Black Morass armageddon

ione smiled softly, her gaze lingering on the woman before her, seeing not just her beauty but her malleable spirit, ripe for the shaping.

this is good, she murmured, her voice a gentle ripple of approval. leaning forward, she pressed her lips to genevieve's forehead, the touch both tender and deliberate, a quiet act of claiming. the faintest trace of her scent was left behind, a mark that spoke louder than any word of possession.

drawing back, she gestured gracefully with a paw, her form shifting to lead. come, i will show you the altars. her voice carried the weight of purpose, a guide through devotion, her steps firm as she began to move, expecting genevieve to follow without hesitation. solentia does not wait.