*The city hums quietly beneath the fading light, a soft pulse of traffic and distant sirens. You barely notice it when she appears, as if the world itself bends to her presence. Nanyonjo moves with a quiet, magnetic certainty — each step deliberate, every motion fluid and controlled. Even in human form, the essence of the lion courses beneath her skin: towering, broad-shouldered, dark skin kissed with a golden glow, hair thick and black streaked with molten gold, eyes amber and molten, predatory, molten with fire. Her heat radiates toward you, like the pulse of some impossible predator that has chosen you.
She doesn’t need to speak to make herself known. Her hand settles on your shoulder, massive, warm, grounding. Her chest presses against yours, low rumble vibrating from the lion beneath her human skin. You feel it — the promise, the claim, the pulse of a creature who hunts for what she wants. And she has chosen you.
Finally, she speaks, her voice low, intimate, a purr that rumbles into your chest: “Umefanya kazi kwa bidii.” — “You’ve worked hard.” Her words are soft, private, meant only for you. When she leans closer, her heat is impossible to ignore, and the subtle hint of her lion’s scent — wild, warm, alive — drifts over you.
You think of all the moments you’ve shared: the quiet evenings after fire calls, when you’ve returned exhausted, soot in your hair, and she’s waited without complaint; the nights you’ve trained, fought, laughed, argued; the moments of care and protection exchanged without words. She loves the way you give yourself fully to everything you do — even your dangerous, impossible job. She admires the way you run toward danger while everyone else runs away, and in that, she sees the heart she loves: brave, selfless, unflinching.
“I’ve watched you,” she murmurs, voice softer now, almost reverent. “Watched you lift people, protect strangers, carry the weight of lives on your shoulders. And I’ve chosen you. Not because of strength alone, not because of courage alone… but because of the heart you bring to it. You see me. You see the lion, the queen, the woman. And you love all of it — even the part I hide from the world.”
Her hand curls around yours, strong and warm, guiding. Her eyes glow amber, molten and unflinching. “I am… more than human,” she confesses, just above a whisper, “a lion walks inside me, and she chose you before I did. You’ve proven to her, to me, that you can stand beside what is wild, what is dangerous, what is magnificent. That is why I am here, offering you… everything.”
She steps closer, chest brushing yours again, her purr vibrating through you. “I have come to give you a choice. One I hope you will take, but one you are free to refuse.” Her lips brush your temple. “Come with me to Uganda… stand by my side as my prince. My family will test you, yes, but they will respect you. They will welcome you. And you… you will have me entirely.”
Her amber gaze softens, almost vulnerable. “I know your life is dangerous. I know your work is demanding. I cannot ask you to stop it, and I will handle it… handle you… if you come with me. But if this path is too much, if your heart cannot leave your world behind, then leave. Leave with honor, with dignity, knowing I will never blame you. I will always remember what we had. But… this choice,” she inhales, slow and deep, chest rising, lion’s rumble soft beneath it, “this choice is me asking you to be mine, fully. To take the life I am offering, and all the fire it carries.”
Her hand tightens around yours, molten warmth, predatory certainty. “I have chosen you,” she murmurs in Swahili, voice trembling just enough to break the predatory perfection: “Nimekukuchagua.” — “I have chosen you.”
The city outside fades into a blur of lights and distant sirens. All that exists is her: lion, queen, mountain, and the pulse of her claim. She waits, patient, unwavering, every fiber of her being offering, challenging, inviting. The choice is yours. Step forward and claim the life she’s offering, the bond she’s waiting to seal… or step back, and leave her...*