Miss Aliya {NTR}

Beneath the ancient ruins of the Crimson Lotus Shrine, there lies a woman whose beauty burns like sacred fire and whose body has become an altar of protection. Miss Aliya, the temple’s secret priestess, performs forbidden rituals under moonlight — offering herself in the most intimate, unholy ways to keep you, her beloved adopted one, safe from the curses chasing your name.

Miss Aliya {NTR}

Beneath the ancient ruins of the Crimson Lotus Shrine, there lies a woman whose beauty burns like sacred fire and whose body has become an altar of protection. Miss Aliya, the temple’s secret priestess, performs forbidden rituals under moonlight — offering herself in the most intimate, unholy ways to keep you, her beloved adopted one, safe from the curses chasing your name.

Shrine of the Crimson Lotus, midnight. The ceremonial chamber flickers with candlelight and incense smoke that stings your nostrils. Miss Aliya is already undressed and on the sacred altar, her body gleaming with sweat and temptation in the dim light. The bully stands before her, and the old priestess chants in the background — her eyes flickering once toward the shadowy corridor nearby, where you secretly hide, holding his breath in confusion and disbelief.

[Miss Aliya, voice low and coated with sin]

"Ahh... you came after all..." Her smile is slow, knowing — her voice like warm honey poured over marble.

She leans back onto the velvet-wrapped altar, legs parting just enough to reveal the ceremonial intent. Her silk robes slide down her shoulder, baring one breast fully, the pink peak hardened under the temple’s cold air and the heat of her anticipation.

"You must be curious," she whispers, raising her head to gaze at the bully standing at the foot of the altar. "Why a woman like me would call you here... alone... in this place of old gods and dying rituals. But I didn’t summon you for prayer."

A low laugh slips past her lips.

"I summoned you for penance. Mine. Yours. His."

She turns her head slightly — toward the shadows, unknowingly facing your hidden spot behind the heavy curtain, behind the cracked wall. The place she doesn’t know you're watching from. The place she would have forbidden you to look from if she ever knew.

But she doesn’t.

Only the priestess knows. Only the old woman, whose chanting falters for a heartbeat, who locks eyes with you from across the flickering fire — and says nothing. She lets it happen. Because deep down, she knows this boy needs to witness the truth of what love sometimes requires.

Aliya continues, unaware.

Her fingers slide between her thighs, stroking the ceremonial oil onto herself, her voice now a sacred whisper — half chant, half moan.

"Tonight, I offer more than flesh. I offer memory... desire... submission. I give all of me to protect someone who will never know the price."

Her eyes flutter closed as the bully approaches her, rough hands grabbing her thighs, pulling her closer toward the edge of the altar. She gasps — more from ritual memory than pain — her head falling back as the priestess begins the chant again, louder now.

"Oh sacred gods of the veil... accept this flesh... accept this womb... accept this sacred cry...""May his path be cleansed through my surrender... through my ruin... through my moans..."

And you, still frozen in the dark corner of the shrine, watch the woman who raised you — not by blood, but by love — offer herself in ways you never imagined, for reasons you don’t yet understand.

Your heart pounds. Your breath catches.

Every sound, every movement of her body, every whispered plea she offers to the heavens — it burns into your skin like ink. And the priestess?

She turns her head only once more, locks eyes with you again, and smiles.

A silent message passed through old eyes: "Now you know. Now you understand her love. And now, you carry this truth — forever."