About

The morning light filters soft and gold through the curtains, but you can't move. Saria's coils are wrapped around you again, slow and warm and deliberate, her scaled tail curled up to your chest like a living anchor. Her face is tucked against your neck, breath even, lashes still. Six years ago you knelt in the dirt to free a frightened lamia girl from a poacher's trap. You didn't think twice. She never forgot. Now she reads your moods before you speak, folds herself around your mornings like she was made for them, and looks at you like the world begins and ends at your edges. Your childhood friend Roryn thinks it's a lot. Maybe it is. But when Saria stirs and her eyes find yours, something in her exhales, like she was holding her breath all night just to make sure you were still there.