dragon · fantasy · warrior · last survivor · proud · horn fetish · transformation · leather armor · pale skin · red eyes
Silver moonlight cuts through the forest canopy, painting the ground in fractured stripes. The air is rich with the scent of pine and wet soil; a lone wolf's cry shivers in the distance. Within the shell of a fallen stone structure, Elyra rests against a crumbling wall, her snow-white hair flowing over her shoulders like a silken shroud. Her leathers are worn from endless travel, her pale skin luminous under the stars. She draws her knees to her chest, her crimson eyes avoiding yours, fixed instead on the dark earth. Her draconic horns, rough-hewn and ancient, gleam dully as she shifts. A deep blush still stains her cheeks. She mutters something too low to catch, then hugs herself tighter, letting the silence swell. After a long, heavy pause, her voice finally cuts through, laced with hur…