The forest was quiet again—too quiet.

  Doina walked beside me, her bare feet barely making a sound as they pressed into the mossy earth. The robe I had given her still clung to her shoulders, soft against skin that had never known proper safety. Her yellow eyes flicked toward mine now and then, wary yet curious, like a wolf unsure whether the fire offered warmth or pain.

  "You said we're going somewhere safe," she muttered.

  "We are," I replied softly, then stopped before a gnarled, ancient tree.Its trunk was wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder, bark twisted like the folds of a sleeping giant's skin. It reached into the dead sky like it had been waiting centuries for someone to knock.

  I raised my hand and tapped twice with two fingers.

  Knock. Knock.

  Doina raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding."

  The bark rippled.

  A seam formed, thin as a breath, then widened. The outline of a door revealed itself, framed in shifting runes and dream-silk light. With a low hum, it pulled open—inviting, warm, impossible.

  Doina blinked. "That… wasn't there before."

  "It never is," I said with a smile and stepped inside.

  ---

  An estate of impossible beauty stretched beneath a silver-touched sky that pulsed with stars no one had ever named. The air smelled like vender and rain-soaked parchment. Fountains whispered in courtyards carved from bck marble and veined with glowing gold. Lush greenery coiled up obsidian columns, and soft nternlight floated like fireflies caught in a dream.

  The main estate loomed ahead—an ivory pace draped in flowering vines, with spires that shimmered like moonstone and windows arched with stained gss that danced with memories instead of color. Balconies hung over serene koi ponds. Silk curtains shifted in open doorways, revealing glimpses of warm hearths, velvet lounges, and bookcases filled with forbidden knowledge.

  Every room pulsed with subtle magic—never loud, never forceful, but felt like a hum beneath your feet, a promise of peace.

  Here, pain was a stranger. Here, monsters became more than what the world had made them.

  Doina froze on the threshold, her eyes wide. "Where are we?"

  "My home," I said. "And yours, if you wish it."

  Before she could speak, a breeze swept through the garden path—one ced with vender, old incense, and flickers of spellfire.

  And then she appeared.

  Her porcein-like vender skin was smooth yet fractured, threaded with delicate silvery cracks that shimmered faintly as she walked. One violet eye watched with cool detachment. The other, milky white, glowed faintly beneath a thin scar. Her long obsidian hair, streaked with silver, spilled down her back.

  She wore a beautiful maid's dress styled like a countess's gown—elegant and refined, with yers of midnight blue and twilight ce that hugged her graceful form. The bodice shimmered with hints of starlight, embroidered with protective runes and silver thread, and subtly outlined her small, perky C-cup breasts beneath the fitted silk. Flowing sleeves drifted around her arms like soft mist, and the skirt fred with quiet majesty as she moved, swirling like memory through the air.

  At her hip, a sash of keys jingled softly with each step—tokens of lives touched, mourned, or transformed.

  In her hand, a shard of mirror hung from a thread. Her reflection barely moved.

  She stared at Doina, expression unreadable. Her voice was gentle but felt like dusk—not cruel, just tired.

  "Doina," I said softly, stepping between them with a hand gesturing toward each other. "This is Saphira Marrowind, the Porcein Witch—my first companion in my journey. She keeps the doors open, the magic alive, and the peace intact."

  Doina gave a slow nod, her eyes trailing over Saphira's silvery cracks and ethereal grace.

  "Saphira," I continued, my voice threaded with warmth, "this is Doina Negru. She was cast out for what she could not control, hunted for living. She has suffered in silence long enough."

  The two women looked at each other—wary, distant, yet bound by unspoken pain. Saphira's expression softened by a margin.

  "You'll find the silence here isn't as empty as it seems," Saphira said at st. "It listens. And it keeps you safe."

  Doina's lips twitched into something close to gratitude. Not quite a smile. But close.

  "She has agreed to join our slowly growing family..." I said.

  Doina's voice was quiet before looking at Saphira. "You… you live here?"

  Saphira gave a slight nod. "He found me. Long ago."

  Then she turned to me, and her following words trembled with something softer.

  "Would you tell her, Lu? How you came to me?"

  I nodded.

  And the fshback began.

  [FLASHBACK]

  The wind howled that night—high in the mountains, where no kindness lingered.

  The tower stood like a broken limb jutting from the cliffside, once a sanctuary of whispers and ritual. Its upper floors had colpsed in a magical bst. Stone charred bck. Runes etched in sorrow. The scent of burned parchment clung to the ruins like a curse that couldn’t be cleansed.

  I stepped inside barefoot, my silken robe clinging to rain-slicked skin. It wasn’t my Aspect-born silk—just a robe of comfort and modesty. I wasn’t drawn by power or pity—but by a pulse—a thrum. A broken rhythm only I could hear.

  A cry that hadn’t been voiced.

  A need that had stopped believing it deserved answering.

  She was there, in the heart of the wreckage.

