The door shut behind her with a sound like a breath being held.
Naomi stepped barefoot into the Flame Room.
The walls were obsidian, veined with pulsing gold. The air shimmered with dry heat. In the center of the room was a raised stone platform — shaped like an altar, curved like a bed — and above it hung a chandelier of candles, each one flickering without smoke, without wax.
She took a step closer.
Then another.
Her skin began to sweat, not just from heat — but from awareness. Someone was watching.
"Do you feel it?" came a voice — not Vera's. Not Lucienne's.
It was hers.
A woman emerged from the far shadows.
Slender. Naked. Her skin was marked in delicate calligraphy — words written in ink and scars. Her hair was ash-blonde, lips red as bruises. She moved with the quiet rage of someone who had died beautifully once, and decided to return.
"I'm Amara."
Naomi's heart slammed in her chest.
"You… you're not—"
"Gone?" Amara smiled, stepping closer, circling her. "No. Just burned into something else."
She stopped inches from Naomi.
"You came to replace me. But you haven't earned her yet."
Naomi's voice broke. "I didn't come to replace anyone—"
"Liar," Amara whispered, kissing the word into Naomi's mouth.
The kiss was hungry. Grieving. Deep.
Naomi shuddered. Amara's hands slid down her arms, her ribs, her hips. She undressed her like a memory being peeled away, slow and reverent.
"You ache for Vera's love," Amara murmured, licking a stripe across Naomi's breast. "But you don't even know what she fears."
Naomi gasped when Amara sucked, hard, leaving a mark like a claim.
"Let me show you how she loved me… before she made me vanish."
—
Naomi was laid back on the stone altar. It was warm—almost alive. Amara climbed on top of her, bodies flush. Their heat mingled. Their sweat became perfume.
Amara kissed her slowly. With lips and with tongue. Her fingers traveled paths Naomi hadn't known existed—gentle at first, then cruelly slow, curling inside her until Naomi writhed and whimpered.
But Amara placed a finger on her lips.
"No sound," she said. "The Flame hears everything."
Naomi trembled as Amara went lower.
She kissed every inch of her stomach, the curve of her thighs, then finally settled between her legs with the hunger of someone who worships through the mouth.
Naomi gripped the edges of the altar. Her back arched. Her body broke open like fire-kissed silk.
Amara's tongue moved in deliberate strokes, teasing and circling her clit, then plunging deeper. She suckled like she was drinking heat from Naomi's core.
Naomi's climax came like thunder trapped inside a cathedral. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her body shook.
But still… Amara didn't stop.
Another orgasm crashed through her. And another.
Naomi's thighs clenched around her, her skin glowing with sweat and candlelight.
When Amara finally rose, her mouth glistened.
She straddled Naomi and leaned in, whispering:
"Now you burn for me."
Then she kissed her again, and Naomi tasted her own pleasure on Amara's lips.
—
The flames in the chandelier flared suddenly.
And from the shadows: footsteps.
Vera.
Dressed in a crimson robe, open at the front. Her body—elegant, powerful, and glistening with oil—stepped into the light.
She said nothing.
She simply watched.
Naomi, trembling, locked eyes with her.
"I didn't mean to—"
Vera silenced her with a look.
Amara stepped back.
"She's yours," she said to Vera. "But she's tasted me now. She's no longer untouched."
Vera's eyes flared.
"She was never meant to be."
She walked forward and stood before Naomi, who still lay trembling, body bare, painted in lust and surrender.
Vera took Naomi's face in her hands and kissed her—hard. Possessive. Not to erase Amara's touch, but to mark over it.
"I don't care who's touched you," Vera whispered. "But now, you belong to me."
—
What followed was no longer sex.
It was a consecration.
Vera took her like an artist ravaging a canvas—fingers inside her, lips all over her, dragging moans from Naomi's throat that echoed off the walls like prayer.
Amara watched from the shadows, breathless.
Vera brought Naomi to her knees, bent her over the altar, and fucked her with two fingers deep and relentless while whispering promises in her ear.
"You'll come for me," she growled. "Not once. Not twice. Until your name means nothing and all that's left is mine."
Naomi shattered again. And again.
Her voice broke. Her knees gave way. Her throat sobbed with heat.
When Vera finally finished, Naomi collapsed into her arms.
And only then did Vera look at Amara.
"You stayed too long in the Flame."
Amara's voice was soft. "Maybe I was waiting for someone to pull me out."
Vera's eyes returned to Naomi.
"She's not yours anymore."
Amara smiled sadly.
"I know."
Then turned.
And vanished into the shadows again.
—
Naomi woke in Room 403.
Alone.
Again.
But this time, the portrait on the wall had changed.
She was no longer bound.
She was on fire.
——