My pale, pearl-like skin stood out like a beacon in the dark, a stark, flawless contrast to the ashen world around me. My pomegranate silk gown fluttered in the warm Abyssal wind, exposing the rhythmic, unbothered rise and fall of my chest.
They expected to see this beastman female choking, weeping, or collapsing from the sheer density of the miasma. Instead, I carried myself with a slow, predatory grace, my golden eyes scanning their streets like a queen inspecting her stables.
"Look at them," Jerome murmured, a low, prideful chuckle vibrating in his chest as he walked half a step behind me, letting the crowd see exactly who I was with. "They think you're a ghost. They're waiting for the air to melt you."
"They'll be waiting a long time, honey," I purred, my eyes locking onto a group of high-ranking demon soldiers who had stopped in their tracks to stare at my thighs as the silk split with my stride. "If anything, the air down here makes the South feel like a dusty cage."
