How to Accidentally Adopt a Dragon

It started with a misclick.

Lena was trying to order a toaster.

A normal, two-slice, nothing-fancy toaster. The kind that doesn’t have opinions about your bread.

Instead, thanks to one overly enthusiastic “Recommended for You” section, she ordered a dragon.

She didn’t realize this until the confirmation email arrived:

Your item has shipped: 1 x Compact Domestic Dragon (Beginner-Friendly)

Lena blinked. Read it again. Blinked harder.

“Right,” she said aloud. “I’m being scammed.”

She tried to cancel the order. The website responded instantly:

Too late! Your dragon is already emotionally attached to you.

“That feels… legally questionable,” Lena muttered.

The package arrived the next morning.

It was a box. A very ordinary box. Slightly warm.

It sneezed.

Lena froze.

The box sneezed again, this time producing a small puff of smoke that curled out of the air holes.

“Oh no,” Lena said. “Oh no, no, no—”

The lid popped open.

Inside was a dragon the size of a loaf of bread. It had shiny green scales, tiny wings, and the deeply judgmental expression of something that had already decided Lena was inadequate.

“Hello?” Lena tried.

The dragon stared at her.

Then it climbed out of the box, waddled across the table, and sat directly on her toast.

“Hey! That’s my breakfast!”

The dragon opened its mouth and gently toasted the bread.

Perfectly.

Golden brown. Even edges. No burnt bits.

They both looked at it.

“…Okay,” Lena admitted. “That’s useful.”

The dragon chirped proudly and ate half of it anyway.

Over the next few days, things escalated.

The dragon—who Lena reluctantly named “Kevin”—refused to eat anything that wasn’t lightly flammable. It set fire to her grocery list (twice), her socks (once), and her neighbour’s newspaper (an incident still under negotiation).

But it also:

Heated her tea to the exact perfect temperature

Glared at spam callers until her phone stopped ringing

And once, somehow, intimidated her boss during a video meeting

“Is that… a dragon?” her boss had asked nervously.

Kevin leaned into frame and exhaled a small, threatening sparkle of fire.

“…You know what, Lena,” her boss said quickly, “take the rest of the week off.”

So there were perks.

The real problem came on Thursday.

Lena woke up to find Kevin gone.

In his place was a note. Burned slightly at the edges.

Gone to do dragon things. Back later. —Kevin

“Absolutely not,” Lena said, grabbing her coat.

She found him three streets away, perched on top of a parked car, being filmed by about twenty people.

“KEVIN.”

The dragon turned.

Paused.

Then, with zero shame, set off a small, celebratory burst of flames.

The car alarm screamed.

Someone cheered.

Lena buried her face in her hands. “I wanted a toaster.”

Kevin fluttered down, landed on her shoulder, and nuzzled her cheek like a scaly, slightly dangerous cat.

Then he toasted a nearby croissant.

Perfectly.

Lena sighed.

“…Fine,” she said. “But we are not getting you a friend.”

Kevin’s eyes lit up.

Somewhere, in a warehouse, another box sneezed.