Moonlight bathed the forgotten cemetery in a ghostly glow, casting sharp shadows across twisted gravestones and crumbling spires. Amidst the flicker of jack-o’-lanterns and the whisper of wind through barren trees, two dark elf women stood face to face—Lyssara and Velmira. Clad in black leather and adorned with silver chains, their bodies shimmered under the pale light as if sculpted by desire itself.
Their fingers met first—gloved, trembling, hungry. Neither spoke, for their eyes had already said everything. They moved together like a ritual long rehearsed, lips meeting in silence as the world around them faded. The cemetery watched in stillness while they pressed into one another, breath warm, skin electric, leather and lace tight against rising heat. Each kiss deepened the pact, not forged by words, but sealed by touch.
Velmira guided Lyssara to the grass between the tombs, her cape pooling like shadow around them. She traced her lover’s curves with reverence, as if reading scripture from her skin. They gave in slowly, teasing, exploring, entwining limbs in a sacred dance beneath the moon. Nothing about it was hurried—only inevitable. Their pleasure was not just indulgence—it was devotion.
When it ended, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies still smoldering from the ritual. Around them, the fog thickened once more, but the flame between them burned brighter than ever. The pact was made—not of death, but of desire everlasting.
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