Prayers to the Sun and Moon tumbled forth from her lips in a whisper, even as she began to weep, softly, as a lady should, without sobs or cries.  The tender, pert breasts beneath his fingernails are softer than the silk which covers them, crowned peaks responding to his ministrations to strain against the fabric.<br/><br/>Tears, hot and salty, land on the back of the lich's deft hands as he continues to undress her, the pleading in her eyes only more fuel to every domineering, sadistic impulse that begs for him to conquer Aurora, and make her his.