Nathan no longer cared.
The damp scent in the air, Morvessa's absurd posture—like a child who hadn't learned to pee by herself—and even the strange vibrations between the thighs of that half-bird monster girl… all of it felt oddly reasonable.
Not because he was insane.
But because he had finally accepted that this world was never meant to be rational.
And maybe… love didn't have to be, either.
His hand moved forward, slowly—like someone touching his grandmother's old piano, the one she used to play farewell songs on.
But this wasn't a piano.
This was Morvessa.
And the place he reached for… wasn't a key,
but a slit of memory never touched by anyone.
A slit that was wet. Warm. Strange.
Flesh that looked like it had been glazed in honey, waiting to be savored—beckoning Nathan's tongue,
asking to be blessed by male saliva mixing with the sacred lubricant only a woman could make.
"I… may I?" Nathan whispered—more to himself than anyone else.
