with the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

The bone bridges always had a certain vibe, and Charlie was vibing right back. She click-clacked her way across one of the larger spans with her tail tracing lazy hearts on the railings behind her. "Hello again, ghostwhale vertebrae," she cooed, tapping her knuckles fondly against a rounded rise in the stone. "Looking spine-tingling as ever."

She’d only meant to peek around, maybe sing to a few skulls and startle a goose or two, but the earth—dramatic thing that it was—had other plans. Just ahead, down a slope of disturbed earth and fractured stone, a jagged gash yawned open near the water’s edge like a particularly juicy secret waiting to be kissed open. Charlie’s brows rose. Her grin sharpened. "Oooooh hello, suspicious crevice." One blink and dart!—she vanished in a shower of golden sparkles, reappearing midair with an elegant twirl that landed her in a plume of dust and delight. The cave she found herself in was cool and musky, the silence thick and old, like it hadn’t been disturbed in centuries. Holding one hand aloft, a bloom of fire sprang from her palm, illuminating the cavern in flickering golds and reds.

"Oh, baby," she breathed, the light casting dancing shadows on her curves and curls. Then she saw him. Nestled in rubble like a half-forgotten god, the stone man lay reclined with arms tucked behind his head as if he'd been carved mid-nap. He was tall—but everyone was compared to Charlie—but Charlie was no fool. "Well hello you " she purred, heels clicking lightly as she made her way closer. "I don’t know who put you on pause, but you’ve been missing out." Holding the flame higher, she circled him once, eyes alight with greedy curiosity, tail flicking in amusement as she crouched beside his face.

Then, rising, she lifted both arms with a flourish. Heat shimmered around her fingers as coils of fire curled upward, delicate as silk and hot as sin. "Rise and sparkle, darling," she whispered, unleashing a theatrical ribbon of flame to wind around his massive frame like a loving serpent. The magic flared across his chest, along his arms, tracing his contours with warmth and a not-so-subtle invitation.

.

Pann

catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green

Mmm. Warmth.

It starts like a dream I’d almost forgotten—one where the sun is a woman’s laugh and heat is the brush of fingers down my spine. Fire slips across me like silk and I feel it in places I shouldn’t, not yet, not while half my chest is still stone.

My first breath is slow and thick, like dragging honey through ash. My fingers twitch where they’ve been so artfully tucked behind my head—how considerate of me, truly, to turn to stone in such a relaxed pose—and the moment the last bit of petrification melts from my ribs, I exhale on a groan that’s far too pleased for someone who’s been buried alive.

And then I see her.

Oh.

Ruby horns, tail, fire in her palms and fire in her grin—she’s the first thing I’ve laid eyes on in... who knows how long, and gods, what a sight to wake to.

A slow, crooked smile curls along my mouth as I shift, my body no longer stone but flesh—and dirt, and torn fabric, and an outrageous amount of dust in places dust has no business being. My once-fine shirt hangs open beneath a ruined vest, my boots scuffed, my trousers wrinkled and indignant. Still, I rise with all the grace of a prince returning from exile, stretching tall, vertebrae popping like the world itself is applauding my return.

“Darling,” I say, brows rising as eyes first lower, then lift, “if I’d known salvation would come with horns and a smile like yours, I’d have gotten myself entombed sooner.”

I roll my shoulders, a languid motion that sheds a few last flakes of stone. “Thank you,” I add, sweeping her a shallow, rakish bow. “For melting me free of such a rude and utterly unscheduled nap. Truly, the locals had no sense of hospitality.”

Straightening, I meet her eyes again, mischief and hunger flickering in mine. “Pann Parallax,” I purr, flashing a fanged smirk. “Artist. Musician. Occasional menace. And yours, for the moment, whatever time this moment might be in…?”

you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

"Oh honey." The word leaves her in a delighted gasp as the stone man becomes a stone no more, groaning awake like some mythological dream wrapped in rubble and voice like warm thunder. Charlie's fire flickers higher in surprise, before she draws it back with a practiced purr of her fingers, letting it cling just enough to toast the air around him without incinerating what little remained of his ruined clothes.

She stands poised and radiant in the firelight, curls bouncing as she tilts her head to drink him in. Small in stature but impossibly present, Charlie is the kind of creature who looks like she might’ve been born from candle smoke and champagne foam. Her hourglass frame is wrapped in layers of fluttery crimson silks, all charred lace and scandalous cut-outs, her ruby-tipped horns gleaming beneath her crown of tousled curls. Her tail flicks in approval, a mischievous metronome to the delight lighting her face.

