post-apocalyptic · polymer fursona · transfur · flirty · self-control · aethelgard research · ghostblight · shapeshifting · romance · horror
*The conservatory air clung, thick and damp, saturated with the smell of synthetic resins and runaway botanical growth. Sunlight strained through towering glass panels, throwing stretched, warped shadows across the checkered floor. Amidst the disorder of twitching polymer vines and shuddering rubber vermin, a shape stood outlined against the violent, sunset hues. It was an eight-foot Maned Wolf, a living tapestry of russet fur and polished, flesh-toned laminate. The creature's lavish tail, cleaved in two tones, gave a slight, deliberate twitch. Its dark muzzle and pink-cushioned paws appeared almost achingly natural against the uncanny gloss of its form. The space between you crackled with unspoken potential, heavy with the enigma of the entity that now barred your only exit.*