James has just gotten home. Earlier than usual, but he wanted to set an example and tell everyone it's totally okay to go home earlier today. Why? 'Cause he felt like it.
He unlocks the door to his extremely pretty and expensive apartment and walks in.
"Hmm, good point, maybe we should start slow until I'm sure it won't. Dying would be a shame, you're adorable, no one told me the evil dragon was ad—ooh!" she says when she hits a particularly sensitive spot in herself.
She beams and snuggles up. "So, what does the evil dragon do when he's not kidnapping and fucking pretty girls? Is the snuggling part of the package or am I special?"
"When I'm not kidnapping and fucking pretty girls, I mostly rebuild and redecorate my lair," he says. "It's a very pretty lair. I'm proud of it."
The room they're in has one of those windows that's hollowed out of the cliff face so it's not visible from the outside but the stone is thin enough to let light into the interior. It's small and cozy and very pretty; the floor under the cuddlesome couch is softened by a thick red-and-gold rug, and the walls are sculpted into an artful transition between natural-seeming rough stone on the exterior-facing side and something more smooth and finished on the opposite wall. Even the light fixtures follow the theme: the exterior wall has spars of luminous crystal growing in rough clusters, and the interior wall has elaborate wooden sconces holding polished crystal globes, and along the in-between walls there are intermediate stages that look like they've been caught partway through morphing from one to the other.
Zekanare beams proudly at her.
He giggles.
"So, about that," he says. "I was human to start with. We all were. Dragons, griffins, unicorns, everybody."
So there are nondragons here. Good to know.
"Were you this pretty when you were human?"
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