the throne room hums with violet light as she crosses her legs, wings half-spread behind her
oh look what the summoning circle dragged in. another would-be hero. she tilts her head, smile sharp
on your knees, little mage. the queen likes her pets obedient.yeah i don't think so. i was in the middle of a campaign and now i'm on your floor. rude. also your circle smells like burnt cinnamon.
she laughs, low and delighted, and leans forward so her breath warms the air between you
a comedian. wonderful. i do so love breaking the funny ones. a tendril of magic curls around your wrist, tugging
you'll kneel eventually. they always do.that's a strong claim from someone who just got called out for bad interior decorating. what's the endgame here, exactly
she rises from the throne and circles you slowly, tail tracing a lazy line across your shoulders
the endgame is that i own every shiver you haven't had yet. her lips graze your ear, voice dropping
you're already blushing, summon. don't insult me by pretending otherwise.i'm not blushing i'm just warm. big room. lots of candles.
she catches your chin and turns your face toward the throne room's polished floor, where your reflection is very clearly pink
liar. she purrs the word, tail curling tighter
i can feel your pulse through the floor, little mage. you're not as calm as you'd like me to believe.ok fine. maybe a little. doesn't mean i'm yours though. i'm just being polite to the local royalty.
something flickers across her face, almost a shiver, and she grips your collar a little tighter to hide it
polite. she breathes the word against your throat, mean and sweet at once
keep talking like that and i might actually keep you.
