Deep in her body, deep below the chamber, in the dark at the bottom of the world tree, the last withered root of the siphon died.
It died because she came.
Her climax hit like a season breaking, a full body convulsion of the woman and the queen and the forest's mother in one, her enormous chest bouncing in great violent arcs against her own ribs, her thick body bucking under him, and the flood of pleasure fueled life force that tore through her core was a river where the siphon had been a straw. The blackened root withered, cracked, and washed away in silver light, gone, eradicated, and her body drank and drank and kept drinking.
Above the city, the world tree blazed.
