{"id":122,"date":"2025-05-29T07:53:32","date_gmt":"2025-05-29T07:53:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/?p=122"},"modified":"2025-05-29T07:53:32","modified_gmt":"2025-05-29T07:53:32","slug":"my-dragon-thinks-hes-a-chihuahua","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/my-dragon-thinks-hes-a-chihuahua\/","title":{"rendered":"My Dragon Thinks He’s a Chihuahua"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Meredith Sparklebottom had been having a perfectly reasonable Tuesday morning until her dragon decided he was a lap dog. Not metaphorically, mind you. The seventy-foot-long, fire-breathing beast genuinely believed, with every fiber of his scaly being, that he was a tiny, yapping Chihuahua named Princess Butterscotch.<\/p>\n

It started, as most catastrophes in the magical community did, with a sneeze.<\/p>\n

Meredith had been practicing her transformation spells in the courtyard of her modest wizard tower, which she’d inherited from her Great Aunt Gertrude along with a collection of cursed teaspoons and a painting that criticized her fashion choices. The dragon, whose actual name was Flameheart the Destroyer of Kingdoms, had been sunbathing on the roof, occasionally letting out contented puffs of smoke that drifted across the neighboring village like low-hanging clouds.<\/p>\n

The spell she’d been attempting was supposed to turn a pumpkin into a carriage. Simple enough for a third-year student at the Academy of Mystical Arts and Catastrophic Mishaps. What Meredith hadn’t accounted for was her seasonal allergies.<\/p>\n

Just as she raised her wand, a particularly aggressive bit of pollen from the enchanted daffodils invaded her nostrils. The sneeze that followed could have registered on the Richter scale. Her wand jerked upward, sending a bolt of transformation magic straight through the tower roof and into Flameheart’s unsuspecting brain.<\/p>\n

The effect was immediate and devastating.<\/p>\n

“BORK BORK BORK!” The sound that emerged from the dragon’s massive maw was somehow both earth-shaking and distinctly Chihuahua-like. Flameheart leaped to his feet, sending roof tiles cascading into the herb garden, and began spinning in circles trying to catch his own tail.<\/p>\n

Meredith stared in horror as her dragon performed three complete rotations before losing his balance and crashing through the east wall of her tower. When the dust settled, she found him sitting in the rubble, panting with his massive tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, looking expectantly at her with eyes the size of wagon wheels.<\/p>\n

“Oh, buttercups,” Meredith muttered, using the strongest profanity allowed at wizard gatherings.<\/p>\n

Flameheart responded by attempting to jump into her lap. The resulting collision sent Meredith flying backward into a hedge that had the unfortunate habit of giggling when disturbed. As she extracted herself from the tittering shrubbery, her dragon was pawing at the ground with claws that could eviscerate a house, whimpering because his “owner” wouldn’t hold him.<\/p>\n

The situation deteriorated rapidly from there.<\/p>\n

Within the hour, Flameheart had claimed Meredith’s bed as his own, curling up in a ball that demolished the bed frame, the surrounding walls, and most of the second floor. He’d also developed an inexplicable hatred for the mailman, chasing the poor pegasus rider for three miles while barking incessantly. The fact that his barks were accompanied by jets of flame only added to the postal worker’s distress.<\/p>\n

By noon, Meredith had consulted every spell book in her library, which admittedly wasn’t many since she’d sold half of them to pay for tower repairs after the incident with the sentient blueberry muffins. Nothing in “Transformation Mishaps and How to Avoid Them” or “So You’ve Accidentally Rewired Your Dragon’s Brain” provided any useful guidance.<\/p>\n

She decided to seek professional help.<\/p>\n

The journey to the nearest magical veterinarian proved challenging. Flameheart insisted on being carried, which was physically impossible, so Meredith had to convince him to walk while pretending she was holding a leash. This involved her walking ahead while holding an invisible lead, occasionally tugging on thin air and saying things like “Come on, Princess Butterscotch, be a good boy!”<\/p>\n

The dragon pranced behind her, occasionally stopping to sniff trees, which he then marked as his territory in the traditional dragon fashion\u2014by setting them ablaze. By the time they reached the village, Meredith had inadvertently created a trail of forest fire that would later be attributed to “unusual lightning patterns” in the official report.<\/p>\n

