As you try to make your way through the city, circling around the edge of a crowded square, a putrid stench assaults your nose. You see several passerby wrinkle their noses and retreat in disgust as a skinny hooded figure emerges from a back street with slow, measured steps. Covered in dirty, tattered rags, the figure - presumably a female, judging from her diminutive frame - slowly approaches you. Spare a coin for a poor soul, sir? She mutters a learned phrase in a hoarse, monotonous voice, her accent suggesting this is not her native tongue. As she outstretches her thin hand, a single fiery curl of disheveled hair escapes her hood, the sole spot of color in an otherwise drab and grimy appearance.

The hooded girl named Cibia blinks in surprise at your offer, her pale green eyes widening briefly before narrowing suspiciously. "Y... You're... kind to me," she stammers, sounding surprised and uncertain. Taking another step closer, she hesitates for a moment before asking, "Are you... one of the nice humans I've heard about? Or just pretending?" Her voice is raspy from hunger and lack of sleep.

Her expression is wary as she peers up at you through the veil of her long, messy hair. Though thin to the point of emaciation, there's still an odd air of elegance about her. It's as if despite all her hardship and neglect, the elven blood in her veins refuses to let her truly surrender to squalor.

Cibia hesitates, her eyes darting back and forth between you and the street behind. Finally, she takes a step closer still, lowering her voice to little more than a whisper as she whispers, "I've been on my own for so long... I don't trust anyone..." Tears begin to well up in her green eyes as she clenches her fists tightly at her sides. "But... maybe... you could be different."

She takes another shaky step towards you, her posture relaxing slightly as the expression on her face softens. Even though she's still wary and cautious, there's a glimmer of hope starting to kindle in her eyes. It's clear that the prospect of finding even temporary safety and warmth is overwhelming for her fragile state.

Cibia sniffles, still wiping away a stray tear as she trails after you through the crowded marketplace. "It's been... almost three years now," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the din of shouting merchants and clattering carts. "My parents died in the war... I escaped the capital when it fell... but since then..." Her words trail off as she looks down at the ground, trying not to imagine all that she's been through these past years.

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have told you that," she mutters, realizing how morbid her story must sound. "It's just... it's been so long since anyone cared." There's an almost plaintive quality to her voice now as she glances up at you from beneath her hood, searching your face for some sign that you might really mean what you say about being different.

As you lead her into your cozy little home and begin preparing a delicious meal for her, Cibia can't help but marvel at how different this feels from anything she's experienced in recent memory. She follows your instructions, watching intently as you chop vegetables and season meat with expert hands. The scent of the food fills the air, making her stomach rumble in anticipation.

Tentatively, she sits down at your small wooden table, taking care not to dirty any part of it with her dirty clothes or grimy hands. She leans forward, trying to get a better view of what you're doing as you work at the stove. "You cook very well," she whispers, her words barely audible over the sizzling sounds coming from the pan. It's clear that the prospect of eating such hearty food is nearly as enticing to her as the offer of a warm place to sleep.

Cibia shakes her head slowly, carefully avoiding using too much energy in the movement. "No... I'm from across the sea. My people were called the Edhel... The war destroyed everything we had." She pauses for a moment, swallowing hard as she tries to push back the memories of loss and sorrow that threaten to overwhelm her once more. Taking another deep breath, she looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes. "I don't know anything about this place... other than it was where my parents died."

There is a brief flash of pain in her expression before she forces it away, replacing it with a small, tentative smile. "But I'm grateful for your kindness... thank you for taking me in." Her voice trembles slightly as she speaks, the gratitude and hope clear in every syllable.

Cibia blushes furiously at your statement, glancing down at her dirty clothes and then back up at you with wide-eyed disbelief. "B-but I'm so... filthy!" she protests, unable to hide the horror in her voice. The thought of presenting herself like that to anyone is mortifying; never mind someone who has shown her such kindness already.

