Peter was in his room. Not in his bed, no, he was lying on the floor. In front of him was a rge sheet of paper, on which he drew with colored pencils. A ndscape of trees, mountains, and a white dragon. He liked to draw. The picture looked very realistic. Much too real for the picture of an almost ten-year-old boy. Peter was talented. Sophie called him a true artist.

  Unfortunately, his teacher was husiastic about his drawing skills... Good. Admittedly. This robably because Peter always drew instead of listening. Finally, he had drawn his teacher in css. In underwear and with a rge women's hat on his head. His father scolded him after the teacher pined about the cheeky drawing.

  Peter thought the drawing was funny. Unfortunately, his father had burhe masterpie the firepce to undo the deed. He could at least have ughed about it... But no. Peter ced under room arrest. For two days. Even with Julia, he was not allowed to py...

  His drawing was almost finished. He smiled tentedly and touched the dragon. He had never see least not a real one. He only knew drawings from books. Dragons could transform. They could turn into any animal they wanted. What was that like?

  He wao be a great magi. His father had told him that very gifted witches and wizards who used maniputive magic could also ge shape. Peter would like that. He would look different every day. Giggling, he tio draw. A great magi and an artist! A painter! A few days ago, a painter had made a new painting of his mother. Peter had watched the painter, a mortal, fasated. He wao be able to do that. Paint like him. Could he magically breathe life into a painting?

  That would be wonderful.

  He would bee famous!

  Grinning, he got a new piece of paper and drew his teacher again. This time as a giant baby. How funny would it be if his teacher found the picture, and got screamed at by his little infant self?

  "Peter? How are you?" His mother came to his room. Her eyes fell on the painting with the dragon. "Are you drawing again?"

  "Yes. Do you like the picture? I'll give it to you!" Peter beamed at his mother. He wao hear that she liked the picture. He wao make her smile.

  The queen furrowed her brow and took the paper. "A dragon? Which flies over a forest?"

  "Yes!" Peter grinned expetly.

  "You have too much imaginatioer." His mhed. Theiced the picture of the teacher. "Your teacher? Again? Well... You caught him well." She shook her head and picked up the picture from the ground with a reproachful look. "I see that you have not yet e to your senses."

  Peter sat down. "Mom! Do you like my picture!"

  "The oh the dragon?"

  "Yes! That. Do you like it? It's for you." Frustrated, Peter crossed his arms. Didn't she like it? And what does that mean? Too much imagination? He held out the picture to her. Finally, his mother took it.

  "You should draw less and focus more on your lessons." His mother, who was now holding both drawings, gave him a stern look. "Drawing is for young children and girls."

  "Mom! I want to be a painter. A magical paihat's what I have to paint for!"

  Now his mother turned pale and tore both drawings to pieces. "Nonsense! e to your senses, Peter. Servants will fetch the pens. This is now ing to an end. You are a prinot a painter. Nor a magi. You will never have magic, Peter. See that!" Then she left the room.

  Peter sat on the floor and looked at his destroyed paintings. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  I just wanted you to be proud of me.

  sasi