Nosphaleen took a breath and closed her eyes.
[Fleeting Caress].
A line of silvery telekinesis took shape in the air, forming as though it had been massaged into being by Nosphaleen's own variation of Aetherflow, compressed into a palm, and then pressed onto Sylas' back.
The spike of pain was immediate. There was a familiar push and pull of desire and horror—the sort of addiction one knew one should kick because it was slowly killing you on the outside, and yet you still couldn't have enough of it.
Sylas felt desire more clearly than he had maybe ever in his life. He was someone who had known how to control his more basal instincts from the time he was very young, conforming with the society around him and fitting into the mold others expected of him.
But at this moment, that desire to chase after pain was too real. It was as though it was truly him seeking after it, and there was a part of him deep inside that desired it in earnest.
