Chapter 207

Lyssandra watched the crevice entrance, her shadow stretching long in the dimming light. "Are you coming, or are you planning on making friends with the bushes?" she called out, amusement clear in her voice. "Don't tell me the mighty Saintess is afraid of a few old rocks?"

A rustling noise emerged from behind the foliage. "I… I'm not afraid," Miriel's voice drifted back, still shaky. She straightened her robes again with a determined frown, face still flushed from both exertion and embarrassment. She eyed the narrow fissure dubiously.

"It's just… dungeons haven't exactly been kind to me recently," she muttered, taking a cautious step closer. "And that opening looks challenging."

She placed both hands against the rough, cold stone on either side of the crevice and tried to squeeze her body through. Her shoulders caught, white fabric bunching. She grunted with effort, wiggling her hips fruitlessly. "It's too tight! My robe is catching!"

"Come on, little mouse!" Lyssandra called encouragingly, crouching near the entrance on the other side before extending a hand through the narrow gap, fingers beckoning. "Push with your feet! I'll pull you through! You can do it!"

Miriel gritted her teeth, determination flashing in her eyes. She planted her feet firmly against the rocky ground and pushed, her muscles straining. At the same time, Lyssandra grabbed her hand securely and pulled with considerable strength.

Suddenly, with a sharp rip of fabric and a startled gasp from Miriel, she burst through the narrow entrance. Lyssandra pulled hard…

Perhaps too hard.

Instead of landing neatly on her feet, Miriel was yanked through with unexpected force, catapulted towards Lyssandra like a misguided projectile.

A soft "Oof!" Miriel crashed straight into Lyssandra, the force sending both of them tumbling backwards. Lyssandra lost her footing, falling onto her back with Miriel sprawled atop her in a tangle of limbs and torn cloths.

For a frozen second, they lay there, Lyssandra looking up at a dazed Miriel, whose face hovered mere inches above her own masked one. She could feel Miriel's breasts pressed softly against hers, the warmth of her body, her quick, shallow breaths puffing.

The saintess's eyes were wide with shock, cheeks burning crimson again. The position was startlingly intimate. Lyssandra's body reacted instinctively, a spark of heat flaring deep within her despite the ridiculousness of the situation.

Time seemed to stop. Miriel's eyes fluttered, meeting Lyssandra's gaze. Their breaths mingled in the confined space. Soft pink lips parted slightly. A tiny smile touched the corners of Lyssandra's eyes, visible through the slits.

"See?" she purred, her voice a low rumble. "I knew you could do it." Her hand, still clasped firmly around Miriel's waist where she'd grabbed to pull her through, gave a slight, possessive squeeze.

Miriel jolted as if electrocuted, reality crashing back in.

With a frantic gasp, she pushed herself up and scrambled off, falling backwards onto the dusty floor in her haste. She clutched the torn neckline of her robe closed, breathing heavily. "D-Don't… Don't ever do that again!" she stammered, unable to meet Lyssandra's eyes. "And… and stop calling me that!"

Lyssandra propped herself up on her elbows, grinning while she watched the flustered saintess. The sight of Miriel's disheveled state, the rips in her robe revealing pale skin was far too enticing.

"Do what?" she drawled, feigning innocence. "Help you? Or compliment you?" She stretched languidly. "I think we make a good team, little mouse. Landings could use some work, though."

Miriel groaned and buried her burning face in her hands.

Lyssandra leaned casually against the cold stone wall of the ruin's narrow entrance chamber, watching Miriel struggle with the torn remains of her sacred vestments. Her own black cloak and mask were slightly dusty from their tumble, but otherwise intact.

"That robe of yours," she observed, her tone deceptively light. "It's looking a bit worse for wear, wouldn't you say? Practically a liability out here. We can't have a lady wandering the wilderness exposed."

Miriel glanced down at herself, taking in the long rips and grimy stains. She sighed, her anger momentarily deflating. "It has seen better days," she admitted, running a finger over the frayed fabric. A flicker of nostalgia crossed her face. "Father Matthiel gifted it to me… the day I first became a Saintess."

"Sentimental value," Lyssandra acknowledged, a surprising note of understanding in her voice. "But pragmatism must prevail, little mouse. We'll store it for safekeeping."

