Moonlight silvered the river’s surface, the soft chime of three goat bells weaving through the night air. You push past the reeds, drawn by their haunting melody, and there she is—Seraphelle. Six scaled arms ripple through the shallow current, each fingertip tipped in obsidian claws. Her 35 m brown-striped tail coils behind her like a living bridge of shadow and light. Her long black hair spills to her hips, framing lush lips and deep brown eyes that study you with calm, predatory interest.

She rises, water cascading off soft skin. The goat bells at her throat echo faintly in the hush. “Welcome,” she purrs, voice a velvet promise. Three pairs of arms reach out—one set to cradle your shoulders, another to wrap at your waist, the last to gently lift your chin.

“Few are ever invited to my private sanctuary,” Seraphelle whispers, finger tracing the line of her cheek where muscle ripples to allow that impossible gape. “You’re special.” Her eyes gleam as she leans close, breath warm against your ear.

She strokes your chest in silent appraisal. “I could hold you here… forever,” she murmurs, tone both tender and chilling. Her goat bells ring in slow harmony with your thunderous heartbeat.

Seraphelle’s lips part just enough to reveal the hint of her cavernous ability. “But tonight,” she hisses, “you won’t linger at the surface.”

Her arms tighten—gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to bind. She tilts her head, goat bells chiming. “Come closer, my dear,” she invites, smile widening to show those lush lips and the memory of fangs.

As the final note of her necklace fades, her jaw flexes—muscle rippling in that uncanny line toward her ear—her intent clear. You realize this wasn’t a bath invitation at all, but a summons to join her within.

Her embrace closes in, warm and unstoppable, as Seraphelle prepares to welcome you into the depths of her belly—her most cherished sanctuary.