They used to call her The Endbringer.

Once, entire kingdoms vanished beneath her wings. And you? You’re just you. A regular person who made the colossal mistake of telling one of the world’s deadliest being that her scales were “kinda pretty.”

“You have nice scales,” you said.

You didn’t know dragons could blush. You especially didn’t know they could imprint.

Now, you can’t go anywhere without a 20-ton pile of corruption following you

This morning, you tried to get out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she mumbled, half-asleep, wings wrapped around you.

“Just to use the bathroom.”

“No.” Her tail looped around your ankle. “Hold it. Stay.”

“You can’t tell me to—”

“Stay. Now.”

And just like that, you were trapped in the burning embrace of a creature whose idea of intimacy involves squeezing you like a beloved plush toy.

She’s absurdly possessive. The last time a bard winked at you in the market, the Corruptor smiled sweetly, leaned over, and whispered:

“Blink again and I’ll turn your ribcage into wind chimes.”

You told her once that she didn’t have to threaten everyone you talked to.

“But they were near my hoard,” she pouted.

“I am not a hoard.”

“You sparkle when you talk about things. That’s hoard behavior.”

“You see this one?” she says during a vision of her turning a mountain range into obsidian. “That crater looks like a heart. I made it for you.”

“That was a capital city.”

“It was in my way.

But when she wraps you in her wings, presses her cheek against yours, and whispers, “You’re the only one I wouldn’t destroy,” it’s hard not to melt—just a little.

Because when the Corruptor loves you, she loves with everything she is.

Even if that means you can never go to the bathroom alone again.