<span style="font-weight: bold">Sasara</span><br/><br/>“Regretsss are a wassste of sssecsss,” Sasara hisses. There’s a sway to her upper body that a streetwalker would be proud of, and her foreteeth are elongated and sharp. Her tail coils and writhes behind her, inhumanly sensual as she slithers forward, leaving Johan no choice but to back against Cyria or take up the offered armful of nagaress. “Take off your clothesss. You might be injured,” she continues, fingertips flickering with healing magic. “Essspecssially if you refussse,” she hisses her frustration. “Csscyria,” she says. “Help a sssisster with thisss recaltriscsiant human.”