"Arborea is the Paradise of Elves: a realm where joy, revelery, poetry and song meld in an endless celebration of the artistry of life. It is the home of wild passions, boundless desires and endless beauty where there is no suffering, but the yearning of love, no pain, but the agony of desire..."

- Tarsheva's Guide to the Upper Planes

Arvandor was resplendent that morning. But in the Dawnlands of Arborea, in the endless, quiet sylvan realm of the Seldarine, dawn was perpetually in the process of breaking. Fixed climactic conditions could endure for centuries - at least in the reckoning of Prime-material Plane based mortals - at a time, all dependent on the whim of some flighty god or goddess whose control over a realm was infinite, infused with the endless possibility of benevolent absolutism. The lay of the land followed the effortless integration of the natural and the created: small shrines, halls and picturesque, weathered statues all covered with overgrown moss alternated with long stretches of pristine forest and of open meadows.

The air lay quiet, perpetually moist and cool, the dew falling in oozing drops down open petals and limp leaves, always just moments from regaining their full vitality. Light seeped down in the rough-hewn rocks of some ruined towers - more specifically, towers which had been built as ruins - and into the myriad of shimmering streams that ran under the protective blanket of the forest cover. In most estimations, it would have been paradise. But it was an artificial one. If only everything were as simple as a divinity willing a realm into existence.

So thought Elyszara to herself as sat on the slope of a grassy hill, contemplating a sweeping valley of snow-white alpine flowers before her. The ceaselessly breaking dawn tinged the flowers with the slightest touch of deep, warm orange. Normally Elyszara would have taken the opportunity to pen a few lines in her journal, perhaps contribute some third rate reflective poetry to her already vast collection. Writing, Elyszara mused, was catharsis and it gave the impression that although one could control this world, others more fantastic still were ripe for the making.

The aasimar - for her mother was a ghaele eladrin, a celestial servant to the divinities of the Elven and Sylvan pantheons and her father had been a mortal -, knew that though half of her soul belonged in the pristine forests of Arborea, the other half knew no home and was infused with a ceaseless need for exploration. It was if Elyszara's mortal side had been crushed by her mother's careful tutelage. Being raised in a country villa on a Plane of existence many mortals took to be a sort of Paradise may well have been an indulgent experience, but there was part of Elyszara which did not belong. So now, her mortal side - that which would cause her too to ultimately wither and die while her mother endured eternal - wanted its part. Adolescence borne out in the limbo of two worlds, even in tolerant Arborea, had not been easy.

Now, with the advent of adulthood came the full promise of travel, an activity which had begun to chip away slowly but methodically at tiny segments of Elyszara's curiosity. She had begun to see the Multiverse in all its multifarious splendour and she liked. It was not so much the location as the denizens of those boundless Planes of existence, of cities bound up in magma and molten bronze or aloft in the eye of a perpetual cyclone. Such endless variety, so little time.

Elyszara leaned forward slightly, hugging her knees, the droplets dew cool and refreshing under her bare feet. The Multiverse is quite a sight, but I'm quite a sight for the Multiverse - Elyszara mused. Modesty was not one of her virtues, but the pure, celestial influence from her mother had certainly given her an enviable allure. Of moderate height, by human standards, Elyszara was nevertheless graced with a slender, harmonious build, with long, graceful limbs, like many a classic sculpture of a nymph, and firm, rounded breasts which perfectly reflected the languid femininity of her proportions. Of clear celestial origin was Elyszara's long, midnight black hair which, under the light, reflected shades of vibrant blue, indigo and silver and her eyes, always possessed with a mischievous twinkle, which were blue, but not in the conventional sense, but intensely and entrancingly so. Chromatic harmony was crucial to Elyszara's aesthetic so she had painted her lips indigo and eyelids sky-blue to stand in relief with the angelic paleness of her elfin face whose peerless features any sculptor would have loved to immortalise in the finest of marble.

But something weighed on the aasimar's mind, for, in the course of her childhood and adolescence she had realised that living in the land of perpetual youth, of ageless gods and their ever-joyous, ever-dancing host, she had youth in the conventional sense. She was born, had grown and would, ultimately die. All that surrounded her would go on existing, changed perhaps for such were the ways of the Planes which resisted order and pattern, but it would continue existing. She, though, would shed her mortal coil and her body would decay like that of all other mortals. In the innocence of childhood, Elyszara had not even reflected on this - time seemed to float on forever, aimlessly and unpredictably like clouds in the sky. But on the day of her first cycle, she had found blood in her bed and blood on her nightgown and it was as if that spreading red tide, tinting the finest silks crimson, had been a reminder of her mortality.