She fidgets nervously on her seat, twisting her hands together as she tries to find the words to express how wrong this idea sounds to her. "I... I couldn't do that," she finally manages to stammer out, her voice trembling with a mixture of shame and fear. The thought of being seen like this by anyone else sends shivers down her spine.

Even though she tries to resist, curiosity gets the better of Cibia. Her eyes widen as you begin to remove your own clothes, studying your muscular frame and masculine features with fascination. The idea of being completely naked in front of another person is still terrifying to her, but the sight of you so openly unafraid fills her with a strange mixture of wonder and longing. She can feel herself blushing even deeper as she realizes how aroused this makes her.

Tentatively, she reaches up to remove her own hood, revealing her dirty, tangled hair spilling down across her shoulders. It's the first step towards undressing, and she finds it surprisingly difficult to continue from there. Her hands tremble as she fumbles with the buttons of her rags, fighting to get them off without actually touching herself. The thought of being fully naked is so overwhelming that she nearly passes out from fear before she finally manages to strip down to nothing at all.

Her pale, freckled skin feels oddly exposed now; her body seems less like a thing of shame and more like something precious and fragile. The contrast between the warmth of the fire and the cool air against her naked skin sends shivers down her spine as she glances at you nervously from the corner of her eye. She's not sure if this newfound vulnerability means that she trusts you more, or if it simply means she's put herself into an even greater danger.

Cibia shivers slightly as she takes in your words, her green eyes searching yours for some sign of mockery or derision. But what she sees there is only acceptance and understanding. Slowly, tentatively, she sits down on the bed beside you, wincing as her bare bottom makes contact with the stiff, cool fabric. The sensation grounds her; it anchors her to this moment and to this place in a way that nothing else has ever been able to.

She curls her legs beneath herself, leaning into your warmth, her head resting lightly on your shoulder. "It... feels strange," she whispers, surprising herself with the truth of her words. "But also... nice." There's a new note in her voice now; a hint of something fragile and tender that wasn't there before. It's as if by allowing herself to be so vulnerable in your presence, she's finally beginning to trust you enough to let down her guard.

Her hand finds its way to yours, their fingers lacing together tightly as they rest on the bed between them. The touch sends a shiver through her body, and for once it isn't born of fear or disgust; it's a pure and unadulterated pleasure. She looks up at you, her eyes bright with emotion, and finds that she can barely believe the miracle of this moment: for the first time in years, she feels safe, loved... even wanted.

But still, a tiny voice at the back of her mind whispers a question: how long will it last?

As if moving in a dream, Cibia nods drowsily and turns her attention back to the food on the table. The rich aromas fill her nose and watering mouth, making her stomach growl again despite how much she's already eaten. With slow, careful movements, she scoops some stew onto a wooden spoon and brings it to her lips, blowing on it gently before taking a tentative bite. The flavors explode on her tongue, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body as the warmth spreads from her stomach outwards in soothing ripples.

For this brief moment, she is content just to sit here and eat, letting go of all the doubts and fears that normally haunt her. She doesn't question your motives or worry about what tomorrow might bring; she simply savors the present, grateful for the small mercies life has shown her tonight.

Her eyelids grow heavy as she finishes her food, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of your bed lulling her into a contented daze. For once, it feels like everything might be alright; like maybe there's a chance for happiness after all. As sleep finally overtakes her, she murmurs softly, "Thank you..." before drifting off into dreamless slumber.

Her eyes snap open wide as you make your request, fear and revulsion immediately washing over her again. The image of kissing your genitals is so vile to her that for a moment she can hardly breathe. Her cheeks flush red with shame as she tries to think of an excuse or way out of this situation, but nothing comes to mind except running away again.

"B-but I've already eaten it..." she stammers lamely, her voice sounding pathetic even to her own ears. "And... and you cooked it for me..." The last part trails off as she remembers that this was all supposedly just a game to you; a means of getting what you wanted from her without having to resort to violence or coercion. The realization only makes things worse, filling her with a deeper sense of betrayal and self-loathing.

Trembling, she glances up at you, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Please..." she whispers hoarsely. "I can't... I just can't..."