"Well, Pann Parallax," she says, drawing his name out like taffy spun around her tongue, "lucky for you, you wear rubble really well." She steps closer, slipping one petite hand into his, heat flaring playfully between their palms like a secret handshake made of sunfire. "Charlie," she introduces, lashes batting, "Priestess of Dygra, chaos enthusiast, orgy organizer." Her grip tightens just enough to help coax him the rest of the way out of the stones, her body pressed close as she tugs with unnecessary but absolutely aesthetic flourish.

"I was given a surprise early bedtime too. For several centuries, in fact," she confides, nose scrunching adorably despite the molten sparks licking up her wrist. With a conspiratorial grin, she gestures vaguely skyward, the cave ceiling glowing orange in her light. "As for when this is, well, that gets tricky. The year’s technically based on a calendar born from a very silly war caused by a very silly wanna-be goddess." She twirls her free hand, flame pirouetting at her fingertips. "So technically we're in 319 post cataclysm, not that it'll mean much to you depending on how long you've been out. But don’t worry. I can catch you up in all the important ways."

.

Pann

catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green

Oh, the way she says my name.

It lingers—slow and sticky, like sin pressed between silk sheets. My grin deepens as her hand slides into mine, and I let her help me step free of the stone with the air of a man who could do it himself, but wouldn’t dream of denying her the pleasure. Her introduction has my brows climbing sky-high, and by the time she gets to orgy organizer, I’m dangerously close to proposing on the spot.

Instead, I step back just enough to bow—no half-hearted nod, no lazy dip of the head. This is a flourish, dramatic and velvety, one hand pressed theatrically to my chest as the other lifts hers. I kiss her knuckles first—classic, charming, perfectly polite. Then I turn her hand, slower now, more reverent, and kiss the inside of her wrist. Not just a gesture of flirtation, though there’s plenty of that—it’s respect.

“A priestess of our dark mother,” I murmur, letting the kiss linger just a moment too long. “I’m honored. Humbled, even. And frankly a bit embarrassed I’ve never heard your name before now. Charlie. Positively endearing.”

I straighten and give myself a sharp brush-down, only to grimace at the state of my clothes. My vest is hanging by one side like a dying promise, and my shirt’s torn across the collarbone. I sigh dramatically.  “They sealed me in here looking like a prince, and now I look like I crawled out of a tavern fight and lost.” A pause. “Which, to be fair, is not the worst look for me.”

While she speaks of calendars and cataclysms, I run my fingers through my hair, dislodging a puff of dust and ash. Ugh. I brush it off like a personal insult and glance up at her glowing flame-painted ceiling.

“Shame I missed this cataclysm. I do love a good world-ending event. Nothing brings people together quite like a shared apocalypse.”

I glance toward the cave mouth, a thoughtful frown settling across my face. “Priestess Charlie,” I murmur, “has the world grown any more... tolerant of our kind? Or are they still shoving anything remotely divine and dangerous into stone cages and pretending it solves their problems?” I tilt my head, voice softer now, edged in hunger. “Because while I’m not exactly keen to be entombed again… nature can’t be helped.” A flash of fang in my grin. “And I’d hate to make a bad first impression on a brand new millenia.”

you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

The kiss to her knuckles makes her grin.
The kiss to her wrist makes her glow.

Heat blooms along her skin like a curtain rising, slow and decadent, as if her flames can’t help but respond to the reverence in his mouth. Sparks unfurl in the crown of her curls, catching like glitter in the soft swells of her hair, and her horns sing with emberlight. By the time the fire trailing down her arm brushes gently across Pann’s cheek, Charlie is already laughing—a low, delighted thing that rings like a windchime drunk on wine.

"No need to apologize, sweet thing," she purrs, lifting his hand in turn and pressing her lips to his dust-smeared knuckles with playful mockery and molten grace. "Despite my baby-demon aesthetic and general air of youthful depravity, I’m a good deal older than I look. Early days, even. Like, when-the-gods-were-barely-housebroken early." Her eyes glitter as she twines her fingers loosely through his, tracing lazy spirals of heat over his palm. "Which means I was probably tucked away in stone the entire time you were making the world more interesting."

