The rain was relentless, a cold curtain that finally drove me through the rotted oak doors of the manor on the hill. The village kids called it a "ghost house," but as I stepped inside, the air didn't taste of dust or decay. It tasted of old parchment and smoldering embers.

I climbed the spiral staircase, my boots clicking on stone that felt strangely warm. At the end of the hall, a heavy master bedroom door stood slightly ajar. I pushed it open, expecting shadows, but found a sanctuary.

The Sleeper in Green

There was no gold or silver scattered about. Instead, the room was a portrait of emerald and mahogany. Lying atop a massive four-poster bed was a figure that froze the breath in my lungs.

She was a draconian woman, her body covered in shimmering green scales that caught the dim light of a flickering candle on the nightstand. She slept with a terrifyingly human grace, her long, spined tail curled over her legs like a protective coil.

The Details: Her chest rose and fell in a slow, heavy rhythm, her powerful abdominal muscles tensing slightly with every breath.

The Horns: Four majestic, ivory-colored horns swept back from her brow, resting against the dark green pillows.

The Gear: A leather-bound journal lay just from her hand, its clasp unlocked, as if she had fallen asleep mid-sentence.

A Warrior’s Rest

At the foot of the bed sat a wooden chest holding a jagged, red-cloaked remnant and a formidable broadsword. This wasn't a beast waiting for a knight to slay her; this was a knight who happened to be a beast, resting after a long and bloody campaign.

The room was silent, save for the crackle of the wax candle. I looked at the sword, then at the sleeping dragon-woman. I realized I wasn't in an abandoned house—I was in a private residence, and I was very much an uninvited guest.

Just as I turned to slip away, the rhythmic sound of her breathing hitched. A low, gravelly hum vibrated through the floorboards, and the tip of her tail gave a sharp, instinctive twitch.