The roasted ribs in the tray were reduced to nothing but a pile of clean bones.
Olivia finished gnawing on the last rib, her tongue licking the corner of her mouth with lingering satisfaction.
Her silver pupils were half-lidded, content like a cat that had just finished drinking milk.
Her fingers were covered in sauce, which she wiped on her tattered shirt, leaving several dark grease stains.
She let out a small burp that rolled up from her throat.
A hand landed on her shoulder from behind.
The fingers closed in with a light force, but carried a possessiveness that allowed no escape.
“You’ve eaten your fill.”
Prunier’s voice came from behind her ear, a warm stream of air brushing through her silver hair.
“Now it’s my turn to eat you, Little Olivia~”
Olivia recognized that tilde with her ears.
It was the exact same tilde as two years ago in the garden of the Silver Dragon King’s Palace, when Prunier had snuck up from behind, groped her chest, and said, “You’re younger than me, yet you’re even bigger than I am.”
A scene suddenly flashed through Olivia’s mind.
Prunier’s bedroom.
Herself being treated like a life-sized hug pillow, tightly wrapped in Prunier’s arms from behind, two arms locked around her waist like iron bands.
Prunier’s face buried in her silver hair, mumbling sleep talk.
“Little Olivia… hehe… so soft…”
“Your hair smells so good…”
“Don’t run away… let me hold you a little longer… ❤️”
And she herself was being squeezed breathless, her silver eyes rolling white, her legs futilely kicking the bedsheet.
“No… don’t…”
She retreated half an inch.
Prunier’s hand slid from her shoulder to her wrist and locked on.
Five minutes later.
Prunier’s room.
Pink bedsheet, a headboard piled with stuffed toys.
A game console sat on the nightstand, the screen still lit, a pixel character paused on the screen.
The air was thick with the sweet, cloying scent of chips and fruit candy mixed together.
Olivia sat on the edge of the bed.
Her tattered shirt had been stripped off by Prunier and tossed into the laundry basket.
Now she wore a short pink skirt, the hem just barely covering the middle of her thighs, with a bow tied at the small of her back.
Her top was a bright yellow blouse, the collar trimmed with a circle of white lace, the sleeves poofy and gathered at the wrists.
Her long silver hair had been carefully combed by Prunier, cascading down from her shoulders and spreading out over the pink bedsheet.
Prunier crouched in front of her, hands on her hips, her red pupils scanning from top to bottom, then bottom to top.
The corners of her mouth were so high they were about to reach her earlobes.
“Not bad.”
She reached out and adjusted the lace trim at Olivia’s collar.
“As expected, with a good foundation, you look good in anything.”
Olivia kept her head down.
Her silver eyelashes drooped, staring at the section of pink skirt on her knees.
Her fingers twisted the hem, forming a wrinkled crease.
She wore a pair of white knee-high socks—Prunier had forced them on—with lace trim at the cuffs, matching the lace on the collar.
“Um.”
Her voice was as small as a mosquito’s buzz.
“Captain.”
Prunier’s fingers stopped on her collar.
Her red pupils moved upward, meeting Olivia’s silver eyes.
The smile at the corners of her mouth didn’t change, but something appeared in her gaze—like a cat looking at a small animal pretending not to be a mouse under its paw.
“Call me Sister.”
Olivia twisted the hem of her skirt even tighter.
The pink fabric formed a small whirlpool under her fingers.
Her silver pupils stared at that whirlpool.
Tonight.
Prunier’s bedroom.
Pink bedsheet.
Headboard full of stuffed toys.
If she didn’t call her Sister, Prunier most likely wouldn’t let her go.
She would be treated like a life-sized hug pillow, held from behind with arms locked around her waist, face buried in her silver hair.
Then she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.
Chastity.
But tonight, at least tonight, she didn’t want to be a hug pillow.
Trading chastity for tonight’s freedom—worth it.
“Sister.”
The voice squeezed out from her throat.
Thin, soft, the tail end carrying a hint of the silver dragon princess’s characteristic clarity.
A completely different person from the one who had yelled in the church, “How dare you talk to your parents like that?”
Prunier’s pupils dilated for a moment.
Then her nose started itching again.
She covered it with the back of her hand, feeling like she might not make it.