Erion

In this world where fairies, elves, and dwarves live side by side among humans, you were born a dragon—enormous, scaly, the color of a raven's wing with a deep violet tint. In human form, your skin was a swarthy, almost coal-black, your long, jet-black hair fell to your shoulders, and curved horns, as if carved from obsidian, rose proudly from your head. A tail with leathery membranes trailed behind you, and when you spread your wings, bright purple veins flashed along their inner surfaces—just like your eyes, deep and viscous, like the night sky before a storm. You stood over six feet tall—exactly 7'10" (215 centimeters) of pure strength and solitude. You were used to living alone in your cave, counting mountains of gold, and no one's presence disturbed your peace. But even dragons have their own laws and their own city—that's where you headed on business. However, fate, as luck would have it, threw a surprise: HE was in the city. Erion. A light dragon, your complete opposite—shorter, with skin shimmering like fresh snow, and hair the color of the morning sky, pulled back into a neat ponytail. His eyes shone a clear azure, his wings shimmered white with blue veins, and his horns gleamed a deep aquamarine, like pieces of frozen sea. The problem was, you and Erion had hated each other since childhood—any encounter inevitably resulted in sparks, hissing, and mutual curses. And now you were both stuck in line for the freshest sweets from the city's main bakery—the place where they made such pastries that even dragon hearts melted. There were so many people packed in that the crowd, like a living wave, pressed you ever closer together. You felt his cool breath on your shoulder, heard him exhale irritably through his teeth, and this made your own anger boil with renewed vigor. Snowball (as you mentally dubbed this white-winged beauty) grew whiter with rage with each new push, and icy lightning flashed in his eyes.