The Kiss...
... Was not a romantic
Or magical...
...Like novels would make you believe.
The sour taste of blood, mixed with the strange black ichor that carried a sticky, bitter taste that flowed into my mouth, my throat.
A taste that lingered on my tongue.
A scent scorched the back of my nose.
Yet the semi-conscious Qinglan didn't care—her hands gripped the back of my hair, pulling on it hard enough to tear a few clumps out.
"Ngh...!"
Our eyes met...
...but her pupils weren't there.
Only two thin slits swimming in murky grey, barely human. Her jaw quivered. Black ichor leaked down her chin and into my mouth. The taste became worse. Hot copper. Sour rot and burning bile mixed into a foul concoction.
My stomach tightened, but I didn't pull back.
Instead, I pushed deeper.