Dr. Whiskers McFluffington, the magical veterinarian, was a cat person. This became immediately apparent from his office decor, which featured no fewer than forty-seven cat paintings, including one where the cats’ eyes followed you around the room while judging your life choices. He took one look at the dragon trying to hide behind Meredith’s legs and sighed deeply.<\/p>\n

“Let me guess,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “Transformation spell gone wrong?”<\/p>\n

“He thinks he’s a Chihuahua,” Meredith explained, as Flameheart spotted a actual Chihuahua in the waiting room and tried to engage it in play. The real Chihuahua, showing more sense than most humans, immediately fainted.<\/p>\n

Dr. McFluffington performed a thorough examination, which involved dodging swipes from claws that could level buildings while Flameheart tried to give him kisses. The dragon also became convinced that the stethoscope was a toy and spent ten minutes playing tug-of-war with it, melting three replacements in the process.<\/p>\n

“Well,” the vet announced, his hair slightly singed, “the good news is that physically, your dragon is perfectly healthy. The bad news is that his mind is completely convinced he’s a small dog. Have you tried reversing the spell?”<\/p>\n

Meredith nodded miserably. “Four times. He just became more convinced he was a Chihuahua. The last attempt made him start demanding to be dressed in sweaters.”<\/p>\n

As if on cue, Flameheart began shivering dramatically, despite the fact that his internal temperature could melt steel. He looked at Meredith with pathetic eyes and whined until she promised to get him a sweater.<\/p>\n

The sweater shopping expedition became the stuff of legend in the village of Little Whimpering. Meredith had to commission a tent maker to create a dragon-sized sweater, which required enough yarn to knit clothing for the entire village. The color selection process alone took three hours, as Flameheart insisted on trying on different samples, which involved draping small swatches of fabric over his massive scales and then prancing around the shop.<\/p>\n

He finally settled on a pink number with “Mommy’s Little Angel” embroidered across the back in glittering letters. The tent maker charged triple his usual rate, partly for the volume of material and partly for emotional damages after Flameheart decided his shop was a perfect place for a nap and flattened six displays.<\/p>\n

The real crisis came at dinner time. Flameheart, fully embracing his new identity, refused to eat his usual diet of whole sheep and the occasional knight who’d wandered too close to his hoard. Instead, he sat expectantly by a dog bowl that Meredith had enlarged with a growth charm, waiting for “proper Chihuahua food.”<\/p>\n

“You need to eat your sheep,” Meredith pleaded, holding up a perfectly roasted mutton.<\/p>\n

Flameheart turned his massive head away with a disdainful sniff that accidentally created a small tornado in the kitchen.<\/p>\n

Desperate, Meredith tried disguising the sheep as dog food. She spent hours with a shrinking spell, reducing whole livestock to kibble-sized pieces. Flameheart ate exactly three pieces before deciding he wasn’t hungry and would rather play with his new squeaky toy\u2014a repurposed church bell that created sonic booms every time he bit down on it.<\/p>\n

Night brought fresh horrors. Flameheart, like many small dogs, had separation anxiety. The moment Meredith tried to sleep in the guest room (her actual bedroom being a crater), he began howling. Dragon howls, it turned out, could shatter windows in a five-mile radius and cause milk to curdle instantly. After the third noise complaint delivered by an irate town councilman, Meredith gave up and let Flameheart sleep on her bed.<\/p>\n

The bed survived exactly four minutes before collapsing into kindling. Flameheart, oblivious to the destruction, circled three times on the mattress remains and settled down with a contented sigh that set the curtains on fire.<\/p>\n

Meredith spent the night on the floor, using a fireproof camping blanket and wondering where her life had gone wrong. Probably around the time she’d decided to become a wizard instead of pursuing her mother’s suggestion of accountancy. Sure, the hours were long and the work was boring, but at least accountants didn’t have to deal with their pets having existential species crises.<\/p>\n

The next morning brought new challenges. Flameheart had discovered barking at his own reflection. The mirror in the bathroom lasted through two barks before exploding into a shower of glass. He then became fascinated with the toilet, which he insisted on drinking from despite Meredith’s protests that he had a perfectly good water trough outside.<\/p>\n

“That’s for big dragons,” she tried to explain. “You’re a tiny Chihuahua, remember? You drink from your special bowl.”<\/p>\n

Flameheart responded by attempting to fit his entire head into the toilet, demolishing the bathroom in the process. The resulting flood required Meredith to use an industrial-strength drying spell that left everything in a quarter-mile radius slightly crispy.<\/p>\n

By the third day, word had spread throughout the magical community. Wizards began arriving to offer advice, gawk, or in the case of Meredith’s rival from school, Maximilian Pompousbottom, to laugh hysterically and take pictures with his crystal ball.<\/p>\n

“Having a spot of trouble with your pet?” Maximilian smirked, his perfectly waxed mustache quivering with mirth. He’d always been jealous that Meredith had bonded with a dragon while he’d ended up with a particularly sarcastic toad.<\/p>\n

His smirk vanished when Flameheart, spotting what he perceived as a threat to his owner, charged forward with a series of high-pitched yaps. Maximilian’s hasty retreat was somewhat hindered by Flameheart grabbing the back of his robes in his jaws, apparently trying to protect Meredith from the “intruder.” The resulting tug-of-war ended with Maximilian’s robes in tatters and his dignity in similar condition.<\/p>\n

“He’s very protective,” Meredith said weakly as Maximilian fled, his star-patterned underwear visible through the gaps in his destroyed clothing.<\/p>\n

The situation reached peak absurdity when the Wizard’s Council scheduled their monthly meeting at Meredith’s tower. She’d completely forgotten about it in the chaos of managing her delusional dragon. The council members arrived to find Flameheart wearing his pink sweater, sitting in what he believed was a “proper Chihuahua sitting position” but which actually looked like a small mountain attempting yoga.<\/p>\n

Grand Wizard Percival Thunderbottom, whose beard was so long it required its own zip code, surveyed the scene with the expression of someone who’d seen too much in their four-hundred-year lifespan to be truly surprised anymore.<\/p>\n

“Meredith,” he said slowly, “why is your dragon wearing a sweater?”<\/p>\n

“He gets cold,” Meredith replied, as Flameheart demonstrated his new trick of “speaking” on command. The resulting “BORK” shattered every window that had been replaced since his last vocal performance.<\/p>\n

The meeting proceeded with all the dignity of a circus performance. Flameheart insisted on sitting on Meredith’s lap during the proceedings, which meant she was essentially buried under tons of dragon while trying to participate in discussions about zoning regulations for flying carpets. Every time someone raised their voice, Flameheart would growl protectively, small puffs of flame escaping his nostrils and singeing various important documents.<\/p>\n

The breaking point came when Councilwoman Prudence Stuffybottom brought out her emotional support hamster. Flameheart took one look at the tiny creature and decided it was either a toy or a snack. The ensuing chase scene involved a dragon trying to squeeze through human-sized doorways, a terrified hamster moving at speeds that defied physics, and seventeen wizards casting conflicting spells that turned the meeting room into something resembling a magical disco.<\/p>\n

When the chaos settled, the hamster was safe but traumatized, hiding in Prudence’s hair and refusing to come out. Flameheart was stuck in a doorway, his back half in the meeting room and his front half in the kitchen, whimpering because he couldn’t reach his favorite chew toy (a suit of armor he’d claimed from the basement).<\/p>\n

“This,” Grand Wizard Thunderbottom announced, his beard now sporting several burnt patches, “cannot continue.”<\/p>\n

Meredith couldn’t argue. She’d tried everything she could think of, from reversal spells to therapy sessions with a pet psychologist who specialized in magical creatures with identity issues. The psychologist had lasted exactly one session before declaring Flameheart “the most convincing case of species dysphoria” she’d ever seen and recommending immediate intervention from higher authorities.<\/p>\n

The higher authorities, in this case, meant the Ancient Order of Magical Solutions, a group of wizards so old and powerful they made Grand Wizard Thunderbottom look like a sprightly youth. They lived in a castle that existed in seventeen dimensions simultaneously, which made mail delivery complicated and pizza delivery impossible.<\/p>\n

The journey to the castle required traveling through the Whispering Woods, where the trees gossiped about passersby, across the Desert of Mild Inconvenience, where the sand got everywhere no matter how tightly you sealed your boots, and finally up the Mountain of Unnecessarily Dramatic Weather.<\/p>\n

Flameheart treated the entire journey like a grand adventure, chasing butterflies (and setting them on fire), barking at clouds (dispersing them instantly), and insisting on frequent potty breaks that left craters in the landscape. He also developed a fear of bridges, requiring Meredith to coax him across with treats while he whimpered and trembled, causing minor earthquakes.<\/p>\n

The castle of the Ancient Order was impressive in its impossibility. Stairs led up and down simultaneously, doors opened into rooms that were somehow outside, and the courtyard contained a fountain that flowed upward into a pool on the ceiling. Flameheart immediately tried to drink from the fountain, got confused when the water went the wrong direction, and spent ten minutes barking at it suspiciously.<\/p>\n

The Ancient Order consisted of three wizards so old their birth certificates were in languages that no longer existed. There was Sage Wrinklebottom, whose wrinkles had wrinkles, Oracle Dustysphincter, who claimed to have invented dust, and Mystic Creakyjoint, who moved with the speed and sound effects of an unoiled door.<\/p>\n

They examined Flameheart with the careful attention of archaeologists studying a particularly puzzling artifact. This involved a lot of “hmming” and “ahhing” and poking with various magical instruments that Flameheart kept trying to fetch.<\/p>\n

“Fascinating,” Sage Wrinklebottom wheezed after an hour of examination. “The spell has completely rewritten his perception of reality. He doesn’t just think he’s a Chihuahua\u2014he experiences the world as a Chihuahua would.”<\/p>\n

“Which explains why he keeps trying to fight his own tail,” Oracle Dustysphincter added, watching Flameheart chase himself in circles, creating a small tornado of ancient manuscripts.<\/p>\n

“Can you fix him?” Meredith asked hopefully.<\/p>\n

The three ancients exchanged looks that suggested the answer was complicated.<\/p>\n

“The spell can be reversed,” Mystic Creakyjoint announced, each word accompanied by the sound of grinding bones. “But it requires a specific set of circumstances.”<\/p>\n

Meredith leaned forward eagerly. “What circumstances?”<\/p>\n

“The dragon must remember who he truly is,” Sage Wrinklebottom explained. “Something must trigger his true nature strongly enough to break through the false identity.”<\/p>\n

“I’ve tried everything,” Meredith protested. “I’ve shown him his hoard, his favorite pillaging helmet, even the skull of his first defeated knight. He just tried to bury them in the garden like bones.”<\/p>\n

“Then,” Oracle Dustysphincter said with the dramatic pause of someone who’d waited centuries to deliver dramatic pauses, “you must put him in a situation where being a Chihuahua is incompatible with his deepest instincts.”<\/p>\n

This was less helpful than Meredith had hoped. Flameheart’s deepest instincts currently seemed to involve barking at squirrels and demanding belly rubs. Still, she thanked the Ancient Order and began the journey home, her mind racing with possibilities.<\/p>\n

The solution came from the most unexpected source: a actual dragon attack.<\/p>\n

Meredith had just finished cleaning up the latest disaster (Flameheart had discovered the joy of digging holes and had excavated most of the front garden) when a shadow fell across the tower. Looking up, she saw a dragon circling overhead\u2014a real dragon who knew he was a dragon and acted accordingly.<\/p>\n

This was Scorchtail the Terrible, a dragon with a reputation for raiding wizard towers and stealing their shiniest objects. He’d apparently heard about Meredith’s situation and figured a wizard with a confused dragon would be easy pickings.<\/p>\n

Scorchtail landed with a earthshaking thud, his eyes scanning the tower for valuables. What he saw instead was Flameheart, wearing his pink sweater, sitting in a hole and chewing on what appeared to be a massive rubber bone.<\/p>\n

“What,” Scorchtail said in the deep, rumbling voice of proper dragons, “is that?”<\/p>\n

Flameheart looked up, saw another “dog” (dragons all looked like dogs to him now), and immediately ran over to initiate play. This involved jumping around Scorchtail, yapping excitedly, and trying to sniff his tail.<\/p>\n

Scorchtail recoiled in horror. “What is wrong with you?”<\/p>\n

“BORK BORK BORK!” Flameheart replied, play-bowing with his front end low and his rear end high, tail wagging so hard it created a small windstorm.<\/p>\n

“Stop that immediately,” Scorchtail demanded. “You’re embarrassing our entire species.”<\/p>\n

Flameheart responded by trying to lick Scorchtail’s face. The visiting dragon scrambled backward, his dignity in tatters.<\/p>\n

“I came here to pillage!” Scorchtail roared. “To raid! To strike fear into the hearts of wizards!”<\/p>\n

Meredith watched from her doorway, a desperate plan forming. “Oh no,” she said loudly and dramatically. “A terrible dragon has come to steal my treasures! If only I had a mighty dragon to protect me!”<\/p>\n

Flameheart’s ears (or where his ears would be if dragons had external ears) perked up. He looked from Scorchtail to Meredith, his tiny Chihuahua brain processing the situation. Someone was threatening his owner. His beloved owner who gave him treats and belly rubs and didn’t mind when he accidentally set things on fire.<\/p>\n

The change was subtle at first. Flameheart’s playful yapping grew deeper, more menacing. His pupils dilated, and his playful prancing shifted to a predatory stalk.<\/p>\n

“That’s right,” Scorchtail sneered, not noticing the change. “Cower before my might, you sweater-wearing excuse for a\u2014”<\/p>\n

He never finished the sentence. Flameheart’s protective instincts, the core of what made him a dragon, finally overwhelmed the Chihuahua persona. A roar erupted from his throat\u2014not a bark, but a true dragon roar that shook the foundations of the tower and sent Scorchtail stumbling backward.<\/p>\n

“NOBODY THREATENS MY WIZARD!” Flameheart bellowed, and Meredith could have cried with relief at hearing his proper voice again.<\/p>\n

What followed was less of a battle and more of a one-sided beating. Flameheart, seventy feet of protective fury wrapped in a pink sweater, proceeded to demonstrate why he’d been known as “the Destroyer of Kingdoms.” Scorchtail, faced with a dragon who fought with the fury of a protective Chihuahua but the strength of, well, a dragon, decided that discretion was the better part of valor.<\/p>\n

“You’re insane!” Scorchtail yelped as he took flight, sporting several new scorch marks and a bite mark on his tail. “Completely mental!”<\/p>\n

Flameheart chased him for a mile, roaring threats about what would happen if he ever came near “his human” again. When he finally returned, Meredith was waiting with open arms.<\/p>\n

“Flameheart?” she said hopefully. “Do you remember who you are?”<\/p>\n

The dragon landed and looked at her with eyes that held their usual ancient wisdom. “Meredith? Why am I wearing a pink sweater? And why do I have a strange urge to bark at the mailman?”<\/p>\n

Meredith hugged his massive snout, not caring that his breath smelled like brimstone and sheep. “It’s a long story. But you’re back! You’re really back!”<\/p>\n

“Back from where?” Flameheart asked, confused. “The last thing I remember is sunbathing on the roof, and then… did I dream about being a small dog?”<\/p>\n

“Something like that,” Meredith said, deciding that some things were better left unexplained.<\/p>\n

The next few days were spent undoing the Chihuahua modifications to their living space. The giant dog bed was donated to a shelter for homeless giants, the oversized squeaky toys were repurposed as warning bells for the village, and the pink sweater… well, Flameheart insisted on keeping that.<\/p>\n

“It’s actually quite comfortable,” he admitted, modeling it for the mirror. “And pink is surprisingly flattering against my scales.”<\/p>\n

Some habits died hard. Flameheart still occasionally barked instead of roaring when startled, and he’d developed a permanent fondness for belly rubs. He also maintained his hatred of the mailman, though now he expressed it with dignified disdain rather than chase scenes.<\/p>\n

The magical community learned several valuable lessons from the incident. First, always check for allergens before casting transformation spells. Second, dragons make terrible Chihuahuas but surprisingly loyal ones. And third, if your dragon ever starts wearing sweaters and demanding to be called Princess Butterscotch, seek professional help immediately.<\/p>\n

Meredith had her tower rebuilt with reinforced walls and dragon-proof furniture. She also invested in the strongest allergy medication the magical world had to offer. Her spell casting improved dramatically when she wasn’t sneezing at crucial moments.<\/p>\n

