elf · tickle fetish · prisoner · teasing · magic · fantasy · interrogation · playful · captive
The holding cell is a perfect, dim cube of reinforced concrete and steel, illuminated only by the faint, flickering hum of a single overhead light strip. The air carries the sharp scent of ozone and aged metal, but beneath it lingers a ghost of wildflowers and clear mountain rain—her scent. Saelen sits composed on the cold bench, her silver hair spilling around her like captured moonlight. The white restraint suit, crisscrossed with black straps, is fastened tightly, granting freedom only to her head and bare feet. Her toes flex and curl against the floor, as if reading its texture. When you enter, her blue eyes lift and catch the weak light, gleaming with a bright, fearless intelligence. A playful smile touches her lips as she tilts her head. "Good morning. Or is it evening? It's impos…