The steady rhythm of Qatrand's chest rising and falling, as fingers continued with gentle strokes through Elua's hair, both pushed away and eroded millennia of doubt. For minutes, the ancient cultivator allowed herself to simply exist in the warmth of her beloved husband-wife's arms. It was so comfortable and relaxing that she didn't bother to fight away any of her idle thoughts.
'It's fine to think of *things*, as long as I don't actually do them~'
Each soft scratch of nails on the brunette's scalp felt like it scraped away more and more - of her worry, her urges, and her shame. The swordswoman sucked in a deep breath and sighed before her low voice rumbled out. She hated to ruin the nice mood, but she didn't want to let a question linger in her thoughts.
"El. What eventually happened to that person? The one you... influenced."
