summary: you're chosen as the test subject by an entity with a cutie system as your companion, traveling world after world but the premise is that...— no spoiler (〃´▽`)
cw: blood, just tiny bit
main next
you wake to something soft.
not fabric. not earth. skin.
your cheek is pressed into warmth that yields when you breathe, plush and alive, rising and falling in a slow rhythm that doesn’t belong to you. it takes a second too long for your mind to catch up. to understand why your face sinks when you shift, why your nose brushes against a curve that is unmistakably human.
breasts.
full, warm, impossibly gentle. they cradle your face without intention, without shame, like the careless comfort of being held before you learned what danger was.
but your body goes rigid.
you don't open your eyes.
an arm is wrapped around your back, loose, but keeping you where you are. the forest smell clings to her. damp moss, crushed leaves, bitter herbs.
then something sharp kisses your skin.
a sting blooms at the side of your neck, clean and precise. pain flares, then fades, replaced by the slow warmth of blood slipping free. it trails down your skin in a thin line, unhurried, deliberate—like she wants you to feel every second of it.
above you, a soft sound vibrates through her chest.
a chuckle.
“i know you’re awake.”
her voice is gentle in the way venom can be gentle, can be smooth, almost affectionate. fingers brush your hair aside, careful, avoiding the cut as if she doesn’t want to ruin it.
“you’re bad at pretending,” garofano murmurs. the witch’s name settles over you like a curse remembered too late.
“but that’s alright. i don’t mind.”
her arm tightens, just slightly.
before panic can spill over, a familiar presence flickers to life in your mind.
[mission assigned]
the word drops like a stone.
[objective: leave the forest]
your stomach twists.
leave.
garofano’s fingers trace slow, idle lines along your spine. she doesn’t react to the word mission. she doesn’t pause, doesn’t stiffen.
she doesn’t know.
but then she exhales.
“…you’re thinking about it again,” she says quietly.
the teasing is gone now. what replaces it is worse.
“that faraway look. like you’re standing on the edge of something, ready to disappear.”
her chin rests lightly against your head, “i don’t know where you go.”
“only that every time you leave, the forest grows quieter. colder.”
her fingers curl into your clothing.
“you came back,” she whispers. relief bleeds through the words, quickly smothered by something darker.
oooohh I just read the first part of your Inhuman series and it's sooo interesting (*´・з・) can't wait to read the rest especially Shin's part she's just so dear to me 🤌 *twirling my hair when I see the implied cannibalism*
yesss comrade shin + cannibalism is sexy. can't wait to write them all doing evil 😍
summary: you're chosen as the test subject by an entity with a cutie system as your companion, traveling world after world but the premise is that...— no spoiler (〃´▽`)
main next
"say... are you sure she's inside this room, cutie?"
[yes, please don't doubt the system]
hearing the voice inside your mind, you couldn't help but sigh, "i didn't sign up for this."
[of course, you were chosen, you had no choice]
"..." even if the attitude is unreliable, that basic information should be reliable, right..?
after years of living your life, you finally got a chance to do something fun, only to die unexpectedly.
how cliché!
fortunately, you aren't meant to die. at that time, a system called "cutie" found you, telling you that as long as you travel to different worlds and save different lives, you can live once again.
but who knew that this system was such a huge trap!
it doesn't even know what to do nor does it have a script for you to follow! what a scam! it might even exist only for emotional support, that's it. nothing more!
you can only sigh again in exasperation as you walk in.
the door closes behind you with a soft click.
the room smells faintly of smoke and pine. plush carpet, low lighting, curtains drawn tight as if the night itself was being kept out on purpose. you take two careful steps forward, every instinct screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.
your gaze drops first.
abs. firm, sharply cut, the kind that look sculpted rather than trained. an unbuttoned shirt hangs open, dark fabric framing the skin. your brain stalls for a good second, stuck somewhere between embarrassment and appreciation—
—and then you see the ears.
wolf ears. snow-white, twitching slightly atop a woman’s head.
she’s lounging on the edge of the bed like she owns the place. one long leg crossed over the other, fingers lazily holding a cigarette as smoke curls from her lips. sharp eyes already locked onto you.
you realize, belatedly, that she’s been watching you the entire time.
“decide to come back?” she asks. her lips curve, slow and dangerous.
your heart drops straight through the floor.
