When I pushed two fingers into her warmth, I felt her wings arch as she caught her breath. The chamber was dark, with only a sliver of cold starlight cutting in through the stone wall. She was soft wet velvet. The tangled bedsheets and curtains linen, red. Listening to her moaning, I stroked her clit with my tongue. She tasted like honey.
Once she was done using me, I would be strung and cut. I would let her draw a dozen patterns with my blood for another night like this. Someone had to be a living gate, there was no other way into the vaults of heaven; and I was glad to be a tool for her insurrection.
End.
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