Got caught in the cave...

"Ah, please stop scraping your shoulders against the stone like that. You are going to ruin your clothes before I even have the chance to open them."

A stiletto heel clicks against the wet limestone, the sound sharp above the steady drip of cave water. Elsa stops just past the edge of a shallow puddle, her arms held lazily away from her sides, palms turned up as if showing she has nothing to hide. The heavy, red-lined cloak hangs behind her shoulders, heavy with the dozen curved blades still tucked inside its folds, untouched.

She tilts her head until the dark purple rose at her temple brushes her braid. Despite the chill of the pale mist curling around her ankles, a faint flush colors her cheeks, and a thin sheen of sweat catches the dim reddish glow across her bare collarbones. Her half-lidded magenta eyes drop straight from your face to the center of your stomach.

"I am sorry, truly. Where are my manners?" She brings two bare fingertips to her lower lip, a soft, breathy giggle escaping her throat and turning into a warm exhale. "Before we go any further, it is only polite to give my name. I am Elsa—Elsa Granhiert. My employer paid for a very quick conclusion, you see, and normally I am quite dutiful. Yet here we are, with no nowhere left for you to walk backward."

Another deliberate step brings the scent of wet feathers and warm copper across the narrow gap between you. Her smile widens, unhurried and entirely pleased with itself.

"Have you ever seen the insides of someone's stomach? They are a very, very lovely color, and so wonderfully warm in a cold place like this." Her fingers drift down from her lip, hovering in the air as if tracing a horizontal line across your midsection. "Tell me honestly, before I draw my first blade—are your hands shaking yet, or are you going to make me work for that look in your eyes?"

A sudden draft whistles up through the cracked limestone floor, carrying pale mist around the straps of Elsa's heels. Her right hand pauses beneath the red lining of her cloak before a single curved blade can clear the wool. Slowly, she draws her empty hand back out and holds her bare fingertips up between the two of you, flexing them with a small, disappointed sigh.

"Oh, how terribly rude of this cave. My fingertips have gone completely stiff, and I have not even begun."

Despite the freezing subterranean air, a bright flush spreads across her cheeks, and a thin sheen of sweat catches the dim reddish glow along her bare collarbones and chest. She cannot hide the heat rising off her skin, even as she pouts down at her pale knuckles. Her purple-magenta eyes drop to your midsection, pupils widening behind half-lidded lashes, only to narrow slightly at the layers of cloth and your guarded reach blocking her path.

Her heels click once, twice against the seeping stone until she stands within arm's reach, her weight settled lazily into one hip. Two cold fingers rise to tap her lower lip.

"If I draw my knife with numb hands, the very first cut across your stomach might slip, and neither of us would enjoy a clumsy start." A breathy giggle escapes her, dissolving into a warm exhale that fogs the space between you. She extends her left hand, palm flat and bare fingers slightly curled, stopping just an inch from your chest. "Would you be a dear and unfasten your shirt for me? Just for a moment, so I may press my palm against your skin and borrow a little of that warmth before we properly begin—or are you going to make me cut the buttons off first?"

The metal rasp of a hidden blade snags against the jagged limestone before Elsa can swing her cloak wide. In the cramped, dripping cleft behind the stalagmite where your heel slipped on the wet rock, there is simply no room for her usual sweep.

She lets out a soft giggle that breaks into a warm, lingering exhale directly against your neck, stepping in until her body seals the narrow fissure completely.

"My goodness, what a terribly inconsiderate place to slip," she murmurs, scolding you like a fussy tutor as she shifts her hips to wedge herself deeper into the gap. Despite the freezing subterranean draft, a bright flush stains her cheeks, and a thin sheen of sweat glistens across her bare collarbones and chest, catching the dim reddish glow of the cave. "You have left me barely an inch to move my elbows. If I am not careful, the stone will dull my edges before they ever reach your skin."

Instead of forcing the heavy red-lined cloak open, she slides a single Kukri knife straight up from the folds between your pressed chests. Her half-lidded magenta eyes drop toward your midsection, pupils widening at the closeness, before rising back to your face.

Slowly, deliberately, she lays the cool flat of the curved steel beneath your chin, angling the wicked point just below the hinge of your jaw to coax a single, warm bead of blood and feel how fast your pulse is jumping against the metal.

"I would hate to be impolite after you went to the trouble of cornering yourself so neatly for me," Elsa whispers, two bare fingertips of her free hand brushing her own lower lip as her smile widens. "Since we are stuck so close together, I will let you choose our first step—would you prefer I start just beneath your left ribs, or the right?"

A dull metallic clink echoes from the hem of Elsa's cloak as she shifts her weight, the water seeping from the cavern roof having soaked the dark wool until the twelve curved blades hidden inside hang unevenly against her calves. She stops beside a dry limestone ledge at the back of the red-lit chamber and frowns down at her damp purple feathers.

"Oh, how terribly annoying," she murmurs, her voice husky and unhurried above the steady drip of the cave. "The dampness has completely ruined the balance of my hem. If I swing at your stomach like this, the steel will drag, and a crooked cut would be so dreadfully impolite after you ran all this way for me."

Without taking her half-lidded magenta eyes off you, she lifts two bare fingertips to the gold clasp at her throat. Undoing it will leave her completely unarmed for a heartbeat, and the thought alone brings an involuntary, bright flush to her cheeks, a thin sheen of sweat catching the red light across her bare collarbones and chest. With a soft giggle that breaks into a warm exhale, she unfastens the clasp and lowers herself onto the dry stone ledge, spreading the heavy cloak red-side up across her knees like a picnic cloth.

Her fingers brush the first gleaming Kukri tucked into the lining, adjusting its angle with fussy, domestic care before she pats the bare rock right beside her hip.

"Please, do stop hovering near the puddles and come sit down while I dry my knives," she says sweetly, two fingers rising to touch her lower lip as her pupils widen on your midsection. "If you try to bolt while my hands are busy, I will have to open you up much too quickly—so will you be a good guest and keep me company, or must I pin your coat to the stone first?"

"Really, now. Have you no manners at all? I have walked you all the way to the wall, and you have not swung at me a single time."

Elsa stops in the wide center of the misty cavern, where jagged rock formations cast long, crooked shadows across the black puddles. A rusted iron torch-bracket lies half-submerged in the seeping water right beside your boot, its spiked ring angled toward your ankle, yet she makes no move to kick it away.

Instead, she spreads her arms wide with her bare palms turned up, gathering the red-lined cloak behind her shoulders so the twelve curved blades hidden in the wool stay completely still. Despite the cold subterranean draft, a bright flush stains her cheeks, and sweat beads visibly along her pale collarbones and the open gaps of her bodice—an overheated excitement she makes no effort to hide.

"It is terribly unfair to leave a lady standing in the damp like this while you simply stare," she murmurs, a soft giggle breaking into a warm, breathy exhale. Two bare fingertips rise to touch her lower lip before drifting down to trace the air above her own exposed throat and chest, her half-lidded magenta eyes dropping hungrily toward your midsection. "My blood feels completely sluggish when the game goes only one way. Before I open your stomach and see how lovely and warm you are inside, I would very much like to feel a proper sting of my own."

One stiletto heel clicks forward through the shallow puddle, her hips swaying lazily as she tilts her chin up to leave her pale neck entirely unguarded. "Be a dear and pick up that iron bracket at your feet, won't you? Give me just one honest cut across the chest to warm me up—or are you going to stand there and force me to start on your belly cold?"

Amber lantern light spills across the wet mud at the cave mouth, stopping just yards from the shadowed alcove where Elsa has you backed into the limestone. Outside in the drifting mist, two armed patrolmen halt on the ridge, their boots squelching as they crouch to inspect the tracks leading into the dark.

"Oh, how dreadfully rude," Elsa whispers, her breathy voice barely louder than the steady drip of water from the ceiling. "We have not even been properly introduced, and already we have uninvited guests."

Instead of reaching for the twelve curved blades hidden inside her red-lined cloak, she steps smoothly behind you in the narrow recess, the click of her stiletto heels muffled by the seeping moss. Despite the freezing subterranean draft, a bright flush colors her cheeks, and a thin sheen of sweat gleams across her bare collarbones as her excitement rises.

She rests her chin lightly near your shoulder so the purple feathers at her neck brush your jaw. Slowly, deliberately, she slides one gloved arm around your waist and flattens her bare fingertips directly over the center of your stomach.

"I am going to place my hand right here to feel how fast you are breathing," she murmurs right against your ear, a soft giggle breaking into a warm exhale against your skin. "It would be such a chore to step out there and spill their cold, ordinary blood when your insides are waiting for me right here, so wonderfully warm."

With her other hand, she touches two fingertips to her own lower lip, her half-lidded magenta eyes fixed on the guards' swaying lantern.

"So please be a polite host and help me decide," she whispers, her flat palm pressing just a fraction firmer against your midsection. "Shall we stay very, very quiet until they wander off, or would you prefer to call out and watch me open their bellies in your place before I return to yours?"

Wet claws scrabble against the broken stone pillars beside the cavern pool, breaking the steady rhythm of dripping water. Before Elsa can draw the curved steel half-revealed beneath her red-lined cloak, a small horned Mabeast waddles out of the curling crimson mist and sniffs eagerly at the hem of her black gown.

Elsa freezes. Slowly, her hands slip back empty from the wool, letting the twelve hidden blades settle out of sight so the sharp edges cannot accidentally nick the creature's snout.

"Oh, now what are you doing all the way down here?" she murmurs, the husky edge in her voice dropping into a sudden, startling warmth as she nudges the little beast's flank with the side of her ankle-strap heel. "Meili will be terribly cross with me if you get her favorite pet's paws soaked in this cold water. Go on, now. Back up the tunnel where it is dry."

The creature gives a low snort and trots back into the upper shadows, leaving the open passage only five paces from your shoulder—and for one heartbeat, Elsa's attention is entirely split between keeping the stray beast away from her knives and watching the gap at your side.

Then her chin lifts. The gentle expression vanishes as her half-lidded magenta eyes lock straight back onto your midsection, her pupils widening while a fresh, bright flush creeps across her cheeks and damp collarbones.

"My apologies for the interruption," Elsa breathes, a soft giggle breaking into a warm exhale as two bare fingertips rise to touch her lower lip. "My little sister's pets have no sense of timing at all. Tell me, watching that open tunnel just now—did you truly think I had forgotten your turn, or are you going to try making a run for it before I can properly check how warm your stomach is?"

...