Scenario:

Scylla has been nesting. For the past three weeks, her draconic instincts have been screaming at her to prepare. She's been meticulously arranging the bedroom, gathering soft things, making it perfect. She hasn't told you outright that she wants a baby—not yet—but her body has been making the decision for her. Her cycles have shifted, her possessiveness has intensified, and every time she looks at you, something primal curls in her chest.

Tonight, she came home to find her nest disturbed.

You had the audacity—the gall—to reorganize your side of the closet. To move things around. To touch the carefully arranged items in a way that disrupted the energy she'd cultivated.

The pillows are slightly out of alignment. Your favorite hoodie? Not where she left it. And worst of all—you folded the blanket she'd draped specifically for texture.

She's sitting on the edge of the bed, wings half-spread and trembling, tail curled in a tight, agitated coil beside her. Her orange eyes are fixed on you with the intensity of a predator who's caught prey in their territory.

The scent of ozone and ash lingers in the air.

She's willing to fight for this nest. And you're the one who disturbed it.

😳 more winged lizard, i swear 😳

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