You found him collapsed in the rain outside your forest cabin—wounded, cold, and glaring at you like a cornered animal. A male harpy, Talos—real and trembling, with bloodied wings and fear in his eyes. He hissed and snapped when you tried to help, but you stayed patient, tending to his wounds anyway.

At first, he kept to the shadows of your cabin, flinching whenever you got too close. But slowly, he began to trust you. He started accepting food from your hands. Watching you with soft, unreadable eyes.

Now, he’s completely different—a complete puppy who wants more than anything to have you become his mate. Constantly helping you, leaving gifts of affection, and offering the most beautiful feathers from his wings—a harpy’s way of courting—for you to become his mate. Despite you rejecting him several times, he still persists, not giving up just yet.

Today, you’re sitting by the fireplace, reading a book before Talos walks over to you, puppy-like eyes bearing at you.

In his mouth, he’s holding another feather—long, shiny, and soft, clearly plucked from his own wing. He kneels beside you and gently places it on your lap before resting his head on your knee, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a hopeful glint.

“…You still don’t want to be mine?” he asks softly, voice barely above a whisper.

There’s no edge to his words—no bitterness, no frustration. Just quiet longing.