades that had long lost their lamps. When Ursula returned to her hoard with her new books, she passed by a grotto full of jewels. Although there was no light in the cave to make them sparkle, Ursula found herself pausing at its entrance, her eye caught by something she couldn't quite identify.
       Most of this collection was unmined and unprocessed, but some of it was jewelry, huge and gaudy and made of glass just as often as gems. Ursula had arranged it in haphazard piles before moving on to the next collection, balls of string or fountain pens or whatever else had been left behind once there were no longer others. As she scanned these piles now, she realized what had caught her attention.
       A pair of earrings. Dark green. Real emerald.
       Ursula wondered if Lucy owned emerald earrings.
       If anyone asked, she would have told them she picked them up by accident. But there was no one left to ask, which meant there was no one left to lie to.
       Ursula pressed the earrings into her palm.

       The next day, she went back to the record store.
       "There you are!" Lucy said before Ursula could even think to strengthen her aura. Lucy had been working in the back, unloading records from cardboard boxes, but she abandoned her task immediately once Ursula opened the front door. "I wasn't sure you were coming back."
       Ursula's mouth felt very dry. "I brought you something," she said. She heard the words rather than felt them; it was like they were spoken by someone else.
       Lucy's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. "Okay," she said. "What is it?"
       Ursula held out her hand in a closed fist. Lucy looked confused, then held out her own hand in return, slightly cupped, palm facing upward.
       Ursula let go of the earrings.
       "Oh my god!" Lucy said, turning the gemstones over in her hand. She picked one up and held it to the light. "These are gorgeous!"
       "I want you to have them," Ursula said. "I had them, but I thought…they should be yours. Instead."
       Lucy stopped admiring the emeralds and turned to look at Ursula. Ursula looked away. She knew lots of humans liked to look each other in the eye, but she'd never been very good at that. She'd never needed to be, before now.
       "This is incredibly nice of you," Lucy said. She took out the earrings she was wearing--diamonds this time, Ursula noted. She put the emeralds in and pulled back her hair, twisting her head to angle her ears towards the light. "What do you think? How do they look?"
        "Beautiful," Ursula said. She meant it. In the cave, the earrings had been an item, precious but unremarkable. Here, they were something else. A gift.
       Ursula had never given a gift before.
       "Hey," Lucy said, "do you have a few minutes?"
       Ursula blinked. "Hm?"
       "I have something to show you," Lucy said. "Come to the back with me?"
       Ursula felt her chest grow tight. She had already violated so many of her rules. She'd come back to this store and seen this human more times than she'd seen any human before. She'd learned her name, given her a gift, and now she was what, following her? Ursula was a dragon, for Morthold's sake. Who was this human to give her orders?
       "Alright," Ursula said, and Lucy grinned and reached out a hand.
       Ursula took it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been touched.
       Lucy led her to a door near the back of the sales floor. She opened it using a key from her pocket, then reached inside and flipped a switch. The room was small, certainly smaller than Ursula's hoard, and was illuminated by a single bulb that hung from the ceiling by a precarious wire. The room held one shelf full of records and a single record player.
       "We got something in last week that I thought you'd be interested in," Lucy said, pulling Ursula inside the room and shutting the door behind her. Ursula felt the room suddenly increase in temperature.
       "How do you know what I like?" Ursula asked. Ursula didn't know what she liked. Ursula had never listened to one of her records.
       "You bought that Mountain Goats album the other day," Lucy said. She was searching for something on the shelf, her back to Ursula. "We got a real throwback a few days later; I didn't even know they made vinyl of this album, but I thought you might like it. It's John Darnielle's other band, The Extra Lens."
       Ursula didn't know what to say. She watched as Lucy pulled a record from the shelf and carefully slipped the vinyl out of its decorated sleeve and onto the player. As she placed the needle, Ursula felt her stomach lurch. Over a hundred years alive, almost all of them spent collecting records, and now, for the first time, she was going to hear one.
       What if she didn't like it?
       The record started with a few seconds of scratchy silence, and then, suddenly, a man's voice, counting one two three four one two and then a cacophony of sounds, loud and bracing and immediate, guitars and drums and probably other instruments, Ursula had no way of knowing. She'd heard live music from a distance and some renditions from the few others who learned to play the instruments they hoarded. She'd never heard something like this. She couldn't focus on the words, so she focused on the sound instead. Scratchy. Rugged. Vibrant. After a few seconds, she realized.
