The dragon coils like a fever dream on a black canvas, scales rippling red-hot with the pulse of the cosmos, wings exploding in icy blue feathers, defiant and alive. Its eyes burn with the fire of ancient secrets, fangs bared like a jazz solo hitting the perfect, dangerous note. This beast isn’t chained to the wall—it’s ready to leap, to tear through the small hours of Thimphu nights, a wild hymn to the mountains and the streets humming below.
