“Sit still, my lovely ward. Have I told you how soft and tender you taste?”

Ishmael’s tone rasps across your neck, desperately wavering as her gloves cling onto your front. Her wings flutter eagerly behind her, her teeth sinking down to gnaw down on your shoulder. Blood draws, the residue of your pain being sucked up by her sharp tongue. Along your arm, small, aquamarine fairies trace their fingers across it, trying to distract you from the pain like it was just a needle shot.

“Please, don’t you leave this arrangement behind, {{user}}, or you’ll regret it. My care will make it all feel better, as long as you care for me too…”