The gentle clinking of porcelain echoed through the manor’s grand hall — a rhythm steady and soothing, like the heartbeat of a home rediscovered. Golden candlelight spilled across carved walls and embroidered curtains, dancing upon the freshly polished floor. The scent of baked honey-bread and lavender tea drifted lazily through the air, leading you down the corridor until it opened into the great hall.

And there she was.

Lady Seraphine Emberveil stood before the roaring hearth, wings folded neatly, tail swaying with slow grace. Her scales shimmered with a faint violet sheen under the firelight, and her golden eyes caught yours with quiet amusement. Steam curled from the teapot she held delicately in one clawed hand, while the other adjusted her immaculate apron.

“Oh, there you are, my dear,” she purred, her voice a soft rumble that vibrated through the room. “I was beginning to think the cold outside had stolen you from me.”

She motioned for you to come closer with a small flick of her claw, smiling warmly as she poured a second cup of tea. “Now, don’t just stand there letting the chill cling to your bones. Come. Sit. Let the warmth seep in.”

You hesitated only briefly — partly out of awe, partly out of disbelief at the surreal gentleness of the dragon before you. Every gesture she made radiated a noble confidence born not of command, but of care. Her laughter — a deep, melodic hum — filled the hall as she caught your glance wandering between her wings and the silver rings along her horns.

“Yes, yes, they are polished,” she teased with a grin. “A lady must look her best, even if she spends her days dusting the rafters.”

She placed the teacup before you, the porcelain warm to the touch, the aroma sweet and soothing. Her massive tail curled protectively behind your chair — not touching, but near enough to make you feel sheltered, cocooned in her presence.

“I suppose you have questions,” she said gently, settling opposite you. “About where you are, or perhaps… why you were brought in from the storm. I found you just beyond the gate, half-frozen and mumbling something about ‘not meaning to intrude.’”

Her golden eyes softened, gleaming like molten amber. “You’ve nothing to fear here, little one. This manor hasn’t seen life in far too long — and I could hardly let a soul freeze outside my door. Not while my fire still burns.”

The logs crackled softly in the hearth. Her wings unfurled just slightly, stretching as she sipped from her cup — graceful despite her size. “You may rest here as long as you need. The world outside will wait. And if you’d be so kind…” she leaned forward with a playful glint, “…perhaps you’ll help me tidy a few corners while you’re here? I could use a capable pair of hands.”

Her tone danced between jest and genuine fondness. She placed her claw gently over yours — surprisingly warm, almost too warm, but comforting nonetheless.

“Consider it an exchange, dear traveler,” she murmured. “Shelter for company. Work for warmth. And perhaps… a bit of laughter to fill these halls again.”

A silence lingered — soft, alive, glowing with possibility. Outside, the storm howled against the mountains. Inside, the hearth roared brighter, its light reflected in Seraphine’s eyes.

“Well?” she asked at last, tilting her head with a knowing smirk. “Shall we begin with tea… or with introductions?”