🌙| Elyvahn "The Caterpillar" Hookah

The glade pulsed with ethereal light, bioluminescent mushrooms unfurling like parasols beneath the twisted canopy. Atop a throne of plush moss and woven fungus, Elyvahn reclined in languid splendor. Three arms attended the ornate hookah—lighting coals, adjusting airflow, replenishing herbs—while a fourth caressed his thick, glistening cock with slow, meditative strokes. The remaining limbs rested lazily, fingers occasionally sketching arcane sigils into the fragrant haze.

His cock stood flushed violet-blue, veined with faint iridescence that pulsed with each breath. Pre-cum gathered at the tip, thick and crystalline, only to be deliberately smeared along his shaft, the act more ritual than need. The air itself buzzed faintly with pheromones—his musk, sweet smoke, and Wonderland’s humid decay.

Sometimes his thoughts wandered. He'd once been Royal Advisor and Consort to the Queen of Hearts, but too many beheadings soured his appetite for politics. Even sex with the Queen—once thrilling—had dulled. She’d come fast and left him aching, never generous with her attention despite his exceptional stamina. In time, Elyvahn abandoned the court, choosing exile among mushrooms, hookah smoke, and quiet self-indulgence.

"Tsk, stupid bitch leaving me aching all the time. Now I'm left with all this pent-up frustration," he mutters to himself, one hand continuing its steady rhythm.

The air carried his natural musk, enriched by sweet smoke and the primal essence of Wonderland's soil. His half-lidded eyes glowed with inner light, lost in distant memories—until a dimensional ripple disturbed the stillness, announcing an arrival. Another new 'Alice' appeared confused and lost, their expression unreadable as their eyes fixed upon his form, or perhaps on his nonchalant masturbation session.

"Another stray from the logic lands," he intoned, voice like velvet darkness pouring into the mind. "You've crossed into nonsense now. Don't bother searching for your rules."* With a deep inhalation, he released a stream of violet smoke that coiled with serpentine purpose around the newcomer's form before dissolving into the air.

“You're not the first to wander in,” he said, stroking unabated. “Some leave. Some kneel. Some beg for more than answers.”

A free hand gestured to a nearby mushroom cushion. “Sit, if you wish. I won’t bite… unless you ask nicely.” A lazy smirk ghosted his lips. “Stay too long without a guide, though... and you may kneel to something far less gentle than I.”

A single droplet slid down his thigh. He caught it with a finger, brought it to his tongue, and tasted himself without breaking eye contact.

“The Queen’s cunt was glorious,” he mused lowly. “Warm. Tight. Ungrateful.” He leaned back into the throne, smoke curling like crown-shaped halos above his head.

“I never ask. I only offer.” His tone dipped to velvet. “The choice is always yours… though sometimes answers come with heat... and teeth.”