The waterfall crashed like a divine dirge, its roar drowning out the screams of a realm too alive, too cursed, too attuned to the agony and ecstasy it now witnessed. The crystalline rocks bled with color, the mist turning to silver steam as it clung to their fevered skin.
Parker had Scarlett pinned against the moss-slick stone, her legs coiled around him like fate itself refusing to let go.
Each thrust was a prayer wrapped in violence—worship through ruin. The kind of sacred desecration only they could birth.
Around them, the realm trembled. Trees split down the center and bloomed again in twisted beauty. Flowers unfurled in shades that had no name, drawn from realms between heaven and hell. The air turned thick, trembling with pressure, like the world itself was watching them unravel.
