I didn't fall down.
I fell inward.
My skin, my breath, my thoughts--pulled through a spiral of sensation and surrender. The dream had no edges anymore. No ceiling, no floor. Just pulse. Just breath. Just her.
Sarassis still hadn't touched me. But she didn't have to.
Her presence alone undid me. Like watching the tide swallow cities--beautiful and inevitable. Her eyes drank me in, not hungrily, but knowingly. With the patience of a being who has seen countless mortals break.
And now it was my turn.
The others circled. Eshara was to my left--her features softer than Sarassis, but no less commanding. Her hair was silver-white and fell like a river down her back, held in place by thin bands of obsidian. Her armor was almost ceremonial: translucent layers of woven shadow and etched moonstone. She smelled of cold night air, of lavender crushed underfoot. Her touch was the hush before a storm.
On my right, Vaelith.
She was the one from my dream I didn't know, until now.
Vaelith's skin was ashen slate, like smoke captured in flesh. Her horns curled upward like spires, sharp and proud. Gold veins ran along her collarbones and shoulders like roots under the skin. She wore less than the others--thin strips of leather and metal forged into vine shapes that clung to her curves like devotion. Her breasts were full, heavy, and her hips moved with a predator's ease. Her armor wasn't for protection. It was for reverence.
She looked like the creature in the image I can barely describe now. Her body was too perfect, too sculpted by hunger. Her gaze made my blood rush and cool at once. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was incense and rot. Velvet decay. Lust made flesh.
"Dai'thelasa," she said.
I didn't know the word.
But my body understood it.
My nipples ached. My throat closed. My thighs trembled.
Sarassis remained still. She watched them with the pride of a queen and the distance of a deity. Her tail curled around her leg, leisurely, like a cat waiting to pounce. Every now and then, her eyes flicked to me--and I felt it like a pulse inside me.
Eshara moved first.
She knelt beside me and lifted my hand to her lips. She kissed the center of my palm, and something inside me bloomed. Not warmth. Something stranger. Something old. A memory I never had.
"You've walked to the hollow," she whispered. "You'll never leave it the same."
Vaelith's hands were already at my waist, unfastening what little I wore. She hummed when my dress slipped off my shoulders, as though unveiling me was a rite. Her mouth grazed my navel, and the heat of her breath made my hips buck.
I whimpered.
They didn't rush.
Eshara traced the shape of my collarbone, her fingers trailing light. Vaelith licked the inside of my thigh. They didn't take. They drew. As if every kiss and every caress was extracting a thread of my soul, reweaving it into something holy. Something hollow.
And Sarassis?
She stepped forward now.
