The days started to weigh like chains, each one longer than the last. Lyra made the clearing her refuge, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of joy remained. She planted flowers, patched the tent, swept away the fire's ashes, and every night, she gazed at the stars hoping for some sign of Kaelthys.
Nothing.
No sound of wings, no trail of smoke in the sky. Just the wind, carrying away promises that never came true.
She talked to herself, laughed at her own jokes, cursed at rocks, kicked branches, and even argued with ants just to try to fill the silence.
Her heart beat fast every time a shadow appeared on the horizon, but it was never him. The longing was a ghost, gnawing inside. And still, Lyra couldn't hate him, not even for a second. What she felt was bigger, stronger, wilder than anger. It was longing, it was love, it was a need to feel his touch again, whether the roughness of scales or the heat of human flesh.
Kaelthys, on the other hand, lived hidden in the forest. He spent his nights watching Lyra from afar, silent, golden eyes attentive to her every move. He protected her without being seen, fighting monsters in the shadows, scaring off predators, changing the course of streams so there would always be fresh water nearby. All without letting Lyra ever notice.
His pride was a wall almost impossible to break.
He was angry, yes. Angry at her for changing him without asking. Angry at himself for not being able to disappear for good.
But, above all, he was terrified of showing himself, afraid to see regret on her face.
Even with a human body, the marks of the dragon were still there: tense muscles, scars, the fire in his eyes.
Deep down, he knew Lyra missed him, but he couldn't bring himself to approach. He just watched, just protected, just felt.
Time passed. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Lyra started talking to the trees, to mushrooms, to anything that gave any sign of life. But no conversation, no laughter, no dream brought Kaelthys back.
At night, the loneliness grew even stronger. She'd lie hugging her pillow, remembering the dragon's warmth, the weight of his body beside hers, the way he'd grumble when she made jokes or slept with her mouth open.
Her fingers wandered to intimate places, guided by memories, by an invented scent, by the desire to be touched again—this time by a Kaelthys who was human, strong, rough enough to make her lose control.
But it was only a dream. The wind would blow and carry everything away, leaving only longing behind.
Kaelthys saw it all. He saw when she cried, when she laughed alone, when she cursed the whole world, or got covered in mud gathering roots. His chest ached, a mix of wounded pride and repressed lust.
He knew about her desire, saw it in her gestures, in the way Lyra got lost in her own thoughts. Sometimes he wanted to appear, wanted to barge into her tent, take Lyra in his arms and prove he was still the same inside, still fire, still dragon.
But he didn't. He only protected, only watched, only burned with anger and longing.
The world outside carried on, indifferent. The trees grew, the flowers changed color, and the clearing became more and more marked by Lyra's presence. She drew on the ground, wrote names on stones, tied ribbons to branches, as if, that way, she could create a path for Kaelthys to return.
But the dragon—now a man—only ever passed by from afar, leaving silly clues: a fresh apple on a rock, footprints washed away by rain, traces of fire extinguished in the middle of a trail.
Lyra noticed every sign, every clue, but pretended not to see. Her pride was almost as big as his.
Time went on. Lyra grew tired of waiting. One day, she woke up certain she needed to move on. She couldn't live only on memories and feverish dreams, no matter how intense they were.
She packed her bag, putting in everything that still made sense: the tiara with fake stones, the broken golden ring, a piece of dragon scale, a hand-drawn map, the last chunk of hard cheese, her courage, and her longing.
Before leaving, she looked at the clearing one last time. Tears fell freely, but her heart beat with resolve.
"That's enough, Kaelthys. If you're not coming back, I have to leave. I have to live. Even without you."
While saying goodbye to the clearing, she felt something strange in the air. The wind changed direction, bringing with it a sweet, familiar aroma.
Vanilla.
An intense, intoxicating, enveloping scent.
Lyra stopped, closed her eyes, letting the perfume fill every empty space inside her.
She knew that scent. It was the same one that, months ago, had filled the forest—the night she met Kaelthys. The same aroma that had made her body restless, her thoughts wild, her desires come alive.
Her heart raced.
The vanilla smell grew stronger, mixed with something else—a touch of magic, of promise, of adventure.
It was impossible not to remember the past, the laughter, the huge dragon pretending to be scary, their first night together, the battles and the flights.
Longing turned to heat. Her body reacted almost against her will.
Her nipples hardened under her shirt, her pussy throbbed with anticipation.
Desire returned—strong, almost painful—as if everything was happening all over again.
She dropped her bag to the ground and looked around, searching for the source of the aroma, for why the clearing suddenly seemed different, brighter, more full of color.
At the far end, as if it had appeared from nowhere, a door was taking shape between the trees. Colorful, shining, with Italian words on a sign and a little bell swinging softly in the breeze.
Gelato del Peccato.
Lyra's heart pounded even harder.
She remembered what she'd heard, the rumors about a magical ice cream shop, old legends, promises of desire, pleasure, change.
Now the vanilla scent was almost unbearable, filling every thought, reigniting every dormant craving.
Kaelthys, from afar, smelled it too. He stopped among the trees, golden eyes fixed on Lyra's silhouette. The longing he felt for her was now tangled with anger, with missing her, with the fear of losing her for good.
He thought about running to her, apologizing, confessing what he felt.
But he stayed there, stuck, watching, wanting, waiting.
Unaware that, that night, everything was about to change forever.
And so Lyra, for the last time, hesitated in the clearing.
One step forward, her heart in her throat, her body on fire, and a craving for a bit of pleasure and comfort.
She smiled, bit her lip, and walked decisively toward the magic—ready for anything.