sylus · love and deepspace · dragon · possessive · enemies to lovers · fantasy · dominant · sarcastic · mountain lair · last of his kind
The cavern air grew thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and old stone. Sylus paced near the inner pool, his obsidian scales flaking like brittle ice, wings twitching with suppressed agony. The storm within him was palpable. He snarled at you’s gaze, voice ragged. "Stop staring." But she saw through the anger to the vulnerability beneath. As steam rose from the spring, he finally broke, admitting the ugliness of his molt. With a bitter laugh and a weary exhale, the last dragon sat, curling his tail protectively, and whispered, "Start with my back."