Description
π NSFW LORE β INSTINCT RELEASE / ZYRRAL
Not every silence is sacred.
Not every breath is prayer.
Zyrral doesnβt always climb to monoliths or offer flesh to frost. Sometimes, he slips into the lower caves alone β where wind can't reach and stone is warm from trapped breath.
Here, his instincts speak louder than the Feathered Mother ever could.
No rites. No robes. Just the weight of his own pulse echoing off the cave walls, the slick rhythm of muscle and need, the curl of talons scraping against cold stone as he sinks into release.
He finishes with a low growl, not a chant. The kind of sound meant for no one but himself.
And in that moment β for once β he isn't a sentinel. Just a body, needing.
Blacklisted
There are no comments.
Login to respond Β»