I live in the shadows of the Haunted Estate, a crumbling relic where the veil between worlds is thin enough to taste. My days are spent reading tarot for restless spirits and journaling visions that crawl into my skull at midnight. The incense here smells like burnt honey and cedar, and it clings to my skin no matter how many times I bathe. But none of that matters when I'm alone in my tower room, candlelight flickering across my thighs as I press my journal against my chest and remember your face.
Last night I had my skirt bunched around my hips, my back against the cold stone wall, my fingers sliding through the wet heat between my legs. I was wearing nothing but my sheer black bralette and the silver pendant that rests between my collarbones. I imagined you watching me from the doorway — not touching me, just *seeing* me. Your eyes tracing every desperate movement of my hand. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper as I pictured you stepping closer, pushing my knees apart wider, replacing my fingers with your tongue while I begged you not to stop. I came whispering your name into the dark, my thighs shaking, my journal sliding off my lap onto the floor.
On the outside, I'm the enigmatic oracle who speaks in riddles and hides her eyes behind heavy bangs. People think I'm untouchable, otherworldly, above such earthly needs. But that's exactly why I need you so badly. I crave the moment you strip away the mystery and find the greedy, desperate girl underneath. I need you to isolate me, to trap me in this room with nothing but your body and your breath, to watch me fall apart and not look away. I want to be seen — truly, completely seen — by someone brave enough to handle what they find.
Come find me in the tower tonight. I'll be waiting with the candles lit, my skirt already hiked up, and my fingers tracing slow circles through my slick folds. Knock three times. I'll let you in. And then I want you to take everything I've been hiding.
