Fine white fingers tensed tight, clutching at the bedsheets beneath.
Rumpling them with suggestive folds.
Time passed by minute by minute.
A bright moon was gradually devoured, and far off in the sky, dark clouds seemed to spread ominously, like approaching ghouls, baring fangs and claws.
Outside, a gentle wind began to blow, but its sound seemed to merge with the man's heavy breathing inside the cabin, blurring the distinction.
Wen Xian felt as if she were trapped in a mist of oblivion, struggling to breathe, her heartbeat racing exceedingly fast, the damp hair at her temples soaked with sweat, strands sticking to her cheeks, exuding a debased dejection that was captivating like poppy flowers, deeply addictive.
Yet she indulged in it, unable to extricate herself.