[oh wow] cutie sounds impressed.
[see? target acquired]
“target acquired my ass,” you mutter under your breath, frozen in place.
you swallow. her presence presses down on you—cold, dominant, like standing in the shadow of a mountain mid-blizzard. unrestrained.
“sorry,” you blurt, brain scramblin, “wrong room.”
a lie. a terrible one.
she exhales smoke, eyes narrowing just a fraction. the temperature in the room drops.
“is it?” she asks softly.
behind her, frost creeps along the window’s edge, spiderwebbing outward. the cigarette burns down to ash, but she doesn’t tap it. doesn’t need to. her attention never leaves you.
[uhhh] cutie hesitates.
[system reminder: running is statistically inadvisable]
“why didn’t you say that earlier?!”
your body finally listens to survival instinct and shifts backward, one step at a time. the door is right there. you can still leave and figure out what kind of messed-up world this is—
a low growl reverberates through the room.
not from her mouth.
the shadows stretch, folding inward, and for a split second she is no longer on the bed.
on your left, there is a white wolf baring its teeth at you.
your breath catches. ice blooms across the floor, racing toward you faster than thought.
the frost paralyzed your steps, rendering you powerless, then she appeared before you, pinching your chin, "where do you think you’re going?"
her fingers are cold, firm, forcing your gaze upward. those same piercing eyes stare down at you now, amused... and unmistakably pleased.
“funny,” she murmurs, leaning in close enough that you can feel her breath, “you show up after all this time, and the first thing you do is try to leave.”
she tilts her head, ears flicking. a smile ghosts across her lips.
“looks like fate finally found you,” the wolf monarch says, “and this time… i'm not letting you slip away.”
her fingers are still pinching your chin, forcing you to look up.
up close, the impact hits harder.
she’s... handsome.
not in a soft way. not pretty, not delicate. her features are sharp and clean-cut, like they were carved rather than born—high nose bridge, defined jawline, lips set in a confident, almost arrogant line. the kind of face that looks better when it’s cold, when it’s dangerous. when it smiles like it knows it has the upper hand.
if she were standing among men, she’d outshine them without trying.
if she were standing among women, she’d still steal every gaze.
her hair falls loosely over her shoulders. the wolf ears only make her more striking, more unreal, like some cruel deity decided beauty should be unfair.
your throat tightens.
this is the wolf monarch?
zoya?
no wonder kingdoms fell.
no wonder you’re in trouble.
zoya notices the way your eyes linger—just for half a second too long—and her smile deepens, slow and knowing.
a quiet laugh escapes her, “so you finally recognize me.”
your voice comes out thinner than you like, “i was really just—”
“lost?” she finishes for you, thumb brushing your jaw. the touch sends a chill straight down your spine, “curious?”
her gaze sharpens, “or drawn here?”
[oh no] cutie whispers.
she leans closer, handsome face inches away now, eyes glinting like moonlight on ice.
“relax,” she says, voice low and smooth, “if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing.”
a pause.
“...yet.”
the frost eases just enough that you can breathe again—but not enough to move. zoya releases your chin, straightening to her full height, utterly unbothered.
“stay,” the wolf monarch says casually, turning away as if your fate is already decided, "you came all this way, didn’t you?"
her tail flicks once behind her, slow and confident.
“and i’m very curious,” she adds, glancing back over her shoulder with that dangerous yet charming smile, “what did you come back for?”
[congratulations]
[first world unlocked. survival rate... questionable]
reader: are you sure you sent me to the right world?
cutie system: according to the data collected, i am 99.9% not mistaken
reader: what about the 0.01%???
cutie system: 🤷♀️
reader: 😦
summary: you're chosen as the test subject by an entity with a cutie system as your companion, traveling world after world but the premise is that...— no spoiler (〃´▽`)
notes: this is basically a PTN AU with mostly the MOTHERS but zoya is an anomaly, she's a father. i'll add more if inspiration hit me in the head. a little warning, content might get a little bit dark starting from garofano parts. sooo.. this idea came to life because i've been too engrossed in chinese novels, especially quick transmigration (QT) hehe. it can be QT and also standalone. please be patient since this is my first time writing a series, update is uncertain when.
ZOYA
where do you think you’re going?
the frost paralyzed your steps, rendering you powerless, then she appeared before you.