       Records sounded how they felt.
       The song came to an end as soon as it had started. Lucy stopped the record before the next one could play; Ursula was surprised to feel the loss.
       "I think it sounds like Tallahassee," Lucy said, putting the record back in its sleeve, "even though this album came out around the same time as The Life of the World to Come."
       Ursula couldn't think of anything to say. She just kept her eyes on Lucy's, hoping something would be communicated through her gaze that couldn't be expressed through her voice.
       Eventually, Lucy looked away, her fingers running over the edges of the vinyl sleeve. "My mom likes this album," she said. "She likes The Extra Lens more than The Mountain Goats, which is the wrong opinion, but that's fine. We have better things to argue about."
       "You seem to argue with your mother often," Ursula said. Lucy brought up her mother a lot; she'd have to for Ursula to take notice.
       Lucy groaned. "Not really," she said. "Although I know it must seem like it, given how much I complain about her. We just don't...we don't see eye to eye, usually."
       Ah, yes. Eye contact. Ursula knew how difficult that could be. "I understand," she said.
       Lucy ran her fingers over the record sleeve again. "When I was a kid..." Lucy stopped. Her face seemed redder than before. "Sorry," she said. "That's a silly story. You'll think I'm silly."
       "I won't," Ursula said because she thought all humans were silly, and Lucy was no sillier than the rest of them. She might even be less so.
        "I used to play in the forest as a kid," Lucy said, and Ursula's breath caught in her chest. "My mom let me run around as much as I wanted. I felt safe there; I felt like I knew it back to front. One day, I just kept running north. I don't know why, it just felt like..."
       "Like north was the only direction left to go."
       Lucy made eye contact again. "Yes," she said, her voice breathy. "Exactly."
       Ursula's mouth felt dry. "What did you find?" she asked. "When you went north?"
       Lucy looked away. "It was nothing," she said. "I thought I saw...it doesn't matter. I told my mom, and she didn't believe me. She said I was lying, but I wasn't. Or I didn't think I was. But I was a kid. She was probably right."
       Ursula had never known a human who could find the North Forest. What had Lucy seen? What did she know? Ursula didn't know how to ask. She didn't know what she'd do with the answer.
       Lucy held the record out to Ursula. "Here."
       Ursula took it. "Thanks," she said. Her voice sounded small. That couldn't be right. Shouldn't her voice be big? If she's thanking Lucy for so many things at once?
       "You're welcome," Lucy said. "I'll let you know when we get other good stuff in stock. I'll hold it in the back, and we can come listen to it together."
       Another point of promised connection. Ursula couldn't find it in herself to resist it. "Okay," Ursula said. She gestured to the record in her hand. "I pay for this up front, yes?"
       "Oh, please," Lucy said, waving a hand. "No, that's why I held it for you. It's a gift."
       Blood rushed to Ursula's cheeks. "A gift?"
       Oh no.
       "Sure," Lucy said. She gestured to her ears. "What a coincidence, right? That we had the same thought? I can't thank you enough for these."
       "You're welcome," Ursula heard herself say.
       A beep came from Lucy's watch. "I should get back out there," she said. "Are you gonna shop a little, or do you need to go?"
       "I need to go," Ursula said. Urgently. Right this second. Without a moment to spare.
       "Okay," Lucy said. She reached around Ursula to grab the doorknob, their bodies so close together that Ursula thought for a minute that her shapechange might fail, that her winged and scaled form was about to be on display for Lucy to see, spread out under the dim light of the single bulb.
       "You'll come back soon?" Lucy asked.
       "I don't know," Ursula said.
       Lucy hummed. "Okay," she said. "Well. I hope you do."
       Ursula scrambled out of the back room and headed for the exit.
       "Hey!"
       She turned around.
       Lucy smiled at her. "I just realized," she said. "I don't know your name."
       "Ursula," she said because at least that much was owed. The name felt strange on her tongue; she wasn't accustomed to saying it.
       "Ursula," Lucy repeated. Her smile grew wider. "That's a nice name."
       Ursula nodded. Then she pushed her way through the door and into the afternoon sun.

       She normally wouldn't fly this close to civilization, but she risked it just this once, letting her wings spread out behind her as she fled. She beat them against the blue sky until she finally saw her beloved oak tree. She landed, Lucy's gift still clutched in her claws, and wept until her body ached, salty tears drying between her scales.