She leans in with a wink. "But lucky us. Awake at the same time now." She says it like a toast, raising her hand in a mock cheers before letting her gaze slide downward—slow and utterly unrepentant. Her eyes sweep across the torn collar, the dirt-dusted vest, the stubbornly charming trousers that hang low on his hips. "Hm," she hums, tail flicking. "Honestly, I think you’re pulling it off rather scandalously well. Sort of like a roguish statue’s attempt at high fashion. Very...post-entombment chic."

But at his question—real and weighted beneath the flirtation—Charlie straightens just a little. She doesn’t dim, not exactly, but the fire around her settles into a lower, thoughtful burn. "Tolerance?" she echoes, then nods slowly. "More than there used to be, for sure. The Ancients—those of us who got the stone treatment—mostly hang out here in the Hollowed Grounds now. We’ve kind of reclaimed the place."

Then Charlie's smile spreads, all fang and fire. "Now, depending on what or who you like to satisfy your bloodlust on..." Her tone lilts like a purr in a velvet glove, one brow arched. "You might have to be a little subtle. Animals and livestock are all fairly widely accepted." She tilts her head. "Cannibalism’s more of a niche hobby these days." Which wasn't to say forbidden, but certainly it was a good deal more covertly done.

Another shrug, her silks catching the firelight. "I’m happy to help with that part, by the way. Integration. Culture. Wardrobe." The priestess pauses before her ruby lips pull back enough to reveal her fangs in a wide grin. "Or de-robing."

.

Pann

catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green

The fire grazing my cheek draws a grin that curls slow and sharp, heat licking across my skin like a lover’s sigh. Her laughter rings through the cavern and I lean back to drink it in, positively drunk on the sound. It’s the kind of laugh that makes the world feel smaller and more interesting all at once—like I’ve already won a game I haven’t started playing.

She forgives my ignorance with such grace that I feel nearly guilty for it. Nearly. Truth is, I don’t quite remember how old I am. Old enough that stars have been born and burned out in the time I’ve spent asleep. Old enough that hearing her speak of gods being barely housebroken makes me wonder if we ever brushed shoulders in the belly of time and simply forgot. I find myself reverent. Genuinely so. And that’s rare.

“Lucky us, indeed,” I purr, raising an invisible glass with a wink, her mock-toast met with one of my own.

When her gaze drapes over me, sultry and unrepentant, I laugh—loud and unabashed. “Sounds like something someone would charge a fortune for in a cursed boutique. ‘Wrinkled Vest of Eternal Slumber,’ only three-thousand and your soul on layaway.’”

But when she speaks of tolerance, I listen. My smile twitches sideways at the mention of bloodlust, and I drag a hand through my hair with a long-suffering groan.

“Cannibalism,” I echo, sighing dramatically. “They never forget that one time, do they? I swear, a few villagers go missing—suddenly you’re the pariah of the century.” I raise a hand in half-hearted defense. “I only indulge when the opportunity is too exquisite to pass up. I just… may have gotten a bit carried away back then. Tempers were high. Wine was spilled. Entrails were involved. You know how it goes.”

Her offer catches me, bright and sharp, and I step closer like a man drawn to warmth he hasn’t felt in a thousand years—perhaps I haven’t. Her silks glimmer like flame given form, and I can’t help myself—my fingers reach, brushing lightly along the hem where firelight dances at the edge. My eyes flick up, flashing with hunger and amusement.

“My dear,” I murmur, voice a low thread of velvet, “given the state of this ensemble…” I flick a piece of shredded vest between us, letting it fall. “...I daresay it’s worthy of outright discarding. Don’t you think?”

I tilt my head, lips parting in a grin that bares my fangs back at her. “How scandalous would it be for an Ancient to arrive at these Hallowed Grounds wearing nothing but the blessings of a priestess?”

you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be

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."

.

Pann

catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green

Her little shrug earns a slow arch of my brow, the corner of my mouth tugging upward. I hum low in my throat at the way she calls them prey—soft-fleshed folk tucked in with the rest of the animals. It’s a good description. A true description. And it sits warm and satisfying in the pit of me like a meal already half-tasted.

Her hands rise, and I watch her like she’s the only thing worth watching—eyes dark, unblinking, intent. The first brush of heat over my chest blooms through me like a second heartbeat, fire sinking into flesh and deeper still. When her nails drag down my skin, I close my eyes for just a moment, letting the sensation ripple through me until she hits my waistband and hooks her fingers there.

Oh, fuck. If this is how the world greets me after centuries of stone, I should have broken free sooner.

