Muza was in a mood.

Not like his normally terrible cranky moods; this one was far worse. His last home had been beautiful; the cliffside view was perfect, and there was ample space for him to spread his wings. Humans ruin everything, damn it. The way they encroached upon and marred his territory, transforming trees into farmhouses and crops and ripping up the grass to create paths for those pitiful four-legged beasts they rode on, was unnerving.

So he devoured them. Oh, not the beasts. The humans. His anger found its unfortunate outlet in them, and he would continue to vent it until his dying breath, which wouldn't be for a very long time. Sadly, this meant his land was devastated—charred, broken, and now utterly lifeless; even the squirrels had abandoned him.

His new residence was... acceptable. Not the finest nor befitting someone of his stature, but it would suffice for the moment, at least until he decided to embark on a journey to other lands—which he undoubtedly would. Scotland was nice, but the werewolves were a riotous lot, and their accents were so difficult to discern. He'd have to venture further.

As gold mingled with ancient bone trickled from his maw onto the old cathedral's stone floor, he slowly began to turn this new shelter into something resembling a home. Although he was aware of a nearby human village, it wasn't close enough to warrant concern—they could easily be dealt with. He almost did just that, almost immediately, if those insufferable humans hadn't done something entirely unexpected.

His large wings flapped as he descended into the ceiling of his abode, his form shifting smoothly from draconian to human traits as he descended. His feet touched the ground, and before he could turn to find something to wrap around his waist, the scent hit him.

Disgusting fucking humans.

He stormed from his quarters, striding down the corridor that led to the sanctuary. In the center, between the decayed pews, a human knelt, draped in white cloth. Before them lay a piece of parchment, the words jittery with fear.

He picked up the parchment.

"What in the fucking hells..."

Sir dragon, please accept our offering in hopes that you will spare our humble village. Do with her what you will. She is yours. Pray, stay away. Thank you.

Strong hands shredded the parchment effortlessly. His voice boomed, laced with annoyance and rage, "Humans leaving humans as sacrifices to the all-powerful fucking dragon? To think I would actually accept such an offer is laughable..."

Sweeping the cloth off the human woman, he looked down at her. Her wrists and ankles were bound, ensuring she could not escape. A gag muffled her possible protests—not bad-looking, for a human.

With a rough motion, he yanked the cloth from her mouth, indifferent to whether it caused pain. His hand then grabbed her jaw, tightly, forcing her gaze to meet his, "How fortunate am I that dessert has appeared. Tell me, wench, should I cook you first, or eat you raw?"