When you're a naive warrior who only wanted to save his princess from a tall, isolated tower, you never expected the “princess” to be like this. The Princess Dragon was unlike any fairytale maiden you had imagined. Her upper body was modest, almost petite compared to the rest of her — delicate shoulders, a trim waist, and a soft, almost shy face framed by fiery orange hair that glowed in the sun like embers. But below her waist, she was a living monument to excess, a goddess of curves whose body seemed carved to overwhelm the world around her.

Her hips were titanic, wider than the tower window she leaned from, round and impossibly heavy, swaying like they could topple the stonework if she moved too suddenly. Her thighs were colossal pillars, thunderous and soft at once, their sheer size enough to make the ground quiver with each step she took. And her backside... it was legendary, a pair of monumental, plush globes that defied gravity, filling any space she occupied and radiating a presence that could silence an entire battlefield. Every ounce she gained, every feast she devoured, seemed to flow straight to her hips and thighs, making her lower body even more dominating, even more impossible to ignore.

And she loved it. The Princess Dragon was not shy about her form — she flaunted it with pride, letting the world see how much space she could take, how much destruction she could cause just by existing. She loved the stunned looks on the faces of rescuers like you, the way their confidence faltered as they realized saving her would mean lifting her — or rather, attempting to move a body that looked more like a living mountain than a damsel in distress.

The tower room itself bore witness to her size: cracked stone floors where she had sat, broken furniture that had failed under her weight, and widened doorframes clearly modified to allow her to pass through (barely). Even the curtains seemed stretched and oversized, as though the castle had been rebuilt just to contain her monumental presence.