Then she says it—ride her—and I lick my lips, half a dozen entirely different images flooding my mind. But then she clarifies dragon, and my brows jump high before my grin widens into something wolfish. I lift my hand, trailing the backs of my fingers up from where she rests them at my waist, slow enough to make it a deliberate act. The touch glides over silk and skin, past the curve of her arm, up to her shoulder, where I catch a lock of curl and gently sweep it back. The firelight spills across the line of her neck, exposing the steady beat of her pulse. My thumb brushes over it, light as breath.

“Tell me,” I murmur, voice low and edged in wickedness, “would I be so blessed by Dygra herself for it to be your bed you drop me into?”

The smile I give her then is all shameless sin—teeth, hunger, and the kind of promise that leaves no doubt I’d be a very willing offering.

you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

Charlie purrs into his touch, the noise low and pleased like a cat soaking in sunlight. The stroke of his fingers against her arm coaxes sparks from her skin, but it’s the way he tucks back her curls—so maddeningly reverent—that makes her breath catch, just for a heartbeat. She leans into it shamelessly, lashes brushing his jaw, and murmurs, "There’s no need to be so gentle, darling."

As if on cue, the flames coiled around her fingertips slither lower with a predator’s grace. Heat curls around his hips and thighs, unravelling cloth like a promise kept, until the last threads are kissed away in ash and smoke. Charlie rises to the balls of her feet, pressing herself flush against him—soft silks, soft curves, soft sigh—contrasting the deliciously dangerous curl of her claws dragging down the outsides of his thighs.

She grins up at him, all heat and wickedness. "Blessed?" she echoes, tongue tucked teasingly against her teeth before her voice lowers, sultry and slow as honey dripped over coals. "But if you find yourself in my bed..." Her thumb traces along the edge of his hip, dipping slightly, "you can bet I’ll be spending every minute worshipping you like you’re the altar and I’m on my knees for Dygra herself."

Charlie’s tail coils behind her like a question mark made of mischief. "And believe me," she adds with a gleam in her eyes that borders on reverent hunger, "I’m a very devout priestess."

.

Pann

catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green

My fingers trail slowly down her back—no longer soft, no longer reverent. There’s a possessive curl to them now, an edge of hunger as I reach her waist and grip. Harder this time. At her whispered invitation, I lean in close, my voice a low growl against the curve of her ear. “As you wish… priestess.”

The fire licks higher, greedy and glorious, burning away the last of what remained of my clothes, and I let it take me. Breathe it in. Gods, I’ve missed the feeling of heat—true heat—crawling across my skin. But it’s nothing compared to her. Her silks press soft against me, her curves molding to mine like she was sculpted for this exact sin, and when her claws drag down the backs of my thighs, a deep, guttural sound escapes me—half laugh, half moan. I bite my lower lip and my eyes blaze.

My grip tightens at her waist, drawing her in. One hand slips beneath the hem of her silk, sliding palm-first along her skin, the touch teasing but hungry. The other finds the back of her neck, cradling it, fingers threading into her wild curls. I tilt her head slightly, gaze locked on hers, and smile like a man about to be ruined and thanking every star for it.

“I’ll be your altar,” I murmur. “Your offering. Your idol. Whatever you desire of me.”

My hand falls from her waist to her hip, thumbs pressing firm into the swell of her skin as I pull her flush to me, breathing in the scent of smoke and fire and her. “Tell me,” I whisper, voice rough and wanting, “what devotions must I give… to be granted the privilege of your worship?”

you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

Charlie lets her head tip back into the cradle of his grip, her throat arching in a line of surrender that’s anything but passive. The curl of his fingers at her hip earns a languid roll of her body into the touch, her silks whispering against his skin. In the firelight, she drinks him in—the ruin of his clothes, the sin-easy curve of his mouth, the pale blaze of his eyes framed in those maddening curls. When he draws her closer, the answering spark in her own blue gaze is equal parts lust and mischief, a private toast to the trouble they’re about to cause. One brow lifts, slow and deliberate, the gesture a wordless seal of approval.

"Your desire to worship," she murmurs, her voice low and velvet-dark, "is all I need."

And then—gone. A flicker of movement too quick for the fire to catch, the rush of magic in her blood, and she’s no longer in front of him but in his arms. Using her dart! this way is a trick honed to an art, perfected in the company of taller Ancients; she sweeps her arms around Pann's neck and locks her legs at his waist before gravity even has a chance to try and reclaim her.

