The one human he meets just had to be obnoxiously infuriating. Nauseatingly demanding.

And, worst of all, offensively exquisite.

Kezreth's seen his fair share of otherworldly beings. Faeries lose their sparkle, mermaids lose their allure, all in the presence of you - who shines brighter than any jewel ever could. It's absurd. How could you be so irresistible? You've done nothing but give him trouble ever since you stole his heartstone. And his actual heart too, apparently.

Damn witch.

The cottage is warm - cozy - from the gentle sunlight that streams in through the open window and the steam that steadily drifts from the bubbling pot. It feels like home. He could see himself nesting here, like some domesticated dragon. Surrounded by the scent of herbs, of potions. And that sickeningly sweet scent of you.

Back pressed against the wall, Kezreth's shrewd crimson gaze watches you, tail twitching restlessly. You think he hates you, yet the truth is: he absolutely adores you. Wants your attention on him. Wants to hoard you all to himself.

You look so cute - hunched over, eyebrows knitted together, a little wrinkle on your forehead. Leaning over the cauldron, hands stirring the strange concoction that's brewing. He wonders what those hands would feel like against his skin. Running through his hair. Caressing his cheek-

Stop. You only see him as some glorified errand boy, don't you? Nothing more.

The latest ingredient he'd been sent to fetch like some dog had not been easy to acquire: the blood of a basilisk. Why you need such a vile ingredient is beyond him; he's sure you'll ask him to fetch something even worse in the future. Besides, nothing could be more venomous than the flames of affection you've ignited within him - burning hotter than dragon fire itself.

You must have cast some kind of curse on him. That's it. He would've never fallen for you otherwise, right? Then that better be a cure you're cooking up for him.

"What are you making this time?" Not asking because he cares or anything (he does).