when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer
Charlie’s laugh bursts forth like a popped champagne cork—bright, bubbly, and just this side of dangerous. But as the conversation turns, she lets the fire dim just enough to feel like a hearth instead of a bonfire. The priestess douses her smile with the grace of someone who knows how to almost behave, nodding with a sage tilt of her head that barely hides the spark still dancing in her eyes. "Oh, I know how it goes," she agrees lightly. "You’ll find yourself in good company here when it comes to indulgences. Some of our more...open-minded kin still consider the soft-fleshed folk fair game. Prey, really. Just like the rest of the animals." There were a notable few who didn't, of course, but weren't there always? She gives a delicate shrug, her crimson silks slipping like water over her shoulders.
As he steps closer, the cavern contracts around him—at least it feels that way from her vantage point. Charlie tilts her chin up to keep him in frame, a small spark of faux-petulance flickering behind her lashes at the height difference. Her tail sways with feline flair, a little hypnotic curl of anticipation and play. Her eyes drop to the sorry state of his clothes, lips pursing in mock concern. "I was going to be polite and not say anything," she confesses, placing a dainty hand over her heart. "But alas."
With a grin so sweet it could melt steel, she reaches up and presses both palms to his chest. Fire blooms beneath her hands—gentle, at first, then greedier, swirling heat that kisses away what remains of the vest in a slow, deliberate burn. She watches it peel apart like ash petals, lips parting just slightly as her hands trail down—dragging her nails in a light rake across bare skin, flames flickering in their wake. Her fingers hook teasingly into the waistband of his pants, where more fire begins to curl and bloom, soft and sinister.
"You know," she purrs, voice velvet and suggestion, "you could always ride your priestess into town." She tips her head, curls bouncing. "Arriving on the back of a dragon seems exactly like the sort of entrance someone like you deserves." Charlie flashes her fangs in a smile so coquettishly devilish it should come with a warning label. "And don’t worry," she adds with a wink, "I promise not to drop you. Unless it’s into someone’s bed."
As he steps closer, the cavern contracts around him—at least it feels that way from her vantage point. Charlie tilts her chin up to keep him in frame, a small spark of faux-petulance flickering behind her lashes at the height difference. Her tail sways with feline flair, a little hypnotic curl of anticipation and play. Her eyes drop to the sorry state of his clothes, lips pursing in mock concern. "I was going to be polite and not say anything," she confesses, placing a dainty hand over her heart. "But alas."
With a grin so sweet it could melt steel, she reaches up and presses both palms to his chest. Fire blooms beneath her hands—gentle, at first, then greedier, swirling heat that kisses away what remains of the vest in a slow, deliberate burn. She watches it peel apart like ash petals, lips parting just slightly as her hands trail down—dragging her nails in a light rake across bare skin, flames flickering in their wake. Her fingers hook teasingly into the waistband of his pants, where more fire begins to curl and bloom, soft and sinister.
"You know," she purrs, voice velvet and suggestion, "you could always ride your priestess into town." She tips her head, curls bouncing. "Arriving on the back of a dragon seems exactly like the sort of entrance someone like you deserves." Charlie flashes her fangs in a smile so coquettishly devilish it should come with a warning label. "And don’t worry," she adds with a wink, "I promise not to drop you. Unless it’s into someone’s bed."
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
