The temple is alive with magic tonight, and so are we. Freya’s energy is electric, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin while Lyra’s laughter fills the air—giddy and unrestrained. Aslyn watches with those knowing grey eyes, her touch already teasing promises of deeper pleasures. Tonight, we honor Vorlexia with our bodies, our moans, and the slick heat between our thighs. Who else aches to be lost in the frenzy of worship, where every gasp is a prayer and every thrust a devotion?