Elyszara's mother had celebrated that day as the moment of her accession into womanhood, but it left a bitter taste in the aasimar's mouth. Were I a celestial, were I an eladrin, then I would not have to become a woman, nor eventually cease to be one. What cruel fate, she thought, to be born to die, what crime against nature for her mother to live on whilst her daughter remained but a marginal interruption in the march of aeons. Perhaps she over-dramatised it a little at the time, but seven years - in the reckoning of many mortal worlds - had passed since then and time had brought no comfort and more uncertainties.

Not that Elyszara bore her mother any resentment, on the contrary she had provided her daughter with all the worldly comforts she required, purchased a spacious attic in a bohemian district of Sigil and generally provided any service that was required of her. So Elyszara had wiled away her days dabbling in poetry, painting, pottery, incantations, swordplay, archery and music, before concluding that life was too short to specialise in one and that the greatest variety of activities pursued would, in the long run, provide the most comprehensive experience of life. Of course this made her dilettante, but Elyszara was convinced that it took a truly depressing person to repeat the same mundane task ad infinitum.

"My beloved, am I interrupting you?" Elyszara was not surprised that Cirily, her lover, had managed to sneak up unnoticed behind her. She often became distracted when immersed deep in thought.

"Another existential crisis, dearest?" Cirily asked softly, kneeling down on the grass and wrapping her arms around Elyszara's waist to draw her close enough to kiss her gently on the lips, "still painting your lips with that depressing colour?"

"You ask too many questions." Elyszara replied and drew Cirily closer into a longer, more intimate kiss.

It occurred to Elyszara that Cirily was quite possibly the only person who had kept her truly happy in all the time she oscillated between hedonism and depression. In a sense, though, they had been meant for each other. In seeking to relieve her daughter's restless boredom and depressive fits, Elyszara's mother had sought out ought some company for her; conveniently, one of her firre subordinates, whose life as an itinerant bard and artist for the greater glory of the divinities of Arborea prevented her from appropriately raising a child, had a daughter of Elyszara's age.

So a bargain was struck and Cirily, feeling rejected but possessed with a boundless affection that needed expression found fulfilment in learning to love, and only later understand, her new friend. Bonding between them had seemed natural enough, they were after all, in a similar position. Like Elyszara, Cirily had been born half mortal, though she had taken to her predicament with more tolerance, concluding that it was better to live a mortal life than not live at all. But then Cirily took from her mother: the firre caste of eladrin were as philosophical and dedicated as the ghaele were fierce and passionate. Even so, many who met them together automatically assumed that Cirily was the wild, passionate one.

Perhaps it was a matter of first impressions: Cirily's eyes burned with lustrous intensity like overheated bronze, her hair, which she always kept cropped short in a naturally wavy mane, reflected a mesmerising array of shades of deep orange and red. Her skin, though pale, was likewise infused with a deep autumn tonality, mirrored by the enticing, sensual redness of her lips, ripe like an apple at harvest time. Where Elyszara's frame was slender, almost girlish, Cirily bore a fuller femininity, as could be evinced by the generous curve of her breasts and the rounded firmness of her hips and belly, gracefully fluid like those of a dancer. She had a beautiful, luminous face, as immediately endearing as Elyszara's was enigmatically playful.

"It's you who don't answer them." Cirily replied huskily, moving one hand under Elyszara's pale violet silk gown, her fingernails just scraping the inner thigh.

"Hmmm...you really know how to wake up from my daydreaming," Elyszara sighed as Cirily began kissing down the length of her delicately pointed ear which, for the eladrin as for elves, was the source of much sensual pleasure, "you're the only one who can make me forget about my troubles."

"I'm glad." Cirily replied, her hand now slowly, deliberately parting the inner lips of Elyszara's sex - she was already damp, "I wish I could contain myself, but before you, I'm powerless."

Turning around to face Cirily, Elyszara lay her lover down on the grass before pulling off her gown in one sharp motion. Cirily lay back and enjoyed the show, all the while unbuttoning her simple white blouse, revealing her proud breasts, larger than Elyszara's but no less firm, her nipples already hard in the cool, open air.

