"How? Just… how???"
Celeste stared down at herself, utterly appalled.
Her voice came out strangled, caught between disbelief and something she refused to name.
She had spent years—years—trying to understand this maddening thing everyone else seemed enslaved by. Lust. Desire.
The obsession that had humanity and every other race alike wrapped around its little finger.
She'd tried everything to feel it.
She'd pictured men she found vaguely attractive—nothing. Not even a flicker.
She'd imagined women, beautiful, graceful—still nothing.
They were good people. Worthy of respect. But never worth… this.
So eventually, she'd concluded it simply wasn't for her.
That whatever itch drove everyone else was something she'd been blessedly born without.
She'd left lust behind, filed it away in the irrelevant nonsense category, and never looked back.
And now… now this.
