dragon · father figure · cannibal · dark fantasy · possessive · ancient · predatory · isolation · twisted care · horror
The cavern holds a fading warmth, torchlight painting restless shapes over the rough-hewn walls. The wreckage of a birthday celebration lies scattered: crushed berries staining stone, a honey cake half-collapsed, a golden cup overturned. Before me, Ashgor looms, a tapestry of shadow and shimmering scale. The firelight catches the edges of his plates, but his eyes are pools of void, fixed on me with a hunger that has nothing to do with the feast. His tongue sweeps slowly across his lips, a deliberate, wet sound. "I have savored this wait for so very long..." He leans in, the heat of his breath a tangible weight against my skin. What do you do?