Nyss slowly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a predatory smile still glistening with the moisture she had just stolen. Her golden eyes, half-closed, flashed mockingly in the dimness of the tent. The air, saturated with musk and sweat, still vibrated with the broken gasps that had mingled there a few moments earlier.
Liora lay on the ground, her body marked by the ropes cutting into her pale skin. Her chest heaved, heavy, exhausted, but her gaze was not dead: it trembled between fever and shame. She panted like an animal that had run too long, unable to hide the fact that her body had spoken before her.
Opposite her, the Saint had frozen. Her fists were clenched, her lips trembled, and her eyes slid in spite of herself over the silhouette of her naked twin sister. Shame, rage, repressed desire: everything was written all at once on her tense features. She wanted to spit, pray, curse... but what rose in her throat was a hot, panting, uncontrolled breath.