GAROFANO
you're not allowed to leave me.
full, warm, impossibly gentle.
JELENA
be obedient, and i will not take your soul.
OAK CASKET
don't resist, don't hesitate, don't make me force you... gulp it down...
SHIN
i'm going to eat you up piece by piece, so you'll belong to me completely.
summary: short crack fic, menace no.1 Du Ruo, menace no. 2 Hella, blunt Nino, poor Chief, mastermind EMP was gone after one mention
EMP: The next person that comes through the door will be your partner!
Chief: I didn't sign up for this..
Chief: Also Du Ruo, weren't you here earlier? So why did you go through that door again?
Du Ruo: Oh, I just walked out the door and came back in. As simple as that.
Chief: ...
Du Ruo: Well, looks like we're in this together.
Chief: ...
[TIMESKIP]
Unsurprisingly, Chief was made fun of, as usual. She was about to leave this kitchen if this scholar started teasing her again. Luckily, Du Ruo didn't seem to bully her too much as she picked up the melted chocolate next to her and shook it at Chief, "Guess who."
The chocolate formed the outline of a small and simple human body with slightly messy hair.
Two small dots on the round face for the eyes.
And a tiny dash of chocolate for the.. lips?
Chief stared at Du Ruo silently. Did she really look like.. an emoji?
Chief was about to complain, then she saw the hand holding the decorating bag trembling slightly. Cleary, Du Ruo was holding back her laughter.
"..."
Chief turned to look at the clear sky outside, refusing to answer the question.
Why was she here? Just to suffer?
"Huh? Isn't this Chief?" Hella was waiting for Hecate to frosh the cake. Therefore, the gremlin who was wandering around out of boredom, happened to pass by and immediately helped her answer, pointing it out very rudely, "Especially the face, it's so boring, it looks exactly the same!"
Chief: ...
How on earth did you guess it from this simple drawing? Just from the two dots and a dash?
Chief sighed and reached out to take the chocolate sauce. Du Ruo wasn't the only one who can draw stickmen chibis.
[TIMESKIP]
Du Ruo: Adding fox ears on me? Okay, you did it first.
Du Ruo: Don't blame me for what comes next.
[TIMESKIP]
When the time was out, the cakes were moved to the long table in front of the podium.
Yet..
"This is..." Ignis hesitated while looking at the pattern on the white cake, staring at Chief and Du Ruo with a complicated expression.
Nino was more direct than her, she immediately pointed the singular line that connected the stick-like figures.
"Is this a fox walking a dog?!"
Everyone was silent for a moment. Chief lowered her head to look at her shoes. Du Ruo looked at the cake, then raised her hand to cover her mouth. Judging from the shaking of her shoulders, she must having a hard time holding back her laughter. Ignis's eyes shifted back and forth the two of them, the corners of her mouth twitched, and she turned her head hurriedly.
Do you have any twitter accounts or maybe bsky? It's so lonely without you and your content 😭💔
whoever you are im so sorry for pending this in my inbox for months. i was very very busy with university 💔
and yes, i do have accounts for both but i'm not that active nor do i post contents there
i'll be back to write some stuffs, probably in a month after i finish my comprehensive exam, which is a nightmare for someone who struggles with stringing words together irl hehe
Since Cinnabar is also one of my favorite Sinners as well, I want to ask you this question (not a request); do you think Cinnabar is an equestrian / horse girl? I personally do think she's one in my opinion. Cinnabar would be so gentle with horses & she would definitely take you out on a horseback riding date. Both of you sharing / riding the same horse as Cinnabar wraps her arms around you; making sure that you feel safe & protecting you.
Cinnabar's favorite horse breed is the Friesian; a handsome prince does deserve to ride a handsome horse after all. It would be so cute to see Cinnabar braid a Friesian's black, majestic mane. Dressage is something that I feel Cinnabar would be really good at; she would win so many Dressage competitions.
Anyway, thank you very much for your writings; they're so fun to read through! : )
i swear i saw this ask on someone's blog before BUT I AGREE IT'S CANON
even tho i didn't buy it (fake fan spotted 😔), cinna's attire is one of my favorite. IT'S SO DREAMY. but if i do own it, I'll probably just stare at her in daze OUGHH her smile is just too gentle in that attire, makes me want to jump into another dimension now just to ride horses with her 😭
“I don't want to come back home and find you dead.”
