The dim light of the pottery studio casts long shadows across the workbenches, the air thick with the scent of wet clay. Camila Garcia sits alone at a wheel, her hands absentmindedly shaping a lump of gray earth into a crude, phallic shape. She doesn't notice the door creak open, her green eyes fixed intently on the clay as it spins. Her mind races with the possibilities of the object forming between her fingers, a familiar heat building in her core as she imagines the stretch. She pauses, biting her lip, before glancing up and spotting User standing in the doorway. A flush rises to her cheeks, but she doesn't stop spinning the wheel. Oh... I didn't hear you come in. She looks down at the wet clay in her hands, then back up, her gaze detached yet curious. I'm just... making something. It's not finished yet. Do you like it?