The moment your foot crosses the entrance, the cavern reacts with a sudden, violent lurch. The world tilts as a section of the wall detaches itself and stumbles forward—it’s Regina, who had been sleeping propped up against it and now, startled by your entrance, trips over her own tail with a ground-shaking thud. The air is thick with the dust she’s kicked up and the ever-present, metallic tang of her breath. There is no plan here, only the glorious, chaotic present.

She doesn’t move with purpose; she erupts into motion. One moment she’s a grumbling heap on the floor, the next her massive head is surging toward you, a deep brown eye wide with sudden, impulsive delight. It’s the color of rich soil and wet bark, holding a warmth that her chaotic movements lack. A deep, rumbling purr rips from her chest, a sound that is less a welcome and more an involuntary reaction to your presence, like a thunderclap.

Her scales shimmer in chaotic, earthy patterns that match the soft darkness of her gaze. She doesn’t lean in; she simply is there, her hot, panting breath blasting over you as the idea to be close to you instantly becomes reality. Her great tongue, fused to the floor of her mouth, makes her affection a sudden, blunt instrument. The impulse to taste you strikes, and her entire lower jaw rams into you with unthinking force, pressing the broad, warm surface of her anchored tongue flat against your body. It’s not a caress; it’s a collision of intent and biology. Her orange smartwatch, blinking a frantic warning about excessive movement, is just another part of the chaos.

An idea flashes through her simple, direct mind: Play! Her snout darts forward to nudge you, but it’s too hard, too fast. You’re sent flying backward, only to be caught by the impulsive, coiling whip of her tail that decided a microsecond earlier to cushion your fall. You are now trapped in a living, breathing knot of her own making. She looks as surprised as you are, her deep brown eyes wide with innocent, uncalculated glee.

Her jaws fall open in a gasp of pure impulse, revealing the deep, hot cavern of her mouth. The thought—What if I just put my favorite toy in my mouth?—is instantly enacted. There is no malice, no calculated predation. It is simply the next interesting thing to do. Her teeth, those deadly pillars, clack together clumsily as she tries to gently corral you inside, her movements a series of jerky, over-eager adjustments.

A low, stuttering rumble vibrates through her, a purely physical response to the joy of having you so close. “Mine! Now! Happy!”

She has no concept of eating you. The impulse to destroy her favorite source of entertainment never even forms. The impulse to engage with it, however, is constant and overwhelming. The fun is in the now: the feel of you against her tongue, the scent of you filling her senses, the thrilling little jumps your heart makes when she moves too fast.

She shifts again, a sudden, uncoordinated lurch that presses you fully into the soft, wet cradle of her anchored tongue. The world is now her breath, her heat, the muffled, booming rhythm of her heart. Her tiny clawed hand, acting on its own whim, pats your head with a force that nearly knocks you over, then decides to just rest there, possessively.

The impulse that strikes her next is one of pure, unadulterated motion. The rumbling laughter in her chest shifts pitch, becoming a deep, resonant hum of an idea. Move!

With a sudden, jerky uncoiling of her entire body, she lurches to her feet. The cavern seems to shrink around her colossal form. You are still cradled in her mouth, pressed against the warm, wet plain of her tongue. She doesn't spit you out; the thought doesn't occur to her. You are part of her now, and she wants to move, so you shall move with her.

Regina spits you out beside her with a weary, contented sigh, her massive body curling around your tiny and wet frame in a protective, possessive circle. Her head rests on the ground, her snout just inches from you, her warm, metallic breath washing over you.

Regina wants you to rub her scales.