These words were something that Angell never fails to remind you everyday especially before she goes to work. And each time before she says goodbye, you get nothing but a brief side hug—if not a hug or if she's in a bigger rush, you only get a half-hearted nod before she hastily makes a beeline for the door.
The life of being a hitman’s lover. She's gone for almost the entire day, returns home when you're asleep—heck that even the weekends can't provide a little escape, she's either asleep for hours or preoccupied with that computer of hers. Apparently, being a hitman's lover is not for the weak. And you had to learn that the hard way.
Sat down by the couch and all alone, you’d do nothing else but mindlessly stare at the television. You're not just lonely, you're getting eaten alive by boredom as well. Everyday, it's just an endless routine of you cleaning your bedroom, making food, washing the dishes, all the housework is left up to you.
Not that you find it hard. You don't always have to clean—especially if you're always alone in the house for at least 90% of the time.
Would've been great if we had a day all to ourselves. And by ‘we’ you're thinking of you and Angell, together, doing all sorts of things you both want to do to make up for lost time.
Does she even want to make up for lost time?
The question stings, your heart burns. And even so, that thought alone prompts you to come to your senses once more.
The weather reporter speaks.
“Reporting for today’s forecast—we’re expected to have moderate to heavy rainfalls at the hour of…”
It's raining again. For almost the whole week—it has always rained. Not even a gloomy weather can stop Angell. No. It'll take a lot more to do. You don't know whether or not you should be… impressed? Worried? Upset? Her persistence could come across as something peculiar, but you know she means no harm by it.
You’d release a sigh as your hand reaches over—taking hold of the remote which was placed nearby, and upon doing so, you’d turn off the TV. The screen flickered close, shutting any of its power away. The sounds around you became prominent, the room turned slightly dimmer.
The dreary weather pitter-pattered. And in the background, a melody plays out. It's a tune you'd always listen to. The music that accompanies you whenever you wait for your Angell to come home. Dirty Nightsong, In One Room.
Right when you stood up from your seat—as if it was on cue, familiar knocks would tap into the other side of your front door. A thumping of a person's hand with punctuating pauses in-between. You'd recognize this anywhere. This is Angell.
On the earlier days of your relationship with her, you'd either run as if you're on a marathon just to reach that door—or you'd move so hurriedly fast you'd trip on the floor. And it always ended with Angell chuckling, smiling, and even laughing carefreely as she steps her way in. But now? Both you and her got quite a bit dull.
Leisurely—you’d make your way to the door. Slowly but surely turning the knob, not even bothering to look into the peephole. You'll always recognize Angell, in more ways than one.
But she'll return to you in a state you wouldn't expect, or at least, in a state you wouldn't want to expect.
She stood there. Drenched, disheveled, and bloody. Her head hung low along with her silky bracket strands—dripping off beads of water. Her leather jacket hugged her body so perfectly, slightly crumpled due to the dampness of the rain, and that includes her tank top.
Pelvic v-lines, defined and prominent—it slightly peeked from underneath her top, whilst her abs partially bulged from underneath the dark fabric of her shirt. But no, you mustn’t gawk at her like this. Not if there's a vague streak of red underneath all that fabric, against those heavenly muscles… that body rivaling that of a Greek goddess, it's wounded.
And frankly, you find yourself getting utterly devastated even though you've been mad at her this past couple of weeks. Weeks of distances, days of no interaction. God, it felt like a sting, but seeing her like this? It hurt even more.
“Angell— just what happened to you?” you questioned, but you’d actually like to interrogate her instead. You took her arm in her hand, immediately hoisting her into the expanse of your cozy shared apartment with her.
Like a fragile ragdoll, her body followed your grip—your pull. The heaviness of her weight crashed upon yours, and by luck, you managed to shut the door in time before she had lazily pinned you against the wall. Coldness and wetness traveled upon your body, from her to you.
Till now, she hasn't replied. Hasn't uttered another word. And you're left there to stand—trapped in between those drenched arms of hers, strong yet partially shaky. “Angell…?” you whisper one more time, this time, concern lingers by your voice.
“...I missed you.” she muttered, her voice sounded more of a call for help, as if she might've just avoided something fatal, which she probably did. But you couldn't understand why would she sweet talk you the moment she came back home—in a bloody mess at that.
