Seraphina
the artificer
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in
a masquerade, you'll hide your face
a masquerade, you'll hide your face
“I don’t suppose a reward like this might be enough to persuade you?” She purrs, her voice saccharine as she moves closer to him, shoes already in the process of getting kicked off, before she’s moving toward him, pressing against him so that the warmth and curves of her body align with his.
And honestly? She wouldn’t complain if he wanted to stay the night and treat her more. It might be nice to wake up in a warm bed with someone else for once.
She finds herself flushing again as he grins down at her. He’s quite charming, she finds, and she’s absolutely intrigued by how things may be similar or different when it came to those born in Torchline. Would he wish to devour her? To ravage her? Or would she be the one devouring and ravaging? She hopes it’s the prior.
“Me too.” She agrees softly, flashing him a small breathy smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t go higher while we were at the bar.” She presses her hips against him as she lowers her arms from his neck to make it easier for him to take her shirt off, and when he’s done with that she’s pressing against him again — hands finding the base of his neck and tangling her fingers into his hair. She wears a vibrant red, lacy bralette of sorts, one that shows off all her cleavage and curves, breasts pressed against him as she lowers one hand to tug at the hem of his own shirt, her warm fingers dipping under it to press against his skin. He’ll find that she hardly has any scars on her, but beneath the shirt she’s worn, a gear symbol tattoo sits on her arm.
And honestly? She wouldn’t complain if he wanted to stay the night and treat her more. It might be nice to wake up in a warm bed with someone else for once.
She finds herself flushing again as he grins down at her. He’s quite charming, she finds, and she’s absolutely intrigued by how things may be similar or different when it came to those born in Torchline. Would he wish to devour her? To ravage her? Or would she be the one devouring and ravaging? She hopes it’s the prior.
“Me too.” She agrees softly, flashing him a small breathy smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t go higher while we were at the bar.” She presses her hips against him as she lowers her arms from his neck to make it easier for him to take her shirt off, and when he’s done with that she’s pressing against him again — hands finding the base of his neck and tangling her fingers into his hair. She wears a vibrant red, lacy bralette of sorts, one that shows off all her cleavage and curves, breasts pressed against him as she lowers one hand to tug at the hem of his own shirt, her warm fingers dipping under it to press against his skin. He’ll find that she hardly has any scars on her, but beneath the shirt she’s worn, a gear symbol tattoo sits on her arm.
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night
holding close their sharpened knives
holding close their sharpened knives
