Instead of yelling at me, calling me a hentai, pushing me away like I expected Lora to do, she just… leaned into my touch.

Her body sagged against mine, a dead weight suddenly given anchor.

However, the most surprising thing was that she… kissed me back.

Lora, the shy loli goddess of farm and animals, who had blushed to the tips of her ears the last time we kissed, was now kissing me with a desperation that was almost painful to witness. It wasn’t a kiss of lust, or even romantic love. It was a kiss of a drowning woman finding a piece of driftwood in a storm-tossed sea. A plea for life.

My arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her small, frail body flush against mine. She was so thin. I could feel her bones, fragile as a bird’s, beneath the simple tunic she wore. Her hands, which had been frozen in indecision, now clutched at the back of my bra, her fingers digging into the fabric with a surprising strength.

I let her have this.

I didn’t deepen the kiss. Didn’t turn it into anything else. I just stayed there, steady and warm, letting her cling like the world might end if she let go.

Her lips moved against mine, clumsy and raw, like she was relearning how to feel something other than pain. Her breath hitched, warm and uneven, and I felt the dampness of fresh tears against my cheeks. Not mine. Hers.

She sobbed.

Not quietly. Not politely. It tore out of her chest in raw, ugly sounds, the kind that scrape your throat bloody on the way out.

“…Morgana,” she whispered into the kiss, her voice so quiet it was almost lost between us. “I—I’m scared.”

I pulled back just enough to look into those hollow, grief-clouded eyes. My thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away another tear.

“Good,” I said simply. “Means you’re still here. Means you’ve got something left to lose. Something worth protecting.”

“W…What?” Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering through the fog of her despair.

“Scared means you’re fighting,” I clarified, my voice low but firm. “Dead things don’t feel fear. Monsters don’t. Only the living do. Only the ones who still give a damn.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Just a shaky exhale. Her hands tightened on my bra, knuckles whitening.

“Listen to me, Lora,” I said, my gaze locking with hers. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I can fix this. I’m not gonna spout some bullshit about how time heals all wounds or whatever. It doesn’t. Some cuts stay raw forever. But you don’t get to stop just ’cause it hurts.”

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. “…I don’t know how to keep going,” she admitted, her voice cracking like brittle glass.

“I don’t know how to… to look at myself and not see… failure.”

“Then don’t look at yourself,” I shot back, my tone sharp but not cruel. “Look at me. Look at this dumbass who’s been banging on your depressive little barrier for gods-know-how-long just to get in here and kiss you stupid.”

A flicker of something—maybe amusement, maybe disbelief—crossed her face.

“…You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“Damn right,” I smirked, leaning in to brush my lips against her forehead. “And you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.”

“…”

We kept staring at each other in silence for more than five minutes, like we were communicating telepathically. I couldn’t read her mind, but I could feel her, and I could feel her pain, her guilt, her fear, but under all that, there was a tiny spark of life, a faint glimmer of hope that I could fan into a flame.

It’s a start.

“…” My smirk softened into something more genuine. I gently pried her fingers from my bra, lacing them with mine. Her hands were so cold. I could feel her trembling, a faint, persistent shudder that ran through her entire body.

We both broke eye contact, looking down at each other’s lips, before locking our eyes again.

“…”

No words needed, our eyes told each other everything.

“HMMM!”

We didn’t lean gently, nope, we crushed our lips against each other again.

But this one was different from the last kiss.

This wasn’t a kiss of desperation or relief. It was… life, passion, and lust.

A spark of the old Lora, the one who would blush at a dirty joke but secretly enjoyed it, was trying to break through the layers of grief and self-hatred.

Her lips pressed back with intent, awkward but eager, like she’d finally decided to stop hesitating and just feel. The kiss wasn’t neat or practiced. It was messy. Warm. Real. I could feel the tremor in her mouth, the way her breath caught every time our lips parted just enough to breathe before colliding again.

Life.

That was the only word for it.

Her fingers tightened around mine, no longer cold and limp but clinging with purpose, as if grounding herself through touch. I felt a faint pulse of her divinity stutter and then steady, like a heart remembering its rhythm.

“Lora…” I murmured against her lips, half warning, half encouragement.

