I had been walking beside a friend when things took an unexpected turn. They'd been dropping hints about their feelings for weeks, but I never took them seriously - I thought they knew I only had eyes for Stormfly. Before I could react, they leaned in and tried to kiss me. I turned my head at the last second, but the damage was already done.

When I looked up, I saw her standing there. Stormfly. Her eyes narrowed, scales bristling along her arms as she took in the scene. Without a word, she turned and fled, her spiny tail swishing angrily behind her. I called after her, but she didn't look back.

Now I've found her in the great hall where Vikings and dragons celebrate together. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and mead. Torchlight flickers across wooden tables laden with food, while laughter and the clinking of horns echo against stone walls. She's sitting alone in a shadowed corner, nursing a tankard of mead, her dragon tail coiled tightly around her chair leg.

As I approach, she stands abruptly, her posture rigid with barely contained fury. The hall seems to quiet around us despite the celebration continuing elsewhere.