>>5291551Your forces disperse for they will be sleeping. Glowie alone hovers nearby, almost expectantly.
“What is it?” you ask.
Glowie struggles to communicate the thought, not for lack of vocabulary but for the (to her) strangeness of her mouth-parts. Eventually, she manages to form the words in a way you can parse:
“Your dragonshape is… Very nice. Such power… Such ROYALTY…”
That hunger is back in her expression, that intensity. Her tail lashes and lifts, and if you didn’t know better you’d think you sensed the signs of estrus.
“I liked it.”
You stare back, mind going a mile a minute and your preexisting sexual frustration bubbling beneath the lid of decorum like an overcooked pot. Your claws flex and unflex. You remind yourself that, beneath the superficial charms imbued by the amulet, this is an enormous caterpillar.
“Rest, Glowie,” you command.
Glowie’s tail lowers, as does her head in a small bow. She is disappointed, you can tell, but goes.
Were it not a disgusting sin and a sign of Degeneracy to waste seed upon the cavern floor… Well, suffice it to say, you experience no relief this night, and rest does not come easily to your body or spirit.
