The Silken Frost Revel had taken over the manor’s moonlit terrace garden, where long banners of enchanted silk in shades of midnight blue and silver drifted from the trees like living veils. Guests moved between the hanging silks in slow, sensual dances, the fabric shifting and parting to create fleeting pockets of privacy while soft chimes and low drums played. The silks were said to absorb whispered longings and carry them to the winter spirits, cleansing the heart before the solstice’s final nights.
Elara drifted through the silken maze beside Lyra, her crimson robe now exchanged for a sheer silver slip that clung to every curve and left nothing to the imagination beneath. Her p***y was a slick, ruined disaster. Kaelen’s repeated heavy loads from the Luminous Hearth and every encounter
