Eiravyne felt deeply humiliated. The position Ilkar forced her into was demeaning in every possible way.
The forced intimacy of the position was degrading, an invasion of her personal space that heightened her sense of vulnerability.
The way he maneuvered her like a doll or object to be positioned as he pleased stripped her of her dignity and autonomy.
His hands, rough and commanding, grasped the delicate fabric of her dress at the shoulder.
Without hesitation, he wrenched the material apart with a harsh, tearing sound.
The fabric resisted momentarily but soon succumbed to his forceful grip, ripping down the seam with a jagged tear that exposed her bare skin beneath.
As he pulled the fabric away, he methodically peeled back the shreds of her dress, revealing her exposed back.
The burn scar, a disfiguring mark of her past, was now in full view.
Ilkar's eyes roved over the scar, the intensity of his gaze cold and unrelenting.