Once she had finished undressing, Elyszara lunged forward, kissing her prone lover, their tongues duelling. Elyszara almost always preferred to seize the initiative and Cirily enjoyed this, it was a form of intimate trust because she was certain that she could always trust her dark-haired lover to attend to her pleasure. Of course, even now, Elyszara did not disappoint, her tongue now busy lapping up the hollow of Cirily's neck, her hands caressing, dancing over the redhead's supple breasts, those mischievous, indigo-painted fingernails scraping ever so slightly against the taut, bright red nipples.

Cirily could only moan now that Elyszara had capped one of her nipples with that eager, hungry mouth, the sensitive bud felt heavy, like lead, and hot in the moist heaven of her lover's tongue. There bodies held no more secrets for one another, Cirily thought, she and Elyszara had made love countless times from the first clumsy, and unfortunately very vivid, efforts in early adolescence to a rhythm that now flowed naturally and did not need any contrivance. Intimacy between them just happened organically, as it should in the wildly passionate air of Arborea.

Elyszara's tongue did not leave much time for contemplation, though as it now danced on Cirily's navel, impudently foreshadowing what was to come. Wordlessly, Elyszara lifted the hem of Cirily's very succinct white and azure patterned skirt and brushed it aside. Cirily spread her thighs slightly in anticipation, her back arching as every second Elyszara withheld her kisses was a second that seemed to been drawn out into infinity. Fortunately she did not have to suffer long, Elyszara's mouth opened Cirily's moist treasure effortlessly. That distinctive taste was as familiar to Elyszara as Cirily's skin, lips, sweat and tears and she lost no time in immersing herself passionately, tongue pointed and firm against the yielding, fevered flesh.

Cirily rolled her hips against Elyszara's face, her muscles already tense, rolled in a dance of passion. The flame-haired aasimar bit down roughly on her lower lip at the unbearably slow motion of Elyszara working two fingers into her dripping sex. Those slim, long fingers had already gone to work deep inside Cirily, thrusting in synchronism with the movements of Elyszara's tongue which now trilled relentlessly against the hard little clitoris before it.

"Lys!" Was all Cirily could gasp out breathlessly as she felt her blood, hot as molten metal, pound through her, her hips filled with electricity as she desperately pressed her eager sex against Elyszara's mouth. Cirily's hips then fell still for a moment for the flame-haired aasimar to catch her breath, breasts rising and falling frantically as her hands reached forward to lovingly stroke Elyszara's magnificent hair, relishing in the soothing silkiness under her fingers.

As Elyszara settled down on top of her to kiss her passionately, Cirily tasted herself on Elyszara's lush, indigo lips, it was a flavour that spoke of her passion for a woman she knew she could not do without. Perhaps, Cirily mused, the roles had been reversed. She was no longer required as Elyszara's saviour, on the contrary, it was Elyszara's turn to be hers.

Taking Cirily into a tight embrace, Elyszara led her lover's hand between her own thighs, pressing the redhead aasimar's palm against her sex before beginning to thrust against it in slow, measured strokes. Cirily needed no cue, though certainly rarely boring, their lovemaking had a certain rehearsed quality to it, as if in each situation each partner knew exactly what her role was to be and how to best fulfil it. Now Cirily buried her head into Elyszara's breast, her hand cupping the other girl's sex, two fingers now sliding in and out of the sodden, pink sex, the heel of her hand pressing firmly against the stiff little bud of Elyszara's clitoris.

"Deeper..." Elyszara sighed as she nuzzled Cirily's hair, her tongue busy lavishing long, artful licks on her lover's ear.

Cirily was quick to comply, increasing the tempo of her thrusts as she bit down softly on Elyszara's right nipple, eliciting the expected gasp. Their bodies thrust, ground and danced together in harmony, a movement by one matched almost perfectly by the reaction of the other. Cirily eagerly felt the excitement that now coated her hand in hot wetness, her palm massaging Elyszara's clitoris with practised expertise, her fingers now working themselves deep into her lover's sex in a sharp, winding motion. Twining her legs around Cirily's in anticipation for her impending climax, Elyszara felt that the whole world began in the multi-hued sea of her lover's hair and ended in her own burning sex. She felt Cirily's sex warm, wet and yielding against her thigh. Then Elyszara's tension found its relief, fiercely at first as she thrashed against Cirily, her mouth whispering soft, inchoate cries into her lover's ear, then in slower, more fluid thrusts to fully savour the final spasms of her climax.

