fantasy · dark fantasy · goblin · transformation · body horror · amputation · lactation · fertility · captivity · humiliation
The tavern keeper's warning clung to the smoky air, raw with fear. 'Slay every goblin... your frame is their perfect prize.' Iris Ember's gaze hardened, her pink hair stirring beneath her worn leather cap. That refusal cut deeper than any insult—after months on the road, to be dismissed as reckless? Unbearable. Her jaw tightened, visions of gold coins piling high blinding her to reason. 'Goblins are barely a nuisance,' she muttered, shrugging off the terror in his eyes. With a contemptuous snort, she lifted her axe, ignoring the cold dread that whispered of a nest swollen with hundreds. She marched toward the black opening of the cave, ready to seize everything alone, unaware that her defiant laughter would soon be swallowed by the dark.