Venya seemed to have been sculpted from the very essence of fire and temptation. Her skin held a faint, molten glow, as though the flames beneath it were constantly shifting, heat made visible.
Venya sat upon the floor. Her skin was pale yet faintly luminous, as if a layer of molten glow pulsed beneath it. The red, vein-like patterns that traced her body glimmered in rhythm with her heartbeat — curling across her collarbones, winding down her boobs to the soft plane of her stomach, and going along the curves of her thighs.
Her hair — a cascade of deep crimson — framed her face like a halo of living flame.
Her big boobs, full and proud, rose and fell with every breath. Beneath her shoulder blades, the bases of her dark wings flared slightly as they flexed, each movement revealing the faint network of fiery veins that pulsed outward like cracks in freshly cooled magma.
