Still breathless, his body trembling from the intensity of the kiss, Mordred slowly backed away, as if a veil had been ripped from his dulled senses. The imprint of Elystria's lips still burned on his when his fragmented consciousness began piecing itself back together—painfully, like shards of a shattered mirror.
He froze. His pupils, glowing with a deep orange hue like embers beneath ash, contracted as his gaze locked onto Elystria—the dragon princess—whose face was still dangerously close to his. Confusion flashed across his features first, then dizziness, and finally a brutal grimace twisted his face.
- "Y-You... You actually kissed me?" he stammered, stumbling backward as if he had just licked something poisonous.
His face contorted in visceral disgust. In a near-convulsive gesture, he scrubbed his mouth roughly with the soiled sleeve of his tunic, rubbing so hard the fabric scraped his skin raw.
