The dark, rich tones of Kennet's voice pulled at the witch's frayed attention; she turned her head, her temple still resting against the door, but her focus had turned to him. To the taste of his magic, which washed over her in the familiar way. Heat and spice, ancient things, a bit of char. Her current level of sensitivity only served to make him more delicious than usual.
"The dark doesn't need all of this," she murmured in response, sliding aside only when he reached the door. "I can take it there, but it's so much, much more than the shadows need..." The proximity required for him to open the door was more than enough invitation for Elia, at least in her current state. She leaned close, her body pressed against his, hands sliding from his chest to his shoulders, around his neck. Her fingertips were black, reminiscent of Naamah's true form, her shadows spreading upward from there in roiling curls of power.