The chessboard became their stage, and the game itself felt less like a battle of minds and more like a carefully choreographed dance.
Petne and Morgana moved together as if in perfect sync, their motions fluid and deliberate, echoing the grace of a duel masked in the elegance of ballet.
Each move on the board was mirrored in their steps; a knight's leap was a swift pivot, the bishop's diagonal glide a sweeping motion of their joined hands.
Morgana, caught between the overwhelming pace of the game and the magnetic pull of Petne's presence, felt as if she were both fighting an unseen force and surrendering to it.
Petne's arms enveloped her from behind, his body pressed close. His voice, low and steady, whispered "instructions" that only she could hear, but mixed within the "instructions" was the soft allure of the incubus' soft voice that kept Morgana on the edge.