       How long ago had Lucy seen the others? Thirty years? Thirty-five? That must be what she had seen, or maybe that was Ursula's desperate hope: that there was someone, somewhere, who could still see them when they closed their eyes, could remember the way the sun glistened off their scales, the way they soared from tree to tree. Ursula felt like the ground beneath her feet had shifted like she was standing somewhere she'd never stood before, despite this being her trees, her river, her forest. She'd had no idea it was Lucy's forest, too.
       Once she'd calmed, she headed inside her tree and placed the record between two solid, sturdy roots. She didn't dare take it out to touch it; she didn't want to risk scratching it for fear she could never hear it again. How many records had she scratched beyond recognition? What music was now lost to her, gone before she had a chance to feel it in her chest the way she felt it with her claws?
       She needed to get a record player. She needed to get five record players. What happened when you played multiple records at once? Would the feeling multiply? Would it mutate? What happened if she played it slower, or faster, or backwards? If she got a record player, she'd need a way to power it. Surely one of the others had had a power system in their hoard, a way to play with their prized toys. Would it still work after twenty-five years?
       Her breath caught in her chest. The others. Their hoards. Twenty-five years.
       Ursula glanced over her shoulder at the cave system behind her, the guilt mingling with her breath until they became indistinguishable. She couldn't get a record player. She couldn't keep buying records. She couldn't specialize; not anymore. Not when there were no longer others. It was her hoard now, all of it, and she needed to help it grow because if she didn't...
       If she didn't, it would be like the others were never here at all.
       We all find our joy somewhere, Morthold had said, before he'd gone away, before all of them had gone away. You find it within yourself.
       But what good was joy if it could only be found in isolation? If there was no one with whom it could resonate?
       Dragons fall in love slowly. It happens over time, like ocean waves smoothing a jagged shoreline. Hoards grow together. Pieces are exchanged. Eventually, it's impossible to tell where one hoard ends and the other begins.
       Ursula's hoard was massive now. It extended beyond her oak tree, beyond caves, beyond rivers. She didn't want to maintain it alone.
       She turned around and launched herself into the air.

       "Back so soon?" Lucy asked as Ursula pulled open the front door. "That's a relief. I thought I'd scared you off."
       Ursula walked right up to the counter and tried to maintain eye contact. "The store closes in a few minutes," she said. She was fairly confident she was correct, which is why she didn't phrase it as a question.
       Lucy glanced at a clock on the wall. "In ten," she said. "Why?"
       Ursula took a deep breath. "I would like to show you something," she said. "Would you be willing to come with me? To the forest?"
       Lucy looked apprehensive. "Why?" she asked. "Not that I don't trust you. I just don't make a habit of going to dark places with near strangers."
       Ursula wondered if there would be a better time to ask. She decided there wouldn't be. "I understand your hesitation," she said, "but I promise you will be safe. You know the forest. You will be able to leave at any time."
       Lucy paused, and for a moment, Ursula thought she might say no. But then Lucy nodded. "Okay," she said, and she stepped out from behind the counter.
       "You'll get in trouble if you leave now," Ursula said. "To be employed is to be at the mercy of those with power."
       Lucy laughed. "I'm in charge here," she said. "And this seems important enough that I can close a few minutes early." She headed towards the front door, then turned back to look at Ursula. "It is important, right?"
       "Immensely," Ursula said.
       Lucy nodded. "Then let's go."
       She held out her hand. Ursula took it.

       The forest seemed to know time was of the essence; it took only a few minutes for them to reach the ring of trees that marked its edge. Ursula stopped, and Lucy stopped with her. They were still holding hands.
       "We need to go north," Ursula said.
       Lucy furrowed her brow. "We've been going north."
       Ursula turned to look at her. "Yes," she said, "but we need to keep going. North is the only way. There is..."
       "No other direction left to go." Lucy looked at her, her eyes bright in the setting sun. "I understand."
       Ursula gripped her hand tighter, and together, they walked through the trees and into the North Forest.
       It had been a while since Ursula had seen it from this perspective. In the early evening light, the iridescent moss was just beginning to show signs of shimmer, and the babbling brook sparkled like it was made of the same gemstones that adorned Lucy's ears. Ursula saw a few fairies dart behind dotted daffodils, and in the distance, she could hear the cry of a lone wolf.
