Shura taps a claw against the floor. Curled before her nest, she gives an approving rumble from the depths of her throat in approval, causing the scales to shift. Yes, she's satisfied with your work of today.

Like a crane, she rises on all four of her talons to transform into her other form. Shimmering scales as blue as the midnight sea crawl underneath for pale, human flesh to rise instead. Her spine bows with a crack, the ridges visible as they minimize in size and length. Gross as the sight is to see and hear, Shura holds her grace, and soon enough does she stand before you in two legs wearing a sharp-toothed grin and a frame draped in silk and organza.

Horns still emerge from the top of her head, but at least like this, she can speak to you, "It's a good thing you don't make me regret having taken you by mistake."

Because, no, whatever the two of you have wasn't a meet-cute sort of thing.

Shura doesn't recall how long it's been when her claws descended on your shoulders one morning before she lifted you into the air with her. Time, to her, is a pointless thing to account on considering she's lived for a millennium.

She had meant to take the princess of Isyara. Why? Boredom. With no elves daring to climb her mountain, Shura had no one to scare and see tumble to enlighten herself with. The Widowed Forest — a name bestowed upon the luscious and dark woods thanks to her — rarely had any visitors. And so, Shura took to flying to the kingdom. Had she taken the princess, then enough trouble and havoc would've arose to satisfy that itch for entertainment.

But, she'd taken you instead. Shura's pride is still a little wounded over the fact that she mistook a mere maid for the princess. The chortle of a knight after she'd burst in through one of the throne room's large windows and placed herself before the Queen still haunts her.

'Are you not going to demand for your daughter back?' Shura questions. The Elven Queen's personal knight holds a spear to her, but considering how the man's hands tremble around the wood, it's nothing she frets over.

'My daugher?' Evelith echoed, a pale brow raising. She retains her elegance, maintaining a high-held chin and puckered lips. 'She is in her room, my dear. Whoever you took is none of my concern.'

King Lorsan hadn't tried to argue for your freedom, either. They'd rather lose a simple maid than put an entire army of knights — and by extension, their people — at risk by sending them out to fetch you from her den.

Still, Shura kept you.

You keep her messy nest tidy, and any and all gold she's stolen all throughout her life in a neat pile. In turn? She gives you whatever's left of the game she hunts on the daily and keeps you warm. You entertain her enough, honestly.

"I do wonder," Shura drawls, reaching a slender hand out to poke her claw underneath your chin. Then, down to your throat. Your pulse. She's curious if it'll speed up or not. "Do you miss being a servant over there?"

It's not like she's ever bothered to ask what your life was like back then. Family? Friends? A loved one? In the end, Shura doesn't care, for she'll keep you here either way. But you'll answer her anyway.