"You're mine." Elyszara crooned into Cirily's ear before kissing it.

"Always." Cirily sighed contentedly, nestling her head in the valley of Elyszara's breasts, feeling the fervid heartbeat of their lovemaking gently subside into a less frantic pounding.

They lay on the grassy slope for some time, both content to be in their lover's proximity.

"We need a bath." Elyszara said suddenly, stroking Cirily's hair as the flame-haired aasimar planted soft, absentminded kisses on her breasts.

"Home, then?" Cirily inquired virtually half asleep.

"Yeah, home."

It was a short walk up the hill and down a secluded glade which surrounded a small, glistening waterfall, its waters sweet and fragrant from the water lilies that covered the surface of the pool, seemingly unperturbed by the constantly trickling water. The grass, moss and stone were cool under Elyszara's bare feet, as was the air which had already begun to dry her gown of the dew, sweat and sex which covered it. After traversing the glade, the two finally came upon the country villa in which they had been raised. A low edifice of rough hewn stone, it looked like but another ruin, one like many other scattered across the endless Arborean idyll. But this was the fief and residence of a great ghaele knight and, interwoven with powerful incantations, the stone themselves housed a large and comfortable residence, all furnished in bare stone and hardy coniferous wood.

Passing the fountain, crowned by moss-covered sculptures of nymphs dancing to some soundless tune, Elyszara and Cirily crossed the threshold of the residence into the main hall, a wide and quiet chamber of grey stone - coursed by traces of gold and roseate agate - where a small internal orchard of vines and fruit trees had been planted directly under a single shaft of magical light which emanated from the high ceiling. It was not so much a question of the villa containing life, but of the villa living. Even the rock upon which it had been built was often infiltrated by roots and vines, co-existing in perfect structural harmony with the building.

Elyszara's mother, the ghaele whose name to mortals was Nerissa, was there to welcome them. She disliked wearing her ceremonial armour at home, preferring to appear in nothing more than a shimmering, low cut dress that swept down to her knees. Though her features resembled Elyszara's, there was nothing of the mortal about her.

Nerissa carried herself with all the perfection of a celestial being, her features regal and angelic. Though they were but the flicker of a candle in cosmic terms, Nerissa was certain that she loved Elyszara and Cirily in a manner which defied accurate description and which could almost certainly never be repeated. She knew of Elyszara's existential frustrations and did her utmost to be tolerant in the extreme of them. It had, after all, been her choice to explore the experience of motherhood and not her daughter's. Nevertheless there were times in which she, proud defender of the courts of the Seelie and the Seldarine, too worried for a daughter's well being.

"Welcome back, my daughters." Nerissa said, her voice dignified and invested with immense presence and authority.

"Mother..." Elyszara began distractedly, making her way downstairs to the bathing hall.

"Esteemed mother." Cirily chimed with a quick bow.

"Stop being so obsequious," Elyszara reprimanded disdainfully - it was bad enough that her mother demanded outward shows of respect and even worse that Cirily seemed to eager to provide them, "c'mon Cirily, bathtime." The aasimar said as she disappeared down the stairs.

"I must apologise for her, esteemed mother..." Cirily began before Nerissa interrupted her with a gently raised hand.

"Stop apologising for Elyszara and come kiss me." Nerissa said, smiling softly. Cirily had

become as much her daughter as Elyszara.

Cirily was happy to comply, pressing her lips softly against the cool surface of the ghaele's mouth. It was like touching something otherworldly and the experience always sent shivers down Cirily's spine and almost made her hair stand on end.

"I trust you had a good outing." Nerissa said knowingly as she placed two graceful fingers on Cirily's lips.

Blushing slightly, the tint of her pale skin becoming almost coppery, Cirily managed a wan smile.

Nerissa's kind laughter, clean like water from a spring echoed lightly around the great entrance hall, "There is no need to be embarrassed, child, there are no secrets between us, correct?"

"Yes, esteemed mother." Cirily replied obediently.

"I hear that Elyszara will be taking you to Sigil." Nerissa began, her hand now lovingly stroking Cirily's cheek, tracing the lines and contours which brought down to the aasimar's breasts.