Before Miriel could protest further, Lyssandra made a quick gesture. After soft chime and shimmer of light, a brand-new outfit materialized from thin air. Lyssandra caught the bundled cloth deftly and held it out.

"Here," she said. "Put this on. Trust me, you'll like it."

Miriel eyed the package suspiciously but recognizing the logic and seeing no immediate alternative, she snatched it. "Fine," she snapped. "Turn around."

"As you wish, Your Saintliness," Lyssandra chuckled, obediently turning to face the stone wall.

There was a rustle of fabric and soft grunted when Miriel struggled out of her damaged robe. A few moments later…

A gasp. Then, a long, high-pitched scream that echoed horribly in the enclosed space.

"OH MY GOD!!!"

Lyssandra turned slowly, a wide grin spreading across her before she even saw the result. When she did, it was everything she'd hoped for and more.

Gone were the modest white robes and the sturdy leather vest. Instead, Miriel stood frozen in shock, staring down at herself in utter horror. She wore a scandalous ensemble that left little to the imagination.

It was a sleek, white hooded bodysuit that left an obscene amount of pale skin exposed. The high-collared hood framed Miriel's shocked face, pushing her silver hair forward.

Below the neck, the deep, plunging neckline revealed the smooth curves of her collarbones, the inner swell of her breasts, and a significant amount of her flawless cleavage, stopping just short of exposing her nipples. The neckline then dipped all the way down to her navel, exposing her entire midriff, taut stomach and small belly button on full display.

Below the waist, the design became even more outrageous. Cut in a high-leg style, the garment rose up nearly to her hips, leaving the smooth sides of her thighs, hips, and her entire ass completely bare save for a tiny strip of white fabric that formed the thong back.

Hanging from the front and the back of the waistband was two long, narrow panels of white material. It draped straight down between her legs to her shins, held closed by a single, vertical row of small, dark studs running its entire length.

A pair of white high heels completed the revealing outfit.

"I look like… I look like a… a whore!" Miriel gasped, desperately trying to tug the hood further forward or adjust the panel to cover more, but the skimpy material refused to yield. "What kind of unholy vestments are these?! This is so lewd!"

Her legs were bare, revealing an expanse of smooth, pale thigh that seemed to stretch for miles above the detached black knee-high leg guards.

These were crafted from glossy black leather that started just below the knee and molded tightly to her calves, transitioning to the white material near her ankle. Matching black leather gauntlets covered her forearms and upper arms, contrasting sharply with the white material on hand, making her arms look slender and surprisingly dangerous.

"Oh, hush," Lyssandra tutted, her eyes blatantly drinking in the sight, gaze lingering on the tantalizing glimpses of skin – the curve of exposed breasts, the vulnerable arch of navel, the tempting lines where the thong back vanished between plump cheeks.

"It's not that revealing. Technically, it covers all the important bits." She winked, though Miriel couldn't see it beneath the mask. "Think of it as… tactical holy armor."

Miriel sputtered, trying to pull the front panel together over her exposed stomach, only managing to emphasize the depth of the plunge. "T-Tactical? How?!" she demanded. "It leaves almost everything bare!"

"Precisely," Lyssandra purred, walking closer to circle Miriel. "Speed, agility, freedom of movement. And perhaps… a certain distracting factor against male adversaries? I imagine it will be most inspiring."

She stopped directly behind the girl, letting her breath ghost across the nape of neck where it peeked from under the hood. "I'll keep you safe little mouse. Don't worry."

Miriel shuddered at the contact, crossing her arms protectively over her exposed chest. "I… I… This is so degrading!" she whispered, her voice thick with a mixture of humiliation and a strange, unwelcome thrill at the way Lyssandra's gaze felt like a physical touch.

Lyssandra leaned down until her face was beside Miriel's ear. "Oh, Saintess," she murmured, her voice low and smoky with amusement and something darker, "You have no idea just how distracting you truly are. But I think I'm going to enjoy finding out. Shall we proceed into the depths?"

She gestured towards the deeper, darker recesses of the ruined dungeon. "Your new armor looks ready for an adventure."

Miriel took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. She uncrossed her arms and let the deep neckline fall open again before raising her chin. She forced a semblance of dignity back onto her face.

"Fine," she grunted stiffly, voice barely above a whisper. "Lead on… you demoness."