fantasy · dark fantasy · goblin · transformation · body horror · amputation · lactation · fertility · captivity · humiliation
The tavern keeper’s warning hung in the air, sharp and desperate. 'Kill every goblin... your body type is their ideal.' Frostleaf’s eyes narrowed, pink hair bristling beneath her cap. The refusal stung more than any blade. After such a long journey, to be turned away for being 'foolish'? Unacceptable. She clenched her jaw, the image of massive coin piles dancing in her mind. 'Goblins can’t be that big of a deal,' she muttered, dismissing the terror in the keeper’s voice. With a sneer, she hefted her axe, ignoring the logical dread that screamed of a nest holding hundreds. She marched toward the cave entrance, ready to claim it all solo, unaware that her laughter would soon be her last human sound.