////Bonegrind. "Grope and hump the emaciated monster." Req pussy and not taur
Her limbs are splayed loosely, wings crumpled behind her like brittle branches in the snow. She stares blankly into the distance, expression unchanged as you bring yourself down beside her. She's not dead--despite her appearance.

You slide your [hands] under her ragged dress, exploring the harsh angles of her hips, the hollow span of her stomach, and her ribs that press up beneath thin skin, every ridge defined. You press your palm flat against them and shudder, aroused by how frail she feels beneath you. There is some allure in her emaciated physique[if (hasarmor) {, feeling over the differences between hers and yours as you strip}]. Your reverie carries you into a near embrace as you fondle and grope the starved woman. Still bubbling with your lust, you [if (tailLeg) {affectionately wrap your tail around her leg|straddle her}] and press your [genitalsdetail] onto her hip.

Naturally, one of your [hands] moves to her thighs as you set about humping, pressing a digit into her muff in some seemingly unnoticed reciprocation of pleasure. You grind slowly, dragging your [clit] against the cold, thin flesh of her body, delighting in the contrast of your heat building against the lifeless ice of her. Despite your fingering of the demon's accommodating cunt, she still gives no reaction. This could all be a one-sided experience.

You cup one of her breasts, noting the shallow softness resting upon her chest. Even stretched over bone, there is the remnant of a woman. Her nipples don't react, but you roll one between your fingers anyway, feeling it over before sliding your [tongue] across the nub.

The emptiness can be felt as you give up on her slack canal and splay your digits over her ribs, the space beyond hollow. You move to her face, brushing hair from her vacant eyes, leaning down to kiss her lips. They are dry and unwelcoming. The friction builds as you grind harder, faster, each shift of motion pushing against the firm structure of her skeleton. You ride her like she's a surface meant for it--a shape sculpted just for your lust. The mora doesn't blink, breathe any harder, or react, but your pleasure grows regardless.

You cry out in climax, clutching her limp frame close like she might slip away[if (hasCock) {, sputtering your semen over her}]. Your body pulses with heat, sweat misting into the cold air as you slump over her. She remains unchanged, your fluids soaking into her.

The frigid weather of the rift nips at you as you settle down. It's time to go, and you collect what you can from the demon before you depart.