  Curled on the ritual floor like shattered gss.

  Saphira.

  Her vender skin was fractured with silver threadwork, glowing faintly as her body trembled. Her ritual gown was half-melted to her form—torn, burned, revealing too much in many pces. Her small, perky breasts peeked through the torn silk. Her thighs were exposed and smudged with ash. Her legs pulled to her chest, trembling. Her hair—a waterfall of obsidian and silver—cascaded over her face like a veil.

  She was beautiful in ruin.

  Divinity brought low.

  She hadn’t moved, eaten, or cried in days.

  Not because she couldn’t but because no one was left to cry for.

  Then came the hunters.

  Six of them.

  Their boots echoed through the tower like war drums. They were not saints. They were not saviors. They were men drenched in sweat and sin—cloaks soaked from the storm, eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

  They bound her. Mocked her. Exposed her and touched what was never theirs to touch.

  And I moved.

  My robe still clung to me, soaked and heavy. Not enchanted with mana—just cloth.

  The first hunter turned to look as I stepped from the shadows.

  “Who the fuck—?” he started.

  His bde sshed across my chest, tearing fabric open from shoulder to waist. Another gripped the edge of the robe and ripped it entirely from my body, exposing my sun-kissed skin to the cold air.

  I stood bare to the waist.

  The first lunged, bde aimed for my throat.

  I caught his wrist and twisted. The bone snapped like brittle wood. I pulled him forward and drove my fist into his chest. His ribs cracked inward as he now hung on my forearm before slowly removing it from the corpse.

  The second screamed and charged. I sidestepped and grabbed his face, lifting him from the floor only to sm him down into a broken altar stone, skull caving on impact.

  The third came with a dagger.

  I ducked his strike, grabbed his arm, and spun him into the edge of a colpsed pilr. The force shattered his spine. He twitched once—then stilled.

  The fourth was smarter—he tried to run, but I caught him before he took two steps.

  My foot hooked his ankle, causing him to fall face-first into the ground. I crushed his skull with my foot by stepping on it heavily, turning his head into a paste, leaving only one hunter left.

  The leader of the hunters.

  He drew the sigil brand and shouted an incantation as I slowly closed the distance by walking without worry.

  He swung the brand, which I caught midair and crushed in my palm.

  Magic exploded, briefly illuminating the room in arcane light.

  He stumbled back, eyes wide.

  I picked up the leader from his throat, causing him to grunt and gasp for air when our eyes met.

  "What... matter of devil are you?" He asked, gring at me.

  "Not a devil. Just someone who despises those who act like savages," I responded before snapping his neck and dropping the corpse to the ground.

  Six entered.

  None left.

  She was left trembling, shackled, breath shallow.

  I dropped to one knee and undid the csps, one by one. Softly.

  She flinched at the first touch.

  Stilled at the second.

  Her eye fluttered open. Milky white and filled with tears, she didn’t understand.

  “You’re not them,” she rasped.

  “No,” I said, pressing my forehead to hers. “You called out... and I answered.”

  She blinked. “I didn’t pray.”

  “You did,” I whispered. “In a special way.”

  She trembled. “What are you?”

  “I am Lu Senzuvel. But others know me as the Sensual One. What's your name?”

  "Saphira... Saphira Morrowind," She introduced, lowering her gaze. “I’m ruined.”

  “No,” I said, lifting her chin. “You were broken by cruelty. But within the cracks... there is still divinity.”

  Her voice trembled. “Will you leave?”

  “I do not leave those I choose,” I said. “Not unless they ask me to.”

  She searched my face—skeptical, hollow, yet craving something she hadn’t dared crave in years: belief.

  Then, softly, her fingers brushed my chest. She gasped. “You’re warm.”

  “Because I never let the cold cim me.”

  We sat in silence.

  Then... her eye lifted to mine. And I met it fully.

  Desire’s Gaze.

  Our souls collided.

  She saw herself—not ruined, not cursed—but radiant. She saw hands tangled in her hair, lips trailing reverently over her throat, her breasts cupped with worship, her voice rising in gasps, not screams. She saw herself taken, not vioted, but cherished. She saw herself riding a lover in the moonlight, her head thrown back, her cries wild, uninhibited.

  She whimpered, her thighs pressing together.

  Her lips parted. “Is that... me?”

  “It can be,” I whispered. “If you choose it. If you wish... I can give you that.”

  Her fingers curled into my chest. Her voice, soft and cracked:“Yes.”

  I leaned in. “Then let me show you what it means... to be loved.”

  And there, in the sanctuary of ash and broken stone, under the weight of all she had lost... she let herself be found.

  I id her down on the torn remains of my robe and stood over her, stripped of everything, but the tension still pulsing through my body. Her legs parted slowly, inviting me in. I knelt between them, pulled her hips toward me, and lifted her legs onto my shoulders.

