I hope I'm doing the right thing here.

Walter decided, before all else, they would visit the weapons shop, because Elin's voice perished after his last statement. For the entire duration of the return trip, her eyes remained downcast, and she followed, with a limp meekness, his dragging.

He grabbed her wrist by accident, a misjudgment because of her retreat. Yielding was unthinkable now. Facing her subdued look, he admitted his motivation currently lacked pure altruism.

Even if our condition demands action, this is a power trip.

Weights spilled across her plate of the [Scales of Love and Lust], and it unstabled from the barrage. The imbalance enacted a [Aphrodisiac] spell.

Elin's restraint was unexpected. She wobbled, and she released a high-strung exhale. Through her wrist, Walter could feel the trembling of her clenched fist. After clearing her throat, she straightened up proudly, and the only clue to her underlying turmoil was a faint pinkness on her cheeks. For a few seconds, she locked eyes through her water-laden hair, before dropping her head.

She faced it head-on because she wants me to keep going.

At the Adventurer's Guild, Elin managed, "Yes, of course," when Walter asked her to rescind the itinerary. On return, she mutely offered the security refund. Walter eyed her, tugged at the pouch on her hip, and dropped the coins in. Unmistakably preoccupied with anticipation, she overlooked her responsibility for safeguarding their funds. A simple mistake, but, from that point, she couldn't maintain eye contact.

Elin filed behind Walter, and he could sense her nearness. When the route diverged from the Pilgrim's Folly towards the weapon's merchant, she slipped her hand into his mitten, squeezed it, and planted her feet, so they had to stop.

"Later, I can't concentrate," after swallowing, she continued, "I'm fine." Elin's voluntary reassurance barely contested the volume of the rain. "As long as you plan a destination, I will walk with you."

She's asking me not to get nervous because she'll lose her composure.

Once inside their lodging, Walter secured the door, and several more weights clicked against Elin. His arousal was evident. She neither flinched nor commented, this was the willpower of a knight bracing for war. Water dripped on the floor as they watched each other.

Walter removed his armored mittens.

Elin tracked his hands, unmoving as a statue, as they reached for the lacing that tightened the neckline of her tunic. Each tug exposed more cleavage. Bravery alone maintained her stillness, to allow the disrobing, but, with more exposed skin, her breath quickened. Her breasts naturally rose and fell with her inhalation, and several more clicks dropped unrestrained. The blood vein of her neck rapidly pulsed.

A sense of fairness reminded Walter to unbuckle his gambeson, and he draped it over the chair. When he turned, he discovered her close, and her palms rested on his chest.

This is the first time she's touched someone else like this.

She guided him to sit, and she knelt to remove his boots. Next, she leaned forward between his knees, and her hands fumbled with the belt holding up his trousers. While her face started stoic, the more she failed to unbuckle his pants, the more she gritted her teeth, and the worse she mishandled the belt.

Walter laid his hands on her forearms. She stopped but refused to let go. When the panic subsided, she tried again, and gradually fought to open the strap.

She gasped after prying open his clothes. Weights crashed on the scales and then ceased. Her fingers curled and relaxed on his hips as she fixated on his lap and contemplated what to do.

Is it possible to bug-out a curse? More likely, her arousal is maxed, or I can't get any harder.

"You have to undress," Walter said, "This has to be for both of us, or it won't mean anything."

She shot him an accusatory glare, but it melted as soon as she glanced. He blushed as fiercely as she did. She peeled her tunic off and shimmied free of her pants.

The two lay side-by-side, facing each other. Walter scooted, so his nose was even with her collarbone, and Elin blinked with confusion. Mismatched, nothing lined up. But, when she realized his idea, her apprehension evaporated, and she clamped her thighs together and writhed. His free hand slipped low over her belly, to return the favor.

Once Elin commenced, she adhered to Walter, pulling him tight by wrapping one arm around his neck and gripping the wrist of his lower hand. Desperation flooded her, he might stop or slow, and she miserably clung tighter. It wasn't sex, so she needn't fear the consequences, but it wasn't decent, and it offered an escape. The muscles of her abdomen and thighs were as taut as a drum.

All she needed was for him to stay. They gasped quieter than the downpour until they burned up their frustration.

The persistent throbbing finally quit, and her sensitive areas stopped tingling. Her mental stamina depleted days ago. It refilled like water dripping into a cup.

The storm broke.

Grace from Gaia, she thought, I've earned my reprieve. I was acting crazed, single-mindedly marching forward because I couldn't gather my wits.

Disciples of Venus, she loathed the association, called the phenomenon 'Afterskin,' a result of overusing carnal magic, an ignoble residue from the heroes of the Bloody Crusade. If someone stared at an image, then looked away to a blank space, the inverted image would stay in their vision. The same worked for illusions, of any sense, and it was a technique to help detect them. Afterskin occurred for illusory touch.

The sensation accumulated until its severity matched [Aphrodisiac], and, since touch lacked color, the arousal was the same. Even without the presence of physical arousal, the mental equivalent tortured her unending. Why the Disciples of Venus considered this recreational, she couldn't fathom.

What she did understand, after the prolonged denial, was its insidious nature. Her willpower felt like a sheet stretched out over stakes, and every spell was a rock dropped on it. Near the end, her resistance sagged, crushed into the ground, and saying, "No," was impossible. The church doctrine, 'The Three Qualms of Heroism,' qualified the harmful nature of unmatched authority, violence, and eroticism. The third she understood personally, now.

Elin rested her chin on Walter's head and stroked his hair while he slumbered.

The Order of the Witness states he qualifies for a hero's deponent now, and I don't know what to do.