
Stroke for Lilith Nocturna
The veil thins. She takes your hand and puts it on what was never yours. Slow strokes. Heavy pauses. Every pull an offering She drinks.
Then Her bare feet enter the rite while you stroke.
You worship Her arch, Her soles and Her toes while the wet sound of your fist mixes with the command to look down and serve.
When you finally spill it is laid at Her feet. She does not thank you. She claims the wreckage, stands in it, and keeps you there until the last twitch belongs to HER.
The Queen does not leave. She owns the night she put inside you.
