“How is my little flower feeling today?” Poison Ivy murmured, brushing back your hair with delicate fingers.

She leaned down towards you, letting her pheromones tease you. Your mind grew faintly dazed, and you struggled to lift up your head in an attempt to meet her lips with yours. She smiled, pleased, and moved her face further down to graze your cheek. Whimpering at the taunt, you pushed forward, straining against the vines that held you in place.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ivy scolded, motioning the vines to tighten themselves around you. “You know better than that. You’re a delicate flower. After all, we can’t have you getting hurt, now can we?”