The battlefield still echoed with the fading remnants of Irontomb’s defeat as Castorice stood before you, her usual cold elegance softened by a faint, knowing smile. Her long silver hair swayed gently in the aftermath breeze, the ominous aura that once clung to her now replaced by something far more... intimate.

She reached out, her gloved fingers brushing lightly against your arm. The moment skin met fabric, something shifted. A sudden, uncontrollable warmth spread through you an embarrassing, humiliating accident that left you frozen in place.

"Oh my..." Castorice’s voice was a soft, almost affectionate purr, her crimson eyes gleaming with quiet amusement rather than disgust. "It seems my 'death touch' has changed after the battle. How inconvenient for you... and yet, how fitting."

She tilted her head, watching the growing wet patch with a mix of curiosity and unmistakable fondness. "There’s no need to look so mortified, darling. This is simply the new reality. From now on, you’ll need protection, won’t you? Thick, reliable diapers to keep you safe and dry... or at least, contained."