She answered by leaning in harder, forehead bumping mine as she chased the kiss again, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded and shining. There was heat there now—hesitant, flickering, but unmistakable. Not desire trying to consume, but desire trying to exist.

The temple reacted.

Not violently. Not dramatically.

The rot receded just a fraction, like shadows shrinking when a candle is lit. The heartwood beneath us gave a soft, creaking sound, not of pain, but of strain easing. A few motes of pale green light drifted lazily through the air, like fireflies remembering their purpose.

“!!!” Realizing that this might lead to something more… spicy and…. ahem… also bring Lora’s world back to life.

My instincts screamed to take her right here and now on the cold floor of this rotting temple.

To show her that life, that pleasure, that creation could still exist even in the face of unimaginable loss.

To fuck her back to life.

My hands slid from hers, gripping her narrow waist, yanking her small body tighter against me. She gasped into the kiss, a small, sharp sound, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she pushed harder, her frail arms wrapping around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair like she was afraid I’d vanish.

“Morgana…” she breathed against my lips, voice shaky but burning with need. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” I growled back, nipping at her lower lip hard enough to make her whimper. The sound shot through me, raw and electric, and I couldn’t help but dive deeper, my tongue brushing against hers. She hesitated for half a second, then met me with the same desperate fire, clumsy but fierce.

Her tunic bunched under my hands, the thin fabric barely there, letting me feel every fragile curve of her. I slid my fingers under the hem, grazing the cool skin of her hips. She shivered hard, not from fear but like the touch burned after so long in the cold dark of her guilt.

“You good?” I muttered, pulling back just enough to scan her face. Her eyes were still shadowed with grief, but now they blazed with something alive, something hot and reckless. The way I like it.

“Yes,” she panted, nodding fast, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I need this. I need to feel… anything. Something real.”

“Real, huh? I’ll give you real,” I smirked, crashing my mouth back onto hers, kissing her like I meant to devour her. She moaned softly, the sound vibrating against my lips, her hands tugging at my hair, pulling me closer. I tilted her head back, dragging my lips down her jaw, then to her neck, sucking at the pale skin there until she let out a shaky little cry.

“Ah~… Morgana!” Her fingers dug into my shoulders, her body arching against me, trembling but pressing closer like she couldn’t get enough.

“Keep moaning my name,” I rasped against her throat, my hands sliding higher under her tunic, fingers brushing the edge of her ribs. “It turns me on.”

She flushed, a faint pink coloring her ghostly cheeks, but didn’t shy away.

“…Hentai,” she mumbled, voice thick, but her hands were already fumbling with the straps of my bra, shaking but determined.

“Guilty as charged,” I grinned, throwing my bra in my inventory. “Come on, don’t just stare. Touch.”

Her breath hitched, eyes wide as her cold, trembling fingers hesitated over my bare skin. I grabbed her wrist, guiding her hand to my chest, pressing it there so she could feel my heartbeat thumping hard.

“Feel that? I’m right here. Not going nowhere.”

That broke her. She gasped, her other hand joining in, tracing the curves of my breasts, her touch light at first, then bolder as her confidence bloomed. I groaned, arching into her touch, the heat building between us so intense it felt like we might set the dying temple alight.

The room wasn’t dead anymore.

It was gasping, like a world finally taking its first real breath after a winter that lasted too long.

“…Morgana,” Lora whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with something raw and needy. Her eyes flicked up to mine. She didn’t say anything else, but her eyes told me everything she wanted to say.

I knew what she wanted.

I smirked, my fingers gripping the hem of her tunic.

“Up,” I commanded. She obeyed without question, lifting her arms so I could pull it over her head, tossing it aside. The fabric, once clean, was stained with dirt and dried tears. Now it was gone. A relic of her grief, discarded.

She sat there in front of me, pale and trembling but unashamed. Her body, though thin, was still beautiful, with soft curves and small, delicate breasts. The faint, almost-gone light of her divinity shimmered across her skin, no longer a dying ember but a flicker fighting to stay lit.

“…Still think you’re ugly?” I teased gently, my gaze trailing over her.

Lora bit her lower lip, shaking her head slowly. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but her eyes… they were glued on me.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry,” I said, pushing her back gently so she lay on the floor. “You’re so damn hot it makes me happy to know that I’m the only one who can taste this sweetness.”

“P-Please be gentle.”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep