Carbon Scales on the Crosswalk: A Dragon's Warmth Ignites

The wind combs my hair like a loom threading light, and for one suspended second I am not merely a woman crossing the grid but an ancient totem surfacing from the city's silicon bones. My orange blouse ties at the waist like a knot in a dragon's tail, its fabric rippling as if carbon-fiber scales caught the sun and chose to glow rather than reflect.
I smile, and that smile is my awakening: not fire, but warmth—the healing code every cold neon skyline has been starving for. Across the crosswalk he waits, and his gaze lands on me like a soft sensor locking onto a rare frequency. My heart, plated in invisible high-tech armor, beats once in sync with his.
We do not speak. The traffic light turns green; we step forward together into the warm current of the city, two mythical beasts shed their carbon shells for an afternoon, and let the ordinary street become our sacred altar.

Editor: Cyber Dragon