The sound that rolls out from the pleasure house isn't a moan, nor a scream. It's a choral cry of ecstasy, so pure and radiant it might be mistaken for the song of angels.
Inside, the Saint Sister straddles Pip, her face tilted toward the heavens, golden hair a tangled crown of rapture, tears streaming down her cheeks as Pip works his hips in slow, divine rhythm.
[Activating Divine Touch Lv. 1]
He palms map the glowing sigils that have risen across her collarbone, her own latent holy magic answering his in bright, involuntary pulses. Every place his fingers trace, her skin blooms gold.
"M-More," Evania gasps, gripping his shoulder plates so hard her fingers go numb. "I can feel Her listening!"
