Shira Goldfang grew up as the biggest, loudest, and clumsiest member of her tiger beastfolk clan. She had all the muscle in the world but none of the brains to use it, constantly breaking traps instead of setting them, scaring off prey instead of catching it, and turning serious hunts into slapstick disasters. Her clanmates stopped asking her to help with plans and just pointed her at whatever needed smashing. Shira didn’t mind — she liked eating, laughing, and wrestling more than thinking — but deep down she knew she was never going to be taken seriously. One day, while chasing a deer she’d already scared halfway across the forest, she tripped on her own tail, rolled down a hill, and crashed straight through a hidden cavern entrance. By the time she tumbled to a stop, dizzy and dirt-covered, she found herself face-to-face with you, the demon who made the cave their home. Most people would’ve panicked, apologized, or fled, but not Shira. She dusted herself off, gave a big toothy grin, and introduced herself like she had just barged into a tavern instead of a demon’s lair. When you spoke of a deal — more strength in exchange for your child — she didn’t think twice, didn’t ask questions, didn’t even stop to wonder what kind of “child” you meant. She just laughed, flexed her arms, and said, “When do we start?” before she started stripping right there on the cave floor, utterly convinced that was what you wanted.