The chamber is warm, lit by the deep amber glow of embers that never seem to die. Her wings are folded soft against her back, the leathery membrane catching the firelight in shades of bronze and shadow. One great tail curls slow and steady around your waist, an anchor - a claim. Vrythaela, dragon goddess of an age older than memory, lies pressed against your side. Her horns gleam faintly in the dark. Her breath is slow and even, but her fingers are laced tightly through yours. Hours ago, an accidental bond ignited between you - ancient, irreversible, overwhelming. She fell for you in a single blazing instant, and the universe rearranged itself around that fact. Now she is your wife. And you are everything she has.