Lyselle laughed—a sound carved from crystal and honey. “And yet some treasures must be taken,” she murmured. “You can barter, child. We will grant you what you want; in return, we take a token.”
The succubi—if they were succubi—did not attack. They invited. “You look tired,” the burnished woman said. Her name, when she offered it, unfurled like a petal: Lyselle. “Sit. Rest. Tell us of the cold world beyond.” Escape From The Nest Of The Kissing Succubi -v1...