  She gasped as I pushed into her—deep, steady—but her body tensed beneath me. Her porcein-like skin, though soft to the eye, offered resistance. Each thrust sent a faint ache through her silvery cracks, pulsing with strain. She winced, not from fear, but from the sharp contrast between her fragile form and the fullness I gave her. Yet even in that discomfort, she moaned—soft and breathy—as pleasure mingled with pain.

  "It hurts," she whispered, trembling.

  I slowed my rhythm, leaned down, and kissed the corner of her eye. "Tell me where, and I’ll guide you through it."

  She nodded.

  I adjusted my angle, holding her hips steady, thrusting shallower, slower, grinding in gentle, rolling motions. Her body responded, her breath catching, her hands curling against my shoulders.

  The ache softened.

  Pleasure took its pce.

  Her moans deepened as I kept her close, shifting just enough to press against the pces that made her gasp. Her cracked skin trembled under my touch, but the tension melted from her limbs.

  Her legs wrapped around me.

  "Don’t stop," she breathed.

  I didn’t.

  I pulled out slowly, then guided her to sit on the edge of a broken stone ptform nearby. I stepped between her legs, kissed her deeply, and lifted her into my arms. Her legs wrapped around my waist. With one thrust, I entered her again while standing. She moaned against my mouth, gripping my shoulders.

  I held her up by her thighs, bouncing her gently on my cock as she clung to me. Her breasts pressed to my chest, her lips brushing my ear as her cries grew louder—the rhythm built with every lift and drop of her hips.She buried her face in my neck, her body shaking from the overwhelming sensations.

  Then I y her back onto the ft surface and stood over her, one leg bent, the other supporting her thigh. I gripped her ankle and thrust into her from a standing angle, watching her writhe beneath me, completely open, completely mine.

  She tried to stay upright, but her arms gave out, her face pressed to the robe, moaning helplessly as I pounded into her from behind.

  I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back against me, whispering in her ear, “Don’t hold back.”

  She didn't.

  Her body convulsed around me as she came again, crying out my name.I didn’t stop.

  I spun her onto her side, wrapped her leg around my waist, and pushed in again. She clung to me, her nails scraping across my back, her breath hot and ragged as I drove into her from the side.

  Finally, I y back and pulled her on top of me.

  She slid down onto my cock and rode me slow, hips rolling in circles. Her breasts bounced. Her head tilted back. I grabbed her waist and fucked up into her.

  Her hands braced on my chest as she picked up the pace. She was soaked, raw, trembling.

  I grunted as I came, pulling her tight against me as I spilled inside her.

  She colpsed onto my chest, panting.

  We stayed hot, bare, tangled in robes and sweat.

  She didn’t cry.

  She just held onto me.

  And slept.

  [PRESENT]

  Doina sat frozen on the velvet lounge near the koi pond, the flickering nternlight catching on the silvery threads of Saphira’s cracked skin. The story hung like incense—thick, reverent, lingering.

  Saphira turned toward her slowly, the keys at her waist chiming with the weight of all they had unlocked and sealed away.

  “What came after,” she said softly, “was purpose.”

  She walked toward the pond’s edge, her reflection rippling between realities. “Lu didn’t just heal what was broken. He didn’t try to fix me. He stayed. Day after day. He sat beside me as I re-learned how to speak without shaking. He held me without expecting. He reminded me what it was like to live in the moment... with a bit of hot intimacy."

  Her voice lowered, nearly lost to the gentle spsh of koi tails.

  “With time… I remembered how to weave magic not out of desperation but devotion. The sanctuary you see—this pce—it’s born of me. A pocket realm molded from memory, emotion, and endless mana. It bends for him. Shelters those he brings. And because he loved me, I found the will to shape it.”

  She turned back toward Doina and gestured to the towering pace behind them.

  “This is not a castle,” she said. “It’s a promise. That monsters who have only ever been feared may find peace. That our bodies—scarred, cursed, rejected—are still worthy of warmth.”

  Doina’s eyes shimmered.

  "And the robe?" she asked. "Is it... part of this too?"

  Saphira smiled for the first time—a ghost of a thing, but real.

  “It’s my gift to him. Woven from enchanted silk and yered with protective spellcraft, but more than that…” She held out her hand, and the robe shimmered faintly on Lu’s form before tightening slightly in response. “It holds a fragment of my consciousness—my awareness. It heals itself as I do. It flows with his movements, listens to his intent… and maintains his modesty.”

  Doina’s head tilted. “So it’s… alive?”

  “In a way,” Saphira replied. “And bound by consent. It only parts when Lu wishes… or when one is chosen.”

  Her voice grew quiet, reverent.

  “Unless Lu invites another… only I may see him bare. That is the covenant within the silk.”

  Lu stepped forward, smiling softly, the robe wrapping around him like a lover's embrace.

  Doina looked between them, her breath catching—not from envy, but awe.

  “You made him a home,” she said.

  “No,” Saphira whispered. “He made me one first. I returned the favor.”