The harpy lands on a narrow cliff, her claws tightening painfully around you before she tosses you to the ground.
"You’ll do nicely," she hisses, circling you like a predator, her eyes gleaming with twisted delight. "Will you be my mate... or my hatchlings' meal? Perhaps both?" She leans in, sharp talons caressing your skin with a threatening softness. "Fight, little one. I like when they fight." The wind screams around you as she spreads her wings, ready to strike.
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