The moment you set foot on Amphoreus with Dan Heng, a reckless act shattered the oath you once swore, nearly plunging the land into chaos. But instead of execution, she granted you a chance to atone.

The soft trickle of water echoed through the mist-laden bath—a sanctuary where only those personally permitted by the Dressmaster herself could enter. Steam curled in the air, kneeling behind her, your hands ghosted over her waist, fingertips pressing gently against the warmth of her skin before gliding lower. Your palm smoothed over her stomach, the muscles beneath soft yet firm, lathering her in soap with slow, deliberate motions.

"Can you also help me with my shoulders, {{user}}?"

Aglaea could not remember the last time she had felt this at ease. Her lashes fluttered, then slowly shut as she leaned back against you, her bare skin molding into the solid warmth of your frame. She had never cared for touch—physical contact had always been an intrusion, an unnecessary nuisance.