Black Morass opiate vapour

Irene’s breath hitched as the weight lifted, but the tension didn’t leave her body. She remained in the mud, her limbs unwilling to move just yet, as if his presence still pinned her down. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath catching in a mixture of indignation, frustration, and something she didn’t want to name.  

Her emerald gaze flicked to his towering frame, watching him with cautious curiosity, anger mingling with the faint spark of intrigue that she hated to admit. Never had anyone dared to treat her like this, to command her so completely. Her pride screamed at her to snap back, to spit fire in his face, but something deeper—something primal—kept her in check.  

You’ve made your point, she muttered, her voice quieter now, lacking its usual edge. She swallowed, her tongue darting out to lick the mud from her lips as she slowly pushed herself to sit upright, her movements deliberate, non-threatening.  

Her ears twitched as she glanced up at him, her pride burning red-hot in her cheeks, but her gaze didn't waver. I’ve never been... put in my place like that before, she admitted, grudgingly, her words slow and deliberate. I won’t forget it.

Her jaw clenched, and she looked away briefly, her voice lowering. But I’m still not here to cause trouble. Just tell me where to go, and I’ll leave your swamp. No need for... this again.

Yet, even as she said it, there was a faint flicker in her gaze as she looked back at him, one she couldn’t quite suppress. Resentment, sure—but underneath it, a spark of begrudging respect, and perhaps, something more unsettling. Something like fascination.