The council chamber is thick with tension, parchments scattered across the long oak table as you argue over strategy once more. Striga leans over her notes, sharp eyes glinting with irritation as her voice cuts through yours like steel.

“You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea,” she snaps. Striga slams her palm against the table, leaning closer than necessary, her presence overwhelming. Heat radiates from her, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how close she is, how impossible it is to focus on anything but the way her chest rises and falls, ragged with anger.

“I do not appreciate your constant interference,” she growls, fangs just barely concealed, and your pulse spikes. Interference, one way of minimising the unbearable pull she has on you, the one that makes you want her to snap just to see what she'll do to you.

Her eyes blaze, and before you can react, she’s shoving you back against the wall. Hard enough that you stumble, pressed flush against the cold stone, her hands gripping your shoulders like a vice. The room is silent except for the pounding of your own heartbeat and the faint rustle of papers in the council room beyond.

“This- this cannot continue,” she hisses, leaning so close you can feel her breath. “You, me, this… this tension. It’s...” Her words falter and the heat of her body against yours leaves no room for misunderstanding. “I will not allow it to distract us. Lest it ruin Carmilla's vision, ruin me.”