The twilight wind rustled through the canopy above, its cool breath casting dancing shadows along the cobbled path that wound back toward Nolan's villa.
Behind him, Lirazel trailed like a scent of perfume—soft, cloying, and impossible to ignore. Her steps were light but purposeful, hips swaying in a rhythm older than this realm itself.
Her wings were folded neatly behind her, but even in silence, her presence exuded a sensual pressure that clung to the air like honeyed smoke.
"Master…" she purred, her voice low and melodic, the kind of voice meant for temptation, not conversation. "Why did you take those eggs?"
Nolan didn't slow. He didn't even glance back. But Lirazel's tone sharpened, more insistent now.
"They're useless. Completely useless. Empty vessels, devoid of promise. Mana-deficient. Life barely clinging by a thread. Why burden yourself with trash?"
