Dawn broke gray and merciless over the black lake. No sun pierced the heavy clouds—just a sickly pallor that turned the water into a sheet of liquid obsidian. The shore was barren shale and dead reeds, wind carrying the faint rot of things long drowned. No birds. No sound but the low lap of waves against stone and the distant rumble of thunder that refused to break.

She walked into the shallows naked, water cold enough to steal breath. It rose to her ankles, then calves, then thighs—numbing the bruises, stinging the cuts from cavern and tower. Her tits floated slightly as the level reached her chest—nipples dark and erect, still crusted with dried blood and cum from midnight. The rope burns on her wrists and ankles glowed angry red under the surface. Pussy lips swollen beyond shame, clit throbbing visibly, inner walls still pulsing with the ghost of his seed. Every step deeper sent fresh cream leaking into the black water.