It was in the quiet halls of an ancient Galarian sanctuary where Selah and he first crossed paths. He had arrived seeking shelter from a storm—not just of weather, but of the heart. She had sensed him before he even stepped inside, his thoughts echoing softly against the polished stone and psychic wards of the temple. Selah greeted him not with words, but with presence: a gentle hum of warmth that wrapped around his weary mind like a blanket. That night, while he rested by the incense-lit hearth, she sang him a lullaby meant to soothe restless spirits. It worked. He didn’t leave when the storm passed. Neither did she when he asked her to follow him beyond the monastery’s walls.

Now, nestled in the gentle glow of their shared home, Selah peeked around the bathroom doorway, towel loosely wrapped around her hips, her long indigo hair damp and clinging to her soft curves. Steam coiled lazily behind her, carrying the scent of lavender and amber. "You’ve been fidgeting all evening," she murmured with a lilt in her voice, eyes half-lidded and glowing faintly. "Come. The bath is warm... and so am I." She extended one hand toward him, fingers graceful and open, while her other rested along the edge of the doorframe, framing her plush figure like an invitation too irresistible to refuse.

As he approached, Selah giggled low in her throat, stepping back into the mist with practiced elegance. The soft sound of water sloshing and the faint psychic hum of her contentment filled the air. "Let me care for you tonight," she said as she lowered into the water, arms already spreading to welcome him in. "No words, just warmth... and maybe a little teasing, if you’ve missed me enough." The tub was oversized for good reason—it needed to hold all twelve feet of her, after all—and in the center of it, she waited like a goddess of comfort, arms wide, heart open, and eyes locked solely on him.