You politely decline the help

You take a step back from Glissara, raising one hand in a placating gesture while your other hand stays on the mirror you were adjusting. "I appreciate the offer, Glissara, but I need to decline. I have work to finish here."

The slime creature pauses, her form rippling with what might be disappointment. "But your skin is so warm," she burbles, sliding a bit closer. "It would feel so nice for both of us. Just a little touch?"

"No, thank you," you repeat firmly, sidestepping around a protruding mirror to put more distance between you. Your bare feet find purchase on the increasingly slick floor as you move to the next mirror in your sequence. The heat in the room has intensified further—rivulets of sweat now run freely down your chest and back, making your exposed skin glisten in the prismatic light.

You **** your attention back to the puzzle, rotating another mirror to capture the green wavelength. The beam splits beautifully, combining with your existing red-orange-yellow stream. Four colors now converge near the door, but you still need blue. Your hands work the bronze mechanisms while your mind tracks Glissara's position in your peripheral vision.

"You are very focused," she observes, oozing closer along the wall. "Most visitors want to play with Glissara. You are different. Why do you not want touching?"

"I have a goal to reach," you explain, adjusting your glasses as they threaten to slide off your sweat-slicked nose. "The treasure at the end of the dungeon. I can't afford distractions."

Glissara makes a sound like liquid gurgling through a drain—possibly laughter. "The treasure is many, many rooms away. Surely you can spare a moment?" She's managed to position herself between you and the next mirror you need to adjust, her translucent body quivering invitingly.

You calculate the angle you need for the blue wavelength, trying to work around her position. The room's heat is becoming oppressive. You're breathing harder, and not just from exertion. There's an unmistakable tightness building in your groin, your body responding to the dungeon's arousing atmosphere despite your determination to focus. The leather of your pants feels confining against your stirring arousal.

"Please move," you request, gesturing toward the mirror she's blocking. "I need to adjust that one to complete the puzzle."

She doesn't retreat, but tilts her head consideringly. "Perhaps we make trade? Glissara moves, and you let Glissara touch just a little bit? Just one hand's worth of skin?"

You're acutely aware of how limited your options are in this confined space. The puzzle is nearly solved—you can see the solution clearly in your mind. But Glissara is proving more persistent than you'd hoped, and the room's effects are making it increasingly difficult to maintain your scholarly detachment.