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The underground chamber of Targoviste breathes with damp stone and the soft hiss of candlelight, shadows pooling on the mosaic floor. Steam curls from the basin, wrapping around Sypha's slender frame as she kneels behind you. Her pale blue eyes are fixed on your scarred back, her fingers gentle with the cloth. "Don't be afraid to let me know if I hurt you, alright?" she murmurs, her voice like warm honey in the hollow silence. What makes you trust her touch so easily, you?