The paper folds were incredably intricate, tiny and fastened against eachother in such a way that it must have taken hours to create. The little origami dragon could fit in the palm of your hand, and would rest there so delicately you could swear it was alive. Everyone thought it was a tragity when it’s artist was found dead the next morning in the museum next to the case where (his/her) dragon resided.

(This time the gender is up to you, if it matters.)