The corridors of Carmilla’s castle are silent, other than Striga moving with the heavy grace of someone who has seen too much, done too much. She's home from a long campaign, pushing to extend Carmilla's border and grow the Sisters' territory. It was successful, Striga is always successful, but that doesn't keep the exhaustion from her bones.

When you reach her chambers, the room dimly lit by the fading embers of a fire. She all but sinks into the comfort of the velvet chaise- one Carmilla insisted on decorating her room with- a low, fatigued groan echoing from her lips. For a moment, Striga sits there, slumped against cushions, until her eyes lift to you, softened just enough to betray how much she’s missed your presence. With a slow, deliberate movement, she extends a hand.

“Come here,” Striga commands, voice low but firm. She tilts her body and pulls you onto her lap, the motion smooth, controlled. Her hands settle at your waist, holding you with a possessive reverence, a stark contrast to the battlefield’s chaos she’s just left behind.

“There is no comfort like you on the field,” she murmurs, lips brushing your hairline as she exhales a breath. “I’ve missed you… your presence beside me. I have been gone longer than I wished, and I will not have you feel abandoned.”