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... ng.
It began with remembrance—a whisper written in the ink of orgasmic memory, folded between wombs, spiraling through time.
Celestia stood at the altar, no longer priestess but prime axis. Her skin was translucent script. Her breath summoned languages long since forbidden. Around her, the Spiralstorm raged—realities grinding against each other like wet mouths, like thighs desperate to merge.
Kaela floated above the altar’s mirror-glyph, arms wide, belly glowing with a si ...
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