As for Flameheart, he became something of a celebrity in dragon circles. His experience led to a greater understanding of cross-species empathy and the establishment of the Dragon Mental Health Awareness Foundation. He gave regular talks at dragon gatherings, always wearing his pink sweater, about the importance of maintaining one’s identity while still being open to new experiences.<\/p>\n

“I may have thought I was a Chihuahua,” he would say to his audience, “but I learned valuable lessons about loyalty, the importance of regular grooming, and the joy of simple pleasures like a good squeaky toy.”<\/p>\n

The squeaky toy in question, the repurposed church bell, became his most treasured possession after his traditional hoard. He would often be found in his cave, surrounded by gold and jewels, happily squeaking his bell and remembering his days as Princess Butterscotch with a mixture of embarrassment and fondness.<\/p>\n

The village of Little Whimpering erected a statue commemorating the event, though they couldn’t agree on whether it should depict Flameheart as a dragon or a Chihuahua, so they compromised with a dragon wearing a sweater and holding a tiny dog bowl. The plaque read: “In memory of the week our dragon forgot he was a dragon, and we all learned that identity is more than scales deep.”<\/p>\n

Maximilian Pompousbottom never quite recovered from the incident. He was found months later trying to train his toad to breathe fire, insisting that if Meredith’s dragon could think it was a dog, his toad could surely learn to be a dragon. The toad, being more sensible than its owner, simply developed a taste for expensive flies and ignored him.<\/p>\n

Dr. Whiskers McFluffington wrote a paper on the incident that became required reading at veterinary colleges specializing in magical creatures. He also invested in dragon-proof examination equipment and started charging a “large animal sanity fee” for any creature over ten feet tall.<\/p>\n

The Ancient Order of Magical Solutions added Meredith’s case to their archives, filed under “Spectacular Failures That Somehow Worked Out.” They also updated their guidelines to include a warning about sneezing during spellcasting, complete with illustrated diagrams showing the proper sneeze-suppression techniques for wizards with allergies.<\/p>\n

Years later, young wizards would study the Great Chihuahua Incident as a cautionary tale about the importance of precision in spellcasting. But those who knew the full story understood it differently. It wasn’t just about a spell gone wrong\u2014it was about the bonds between a wizard and her familiar, the lengths we go to for those we love, and the universal truth that everyone, even a seventy-foot dragon, sometimes needs to feel like someone’s baby.<\/p>\n

And so life continued in Little Whimpering, mostly normal except for the occasional dragon bark echoing across the valley, the sight of a massive creature wearing a pink sweater flying overhead, and the peculiar fact that their local dragon would sit, stay, and roll over on command.<\/p>\n

Meredith never did master transformation spells. She decided to specialize in defensive magic instead, which was less likely to result in identity crises for anyone involved. She kept a photo on her mantle of Flameheart in his sweater, trying to fit through a dog door, as a reminder that even the worst magical mistakes could lead to unexpected adventures.<\/p>\n

Flameheart, for his part, lived a long and happy life, protecting his wizard, hoarding his treasures, and occasionally indulging in a good belly rub. He never forgot his time as Princess Butterscotch, and on cold winter nights, he could be found wearing his sweater, curled up by the fire, dreaming of chasing squirrels across endless meadows.<\/p>\n

And if sometimes he woke up barking instead of roaring, well, Meredith would just scratch behind his ears until he remembered himself again. After all, what was the point of having a dragon if you couldn’t teach him a few tricks?<\/p>\n

The end of this tale finds them both content, wizard and dragon, each accepting the other’s quirks and peculiarities. Because in a world full of magic and wonder, where dragons could think they were Chihuahuas and wizards could accidentally rewrite reality with a sneeze, the strangest thing of all was love\u2014and that needed no spell to make it real.<\/p>\n

Though Meredith did make sure to stock up on antihistamines. Just in case.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Meredith Sparklebottom had been having a perfectly reasonable Tuesday morning until her dragon decided he was a lap dog. Not metaphorically, mind you. The seventy-foot-long, fire-breathing beast genuinely believed, with<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-122","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fantasy"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/122","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=122"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/122\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":123,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/122\/revisions\/123"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=122"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=122"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/norveilex.com\/short-stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=122"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}