“You have a sharp tongue, little scholar,” Lady Vane purred, her voice like honey laced with frost. “You mocked my poetry at the salon. In front of everyone.”
“Why should I?” Lady Vane asked, switching to the other foot. “You haven’t given me what I want.” tickling submission
Lyra looked up at her captor. Her mind was quiet for the first time in years. No clever rebuttals. No sarcasm. Just the simple, honest truth. “You have a sharp tongue, little scholar,” Lady
“Please,” Lyra begged between heaving breaths. “Please, stop.” “You have a sharp tongue
Lyra slumped against her bonds, panting, her whole body humming. Her cheeks were wet, her hair a mess, her dignity in tatters. And yet… the silence felt strange. Empty. She found herself leaning forward, seeking Lady Vane’s hands.