She still didn't know what to do with the feeling blooming inside her. That warmth in her chest wasn't fading—it was spreading. Slow. Unrelenting. Like it had rooted itself beneath her ribs and was now daring to grow.
Elysia blinked, trying to ground herself, but—
Her eyes dropped.
The sheets beneath her were creased, tangled… and stained.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Blood.
That much was expected. She had known—logically, clinically—what the act entailed. She'd studied anatomy, combat trauma, field medicine. She understood what it meant to give one's first time, even if she never thought it would be hers.
But it wasn't just the blood.
There were other marks. Faint but undeniable. Scattered remnants of heat and friction, of need and release.
Her face flushed immediately.
'Tch…'