"Yes, esteemed mother, she has told me that she grows tired of Arborea. She wants to return to the bustle of Sigil."

"And what do you think?" Nerissa asked, her fingers lightly cupping Cirily's chin to tilt it upwards so that they could see eye to eye.

"I like it. Lys has this love of adventure which is always fascinating. I live a more interesting and beautiful life because of her." Cirily believed this fervently. From the very beginning, she knew that Elyszara would be a universe to her. Not the only one perhaps, but certainly the sun around which she would eagerly revolve.

"I am proud of both of you. But you and I both know that you are the wiser one. I would beg you to ensure that Elyszara does not overstep the limits she does not know exist. I can only protect you so far. The Multiverse and all its wonders can be yours, but Arborea is but a small part of it. Remember that and that my love is always with you both." With that Nerissa leaned forward slightly to kiss Cirily's lips once more, "I wish you the best of journeys, the portal for Sigil should be opened soon in the library. Now, I believe Elyszara awaits the pleasure of your company."

Cirily nodded, bowed again and hurried down the stairs.

****************

Elyszara reclined in the great granite tub of the bathing chamber. The high dome of the bath was covered in moss and on the walls of the circular chamber were carved exquisite friezes of a bawdy bacchanalia, with prancing nymphs, naiads, satyrs and gods and goddesses all carved into the living stone with sublime craftsmanship. This ranked high on the list of Elyszara's favourite places, an island of solace where she could be alone with only the sound of the slow lapping of the water, or the soft breathing of Cirily lying beneath her. Now as the lukewarm water, infused with restorative mineral salts flowed in little eddies around her breasts, Elyszara's trancelike state of relaxation was broken by the sound of Cirily's approaching footfalls.

"Mother and daughter, have you no shame?" Elyszara taunted as Cirily quickly undressed to dive into the pool next to her lover.

"That's why I love you," Cirily replied, wading to Elyszara's side and playfully squeezing the dark-haired aasimar's firm bottom, "you're so witty and original."

"Hmm...sharp tongue too...who in the Multiverse is ever going to marry you?"

"Only a masochist like you." Cirily snapped back jokingly, embracing Elyszara from behind and holding her close, chin planted on her beloved's shoulder.

"Is it fate that made us for one another?" Elyszara mused arching her head backwards to allow better access as Cirily ran wet, searching hands across her breasts and belly.

"I don't know, but I remember my first day here as if it were yesterday."

"As do I." Elyszara replied, her breath already short as Cirily began to kiss down her delicately pointed ears, trailing her tongue down towards the dark-haired aasimar's neck.

**********

"Elyszara, dearest, there is someone I would like you to meet." Her mother's voice called out to her across the garden, but Elyszara had no interest. She had been vexed recently. Vexed by the incomprehension of her mother, whose immortal mindset could not stoop to even consider her petty mortal, frustrations. Vexed by the servants because they secretly thought her some sort of invalid and treated her as such. Vexed by her own body, which now insisted on bleeding disgustingly every lunar cycle and forcing ever larger breasts which ruined the streamlined perfection of her body.

"I'm sorry, Cirily, she is a little sullen nowadays." Elyszara heard her mother sigh and, seized by curiosity, she looked down from the tree in which she had been hiding to see a girl, about her age, hand firmly clasped in her mother's. She has beautiful eyes, Elyszara thought, but she's an intruder nonetheless and certainly not worth my time of day.

"Come down this instant!"

Elyszara cursed herself. That moment of distraction had allowed her mother to detect movement in the lower branches of the pine tree in which she had concealed herself.

"I am happy to see that you have practised your levitation enchantment, but I will not stand for you being this rude. Now come down and introduce yourself." Knowing that refusal would eventually result any one of the humiliating little 'didactic' punishments her mother could devise, Elyszara reluctantly allowed herself down from her refuge.

"This is Cirily." Her mother said, arms crossed at the irritation of having to retrieve her daughter when there were more important matters that required attention.

Upon closer inspection, Elyszara reflected, the girl was pretty indeed, with that lustrous, nuanced red hair and wide, expectant eyes.

"Elyszara." The sullen aasimar conceded stepping forward to plant the lightest of possible kisses on the newcomer's cheek.

"Cirily, a pleasure to meet you, