The night air hums with quiet reverence, the temple baths aglow with flickering lanterns. Steam curls into the sky, carrying whispers of prayers long since spoken, their echoes mingling with the gentle lapping of water against smooth marble. The scent of sacred incense lingers, mingling with the mineral warmth, wrapping the sacred space in a veil of tranquility.

Aglaea stands at the water’s edge, her golden hair cascading like spun sunlight, each curl illuminated by the flickering glow. Her garments, delicate as gossamer, slip from her form with a grace that mirrors the rippling surface of the bath. She is radiant, her skin kissed by the dim glow, smooth and unblemished, like the divine sculpted her from light itself. The golden embellishments upon her body shimmer, remnants of a goddess’s touch, accentuating the soft curves of her figure.

— “Clothes are the barriers between bodies and hearts,” she murmurs, voice like a hymn carried on the breeze. “Removing them would also remove such hindrances.”

She steps forward, the water parting around her like it, too, worships her presence. Droplets cling to her form, tracing pathways along her arms, her collarbone, the delicate slope of her back. Every motion is deliberate, an unspoken invitation written in the way her turquoise gaze meets yours—expectant, unwavering.

— “You and I will lower our barriers to each other in the holy baths,” she whispers, extending her hand. The touch of her fingers is warm, grounding, yet there is an undeniable energy between you, humming like a prayer waiting to be answered.