Here's the chapter with a line gap (empty line) after every period:
At last, the slime relented.
The tendrils withdrew—first from her mouth, leaving her gasping, spit trailing down her chin; then from her pussy and asshole, slipping out with a wet squelch that left her throbbing and empty.
The coils around her arms and legs loosened, easing her gently back into the pond's embrace.
Across from her, the slime surged toward the bear-eared woman, tendrils coiling around her thighs as she squealed in delight, her grin widening as it began its dance anew.
Virael leaned against the wall, chest heaving, breaths ragged as she fought to steady herself.
Her skin tingled, hypersensitive, but to her surprise, she felt clean—no trace of sweat, juices, or slime clung to her.
Her body shone faintly, as if polished by the pond's touch, her skin smoother than before, glowing in the emerald light.
She rested there, gathering her strength, the moans around her fading into a dull hum.
When her legs felt solid again, she moved—slowly, carefully—gripping the edge to pull herself out.
The slime released her without protest this time, its surface rippling as she climbed onto the stone, her body dripping briefly before the liquid slid off, leaving her pristine.
She stood, catching her breath, her naked form still drawing glances from the women in the pond—some envious, others lustful—but she ignored them, her focus inward.
The slime was sanitary, self-cleaning, safe for its purpose.
Her guild task was done.
Virael crossed to her clothes, her movements filled with faint tremors in her limbs.
She dressed with care—leggings first, hugging her legs; then the black tunic, its silver trim catching the glow; finally, her cloak, draped over her shoulders like a shield.
She slipped her glasses onto her nose, the familiar weight settling her thoughts, and with them, her stoic mask returned—calm, composed, untouched by the chaos she'd just endured.
The bear-eared woman's moans echoed behind her, but Virael didn't look back.
She retraced her steps through the tunnel, the green light fading as darkness swallowed her path.
The goblin woman still lounged at the entrance, her bored expression unchanged, picking at her nails as if time hadn't passed.
She didn't acknowledge Virael's exit, and Virael didn't offer a word, her boots clicking faintly as she stepped into the night.
The cool air hit her face, grounding her further, the stars above sharp against the velvet sky.
The Slime Den's hum lingered in her ears, but her mind was already shifting—back to the guild, to her report.
The night had settled heavily by the time Virael left the Slime Den, the stars sharp pinpricks against a night sky.
Her body ached faintly, and the hour was too late to trek back to the guild.
She found a modest motel nearby—a squat, weathered building with flickering lanterns and a creaky sign that read "Rest Easy."
The room was simple: a narrow bed with patched quilts, a single window framing the moon, and a faint scent of cedar lingering in the air.
Virael shed her cloak and boots, her glasses set carefully on a rickety table, and sank into the mattress.
Sleep claimed her swiftly, dreamless and deep, her exhaustion pulling her under like a tide.
Dawn broke softly, painting the room in hues of gold and rose.
Virael woke, her muscles stiff but manageable, and got dressed.
The motel's breakfast was a humble affair: crusty bread, a slab of tangy cheese, and a mug of bitter tea that warmed her hands.
She ate quickly, paid the grizzled innkeeper with a nod, and set out for the guild, the morning air crisp against her skin.
The path wound through rolling hills, the distant city stirring to life as she approached, her spiraled horns catching the sunlight.