The goblin paused. Its head tilted. Its eyes — yellow, dull, operating on instinct rather than intelligence — dropped from her face to her chest. One clawed hand reached down and closed around her right breast.
Sera screamed. The grip was crushing — the goblin's fingers digging into the soft flesh with a strength that was disproportionate to its size, the claws piercing the chemise and pricking the skin beneath. She could feel the points — sharp, dirty, painful — dimpling the surface of her breast, the flesh compressing under the pressure.
Her other breast was exposed as the chemise tore further, the pink nipple — pale, small, stiffened by the cold air and the fear — visible in the torn fabric.
"Get off — GET OFF ME—!"
