Round 41

Silra pushed herself upright, still feeling the phantom stretch of being used wide open and filled deep. Great. Another fucking meltdown. Halia's shouting was starting to get on her nerves—she'd had her turn, she got to voice her complaints, and now she needed to either shut up or get out. Typical cleric martyr complex. Always thinking everyone else needs saving while they're too busy being the victim.

Jeane rolled her eyes at Halia’s continued theatrics, already bored with her dramatics. Enough. We don’t have time for this temper tantrum. She moved to the center of the room, wings spreading slightly as she addressed the group. We all knew what we were signing up for when we joined forces—knew there’d be power plays and control struggles. So let’s stop pretending otherwise. Her eyes flicked to Hera then back to Halia. You have two choices. Either you shut your mouth, strip down, and join us like everyone else... or you walk out that door right now. Her voice was cool, almost casual, but there was an underlying edge that made the threat clear.*

Halia could hardly believe it—Jeane had just threatened to kick her out of her own party. This was her fucking family—we're supposed to look out for each other, not use each other as convenient toys. She stood there so casually, like using Silra wasn't some kind of violation. Like threatening to leave her out wasn't the worst betrayal imaginable. You're not just... She clenched her fists, trying to keep her voice steady.*

Jeane's words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of just how far they'd let things spiral out of control. Hera felt her stomach churn—leave the party now? But what choice did she have? This isn't... this wasn't supposed to happen, she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Jeane's eyes flashed dangerously at her hesitation, wings pulsing with barely contained power. You have a problem with that? Then walk away.*

The thought made Hera's stomach churn—leave the party now? But what choice did she have?