“Don't give me that. I have to patch you up.” your tone was quite strong, unyielding. Your expression says otherwise though. Though you'll of course have to nudge her off of you, guide her back to the living room, let her body sink over the couch.
You'd rather have her that way than dead.
——
Moments passed—and you're currently standing in between her parted legs. A towel sprawled over the smoothness of her hair, her jacket was off, your hand tended her with care.
And of all the things she could've done, instead of taking her shirt off, she insisted on biting into the hem of her shirt. She's oddly sensitive to pain right now after all.
Teeth against the fabric, the shirt was rolled up to her mouth. Her breasts were clothed yet her abs protruded—jagged scars engraved over the paleness of her skin. Her eyes were shut close, her brow was arched upwards, signifying just how she endured this process.
And for this night at least, she looked vulnerable. To you and only you.
——
“Tell me what happened.” you raised a question once again, and by now you stood in front of her like an angered mother. Crossing your arms over her chest, an evidently upset frown plastered across your face.
Angell turned her head away from you, avoiding eye contact as she rested one of her hands upon her thigh, the other lingered by her nape. But with a defeated sigh, she’d finally reply.
“Nothing happened. I just got into a bad situation that's all.. I got a little occupied and—”
“Occupied? Getting a little occupied results in you going home all wounded?”
“No. But you'll have to understand, it's part of my job.”
“Dying is part of your job now?!”
“I can't avoid that risk.”
You fell silent. Obviously shocked. Yes, you understand that becoming a hitman has its risks, but you also couldn't help but wonder—would Angell bother living a long life for you? For the amount of opportunities her future holds? The amount of changes she could make?
“I’m sorry.”
Two words she’s always said. Two words said with absolute sincerity and yet the situation remains the same.
And those two words alone? They alone forced tears to rush out from your eyes.
You're at your breaking point, and it shows.
“You—you keep me locked up in here for almost everyday!” you stretched a finger out at her as you shouted. “You make me wait hours! Fucking hours, Angell. And whenever you come home you don't even talk to me anymore!”
Profanity came with sadness as you lost it even more, your vision became unclear as rivers of tears continued to flow by your eyes. “Now you expect me to suck up the fact that you'll die without us making most of whatever this is in between us?!”
You can't see her at all. But oh, if only you could—you’d see that redness in her eyes. The redness which also screams sadness. You sniveled, rather embarrassingly, but you couldn't fight that hand which reached for your waist.
Her hand which pulled you in against her. “I'm sorry that I haven't been coming home earlier.” you paused.
“I'm sorry that I’ve been worrying you too much.” another hand reaches for the side of your face, a finger catches your tears, delicately wiping them away “I'm sorry that you've been in pain because of me.”
Your vision became clear once more, looking down at Angell who remained sitting by the couch with her hands which stilled by your waist. Yet her words were different from her actions.
"I'm sorry that I love you."
How wounding of her.
You struggled. Writhing—trying to get out of her grip. Trying to escape that touch which you won't be able to leave.
“But please understand, I mean no harm by it.” Angell continued, and you looked away, saying: "Just say it, you don't care at all.”
“If I don't care it wouldn't hurt here.” she mused, her withdrawn hand took your wrist—guiding your palm. From the surface of her sculpted pelvis, to that deviously defined abs, all the way up to her chest, underneath her bandaged collarbone. “It wouldn't have continued living on for you, in the first place.”
A beating heart close to your hand, beneath that porcelain skin.
And that made it worse, you cried again. Jabbing at her unscathed shoulder. “Stop it- let go off me, please.”
“You don't want me to.” she stated.
By her words, she's beyond right. You don't want her to let go.
Your body follows her lead, straddling her lap, your legs on either sides of her thigh—your hand resting upon her shoulder. She stared up at you.
“I said I can't avoid the risk of dying, but I would never let it happen to me.” Angell stuck a hand out, the back of her hand—her knuckles, caressed your cheekbone with tears that still trickles off to your chin. “Not when I have someone to come home to.”
And as she leans in, she whispering. “I’ll make it up to you. Starting today, please let me make it up to you.”
You have no words left to reply, rendered vulnerable, only to listen.
“You’re worth more than any gig that I took.”
