The room was silent, save for the rhythmic, heavy breathing of the one still caught in the pull of exhaustion.
For a long moment, there was nothing—just the vast, hollow emptiness of a mind trying to anchor itself back to reality after a night of sensory overload.
'Is this what it's like?' Mephistopheles wondered, her gaze fixed on a singular, peeling crack in the ceiling.
'To sacrifice a legacy of sanctity just to tangle oneself in the messy, fleeting heat of mortals and half-breeds?' She felt ancient, yet strangely hollow.
The silence should have been a comfort, a sanctuary for a former Saintess now draped in shadow.
But then, the silence broke.
Smack.
The wet, unmistakable sound of lips meeting.
Ngh… mmm.
A low, vibrating moan that seemed to resonate through the very mattress.
Mephistopheles' eyes didn't move, but her internal monologue sharpened into a jagged blade.
'It's barely dawn.