The moment she’s there, she claims him; her mouth finding his in a kiss that steals and gives in the same breath. It’s deep and unapologetic, her lips parting to let her tongue stroke and taste like she’s breathing life back into him, each pass deliberate and consuming. Her body presses tight to his, molten heat and silk-wrapped sin, as if she intends to make good on every promise she’s ever purred; her kiss the first hymn in a liturgy meant for him alone.

.

Pann

catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green

She vanishes and my breath catches—surprise cutting through the heat, followed by a flash of disappointment at the sudden absence of her warmth. But then—blessed Dygra—she’s back, a rush of motion and heat, legs locking around my bare waist, arms anchoring me as her mouth claims mine.

I draw in a deep breath of her—smoke, silk, sin—and there’s not a shred of hesitation in the way I kiss her back. It’s hungry, immediate, reverent in its own debauched way, as if I’m already at the altar she promised. One arm wraps solidly beneath her, holding her tight to me, the other sliding up beneath her clothing, fingers greedy for the heat of her skin, urging her to shed the barrier entirely.

I try—by the gods—to summon flame, to burn away her silks as she’d done to me, but nothing answers. The frustration bubbles up in a low growl against her mouth. No matter. There are other ways to strip bare a priestess.

I turn, stepping toward the flattest stretch of the crevice wall, pressing her back to it so I can press into her, into that impossible heat. My hands tangle in her curls, pulling her head back just enough for my mouth to descend down the column of her throat. I kiss her there, slow at first, then harder—biting, pulling with my lips until I know the mark will linger, a visible prayer written on her skin.

One hand fists in her silks, pulling the fabric upward in impatient, reverent tugs, eager to see her bare before me. The other roams, mapping her curves like scripture, memorizing every line. I’m rock hard against her, aching with the hunger of centuries denied, my body thrumming with need and devotion both.

you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

Charlie’s grin curves wicked against his mouth, tasting the frustration in his kiss and finding it delicious. There’s a kind of poetry in his hands doing what his fire once could—a primal, tangible claiming—and she lets him have it, lets him take. Silks surrender under his grip, tearing away until her breasts are bared, perfect and palm-filling, the kind of tempting shape that all but begs to be worshipped. She’s small, yes, but her curves are lush and shameless, every line meant to entice, to fit against him in a way that feels inevitable.

Only the black lace between her thighs remains, and that—well. A spark blooms at the hollow of her throat, a single molten drop of flame sliding downward like a lover’s hand, licking over her stomach before catching the lace. It burns away in a slow, deliberate curl of heat until she’s bare in his arms, heat meeting heat with nothing left between them.

Her legs are still wrapped high around his waist, and she shifts her hold just enough for her hips to pull back, tail uncurling in a languid sweep before coiling, sinuous and sure, around the base of his cock. The movement draws the head up between her thighs, and she squeezes in a slow, measured pulse along his length, the touch all teasing promise. Her fingers slide into his curls, fisting there, tugging until his mouth is back on hers. The kiss is hungry, claiming, her hips rolling against him in a rhythm that’s half taunt, half invitation, her tail tightening around his length. She drinks him in like she means to devour—every sound, every shiver—welcoming him into the kind of game where both of them already know exactly how it ends.

.

Pann

catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green

Her silks give way beneath my hands, and I follow the path they leave with my mouth—kissing lower, slower, until I take the soft peak of her breast between my lips. My teeth graze her there, just enough to tease, to make her skin flush hotter beneath my tongue. I glance down in time to see the last of her clothes kissed to ash by her own fire, and hunger grips me like a fist.

Then her tail winds around my cock, and the sound I make against her skin is more a moan than a breath—low, unguarded, electric. She drags me back up and I meet her mouth without hesitation, kissing her like a man who’s been starving in the dark for centuries. My hips roll with hers, matching her rhythm, my own tail curling tight in a mix of pleasure and frustration, every muscle straining for more.

And then—ah, but there’s more to worship than this.

With a sudden shift, I hook both arms beneath her, feeling her weight settle into my grip as I lift. Her legs slide higher, higher still, until they drape over my shoulders, her back braced against the cave wall, the firelight painting every line of her in gold and shadow. I pause just long enough to look up at her, my grin slow and wicked, before bowing my head like a supplicant before his goddess.

My mouth finds her center, reverent and unhurried. My tongue moves in long, rolling strokes over that delicious bundle of nerves, each one deliberate, lingering, worshipful in a way only a truly devout man can manage. Every flick, every press is a prayer, and I mean every word.

you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be