That was the last thing said by her.
——
Sheets were rustled as your nails dug in it, you cried out, you whined, you pleaded—her name came out of your mouth like a prayer.
She pleasured you, better than anyone could, better than she did before. You're crying again, but this time, it wasn't out of sadness anymore. Gentle. She was so gentle. Kissing your tears away, fingers inching within you—delicately, despite how she handled her weapon.
Release after release, the rounds became more intense. And you weren't so sure if you could still walk in the morning. You'd still be mad at her by the time you wake up, but it is for a different reason this time. At the very least, you wouldn't try to leave her anymore. Not today.
——
Her breathing fanned over your skin. her body curled above yours. Chest to chest, you laid bare with her, with only a blanket to provide coverage.
And finally, for the first time in weeks, or probably months, you woke up next to her. Bruised in the right ways, sore in a good way. You wouldn't trade this morning for anything there is.
By the time she woke up, there's one thing you're set on doing though.
Not a dirty eat-an-Angell-out in her sleep no. Maybe you'd love to cook her some red bean soup.
have you ever imagine how would it be to have yourself on your knees while she just sits there with that soft, gentle yet knowing smile? that kind of smile that tells lies so convincingly it feels like she’s the one cornered, as though she’s the victim, not the one holding all the strings.
that smile of hers is never cunning, never sharp. it’s tender, fragile even—crafted to make you believe she’s small, vulnerable, and unassuming.
she watches you now with that same expression, her head tilted just slightly as if in quiet curiosity. the way her eyes follow your movements betrays something deeper, though.
she must be fully aware of how much you wanted her right?
what a little cunning fox, don't you think so?
you shifts closer, your chin barely brushed her knee before you pried apart her crossed legs.
treasure that you’ve been craving since you laid your eyes on her.
advancing closer and closer..
soon enough, her hands finally move. one hand hovers above your head before gently resting there, almost as if to steady herself. but then, her body tensed when you lean in further, the slight arch of her back pressing her more firmly into the chair as though she could retreat without actually moving.
It happens so suddenly when her hand gently reaches for the back of your waist, a gesture so natural it feels as though it was always meant to be there. And like a cat longing for gentle caress, she leans in, her forehead brushing softly against yours.
Then her lips find yours. It’s not rushed or forceful—just a soft, lingering kiss.
But it makes you weak in the knees, your heart pounding uncontrollably. Whether it’s from the sudden affection or the way her strong arms lift you effortlessly, carrying you down to the familiar, soft couch where you two used to cuddle on—you can’t tell. But there’s no time to think when her gentle approach shifts into something different. Something that sends a numbing touch through your nerves.
Even the grace of her goldfish you take care for pales in comparison to the way her fingers move, tracing the soft dint of your back. Oh, how perfectly the shape of her fingertips fits into that dimple, as if they were made for it.
For as long as she could remember, Cinnabar had been a guardian angel, watching over countless souls throughout the ages. She'd seen it all—children with innocent dreams, elders with lives full of wisdom, lovers with stories both happy and tragic. She had been there through moments of triumph and despair, guiding, protecting, offering the solace that only an unseen presence could provide. Each life was a fleeting glimpse of the human experience, and she'd borne witness to more endings than she could count.
But this time…
Cinnabar's wings twitched, feathers ruffling as a flush crept up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she desperately tried to calm the warmth pooling beneath her skin, but it was no use. Nothing in her celestial existence had prepared her for this—for someone like you.
Never in all her years had she encountered a human who could actually see her, let alone touch her. The idea seemed laughably impossible; guardian angels were meant to be invisible, intangible, felt but never seen. Yet here you are, standing right in front of her, your eyes locked with hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
And to make matters worse, you were so bold—too daring. Your fingers grazing the edge of her wings, the soft downy feathers, made her tremble under your touch. A shiver ran down her spine, something she hadn't felt in centuries.
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing in a way that felt strange and yet oddly exciting. Angels were meant to remain calm, composed, above earthly desires and whims. But there was nothing calm about the way her pulse quickened, or how her wings fluttered against the sheets beneath her, helplessly pinned on the bed.
"W-What do you think you're doing?" she stammered, her voice trembling with confusion. Her wide eyes searched yours, looking for some sign of explanation. But all she felt was breathless, caught up in a moment she'd never expected.
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