The two women moved as one—Madeline, the half-elf carved from moonlight and restraint, and Emilia, the succubus wreathed in shadows and quiet flame. Their fingers intertwined without thought, without need for words. The air itself seemed to part for them, respectful and reverent, charged with anticipation. Their gowns shifted with each step—silk clinging to dangerous curves, fabric catching light in ways that made holy men forget their vows.
Behind them, the world whispered its speculations, but they didn't turn. They had no need to look back.
They reached the chamber doors.
Opened them.
And the world stopped.
It wasn't fear that froze them in the doorway. It wasn't even awe. It was the sheer presence that rolled through the room like liquid starlight poured from a cracked chalice—ancient, overwhelming, divine.