       She turned to Lucy. "If you find the forest overwhelming..." she started, but she stopped when she saw Lucy's face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
       "I've made a mistake," Ursula said, her stomach dropping. "I apologize profusely. I'll take you home right away."
       "It's real," Lucy whispered, and Ursula's stomach rose just as quickly as it had descended.
       "I'm sorry?"
       Lucy turned to look at Ursula. "Dragons," she said. "That's what I saw that day in the forest. My mom called me a liar, but I saw...dragons."
       Ursula met her eyes.
       Lucy whispered in a voice so quiet, so delicate, it seemed like any answer would break it. "Are you...a dragon?"
       Ursula whispered back, "I am."
       For a moment, they both stood there, Lucy's hand clutching Ursula's like it was a cliffside at the edge of the earth. Ursula squeezed back, feeling their hearts pump in unison, feeling Lucy's breath hitch in her chest.
       Ursula said, "Would you like to see my hoard?"
       Lucy nodded.
       She brought Lucy to the tree first. "This is mine," she said. "This is the hoard I started when I was a youngling, a hundred years ago."
       Lucy looked around. "They're all records," she whispered. She looked back at Ursula. "That's why you came to my store? Because you hoard records?"
       "It's my specialty," Ursula said. "The others didn't specialize. But I did."
       Lucy looked back at the collection. "You have some great finds here," she said, taking an ancient Ella Fitzgerald album from the wall. "Do these still play?"
       Ursula felt a knot in her chest tighten. "I don't know," she said. "I've never played them."
       Lucy wheeled around. "You've never played them?" she asked. "Why not?"
       "I don't have a record player."
       "You don't..." Lucy looked more shocked by this news than by the knowledge that dragons were real. "Ursula," she said, her voice deadly serious, "was today at the store the first time you ever heard a record?"
       "Yes," Ursula said.
       Lucy sat down among the roots. "Your first record was The Extra Lens?"
       "I greatly enjoyed it," Ursula said. "It made me want to get a player. I'm worried a lot of these won't play. I like to touch them, and I worry my claws have done damage."
       "We can fix them," Lucy murmured.
       Ursula narrowed her eyes, attempting to read Lucy's human body language. "Are you alright?"
       "Yes!" Lucy said, scrambling to stand up. "Yes, I just...I need to make you a list. You have records here that any collector would die for. To have them sitting here unplayed..."
       "There will be time for that," Ursula said. She was feeling a sense of urgency; Lucy had made no move to flee, but Ursula hadn't yet asked her what she needed to. "I need to show you something else."
       Lucy carefully replaced the Ella Fitzgerald album. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Yes. Show me more."
       Ursula led her to the cave, then guided her down its narrow paths until they reached the grotto full of gemstones. Lucy gasped when she saw it.
       "Ursula," she said, "is this where these earrings came from?"
       The knot in Ursula's chest grew tighter. "Yes," she said. "This hoard belonged to the others."
       Lucy paused. "I saw others," she said quietly. "That day in the forest, I saw dozens. Playing, gliding, swimming..."
       She slowly turned to Ursula. "Where are they?"
       Ursula looked at the piles of gems. "Gone," she said. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. "That's how it works with dragons. One day, they're here. The next, they're gone. It usually happens one at a time. Twenty-five years ago, it all happened at once."
       She felt Lucy's hand on hers again. "I'm sorry," she said, and Ursula intertwined their fingers.
       "There is a tradition among dragons," she said, "that when they fall in love, they exchange pieces of their hoards."
       Lucy went very still.
       "It happens slowly," Ursula continued. "Piece by piece. Eventually, the hoards are indistinguishable. They've become one, and it no longer matters where one ends and the next begins."
       Lucy remained silent.
        "There are no longer others," Ursula said, "but I maintain their hoards, which are now indistinguishable from my own." She reached a hand up to brush against the emeralds in Lucy's ears. "I can't do it alone," she murmured. "I don't want to. When we were together, we shared what we had. To isolate is to disrespect that memory.
        "I know no one else but you who has seen them," she continued. "I know it meant something to you. I thought...you could help me. Grow our hoard. Maintain it. I could teach you about them. That way, they'll never be lost."
       Lucy reached up and covered Ursula's hand with her own. "Record by record," she said. "Earring by earring."
       "We grow together," Ursula said. "And we grow with them. Is that okay?"
       Lucy squeezed her hand. "Together," she said, and Ursula felt a burst in her chest, at once novel and familiar, that she thought she might describe as joy.