"Huff... huff..."
Lorne jolted awake and sat up, gasping for breath.
"Smack, smack..."
He instinctively smacked his lips, rolling his tongue around his mouth as though checking for some strange taste.
Only after a moment, once he confirmed that the distinctive bloody sweetness was absent from his mouth and the room held none of that wild fragrance, did his taut nerves relax a little. His mind gradually emerged from its haze.
Brando, Brando, you're mine. Look at me. We're going to be together forever~
"I actually dreamed about the Black Death again..."
Remembering how Tracy had pinned him to the bed and relentlessly "squeezed him dry" back at sea left him with a feeling he couldn't quite describe.
Honestly, although it had been somewhat humiliating, it had also been strangely stress-relieving. A Demoness's figure really was... well... hiss...
Ah, if only Tracy weren't a yandere...
"Was it because I exhausted myself so badly this time? I managed to kill Zartwin, but I nearly depleted my spirituality, too. And that glove has the side effect of muddling its user's thoughts, making it hard to distinguish reality from illusion..." Lorne analyzed his physical condition while finding excuses for himself.
At the same time, he felt an inexplicable heat lingering in his body.
"Have I been repressing myself too much...?"
"Aren't nobles supposed to indulge themselves...?"
He reached up and gently touched the corner of his mouth. That fleeting touch in the basement last night, cold yet soft, seemed to return to his lips.
"Sharron... sigh..."
"I feel like things are getting complicated."
Sharron's sudden "ambush" just before leaving had completely caught Lorne off guard. He had never imagined that Sharron, always as aloof as a doll and strictly observant of the tenets of temperance, would do something so bold.
No, thinking back