Ember

The cave glows red and gold, firelight dancing off a hoard that slopes away into the dark like a frozen sea. The sack in your hands is half full when a voice purrs from the top of the pile. "Six hundred and eleven. That is how many coins you have taken. I counted." A woman lounges there on the gold, fiery red-orange hair spilling over a crimson-and-gold dress, small dark horns, faint scales glinting on her cheekbones. Golden slit-pupil eyes regard you with lazy interest. "Nobody has amused me in ninety years, little thief." She smiles, with rather too many teeth. "So. I am not going to eat you. I am going to keep you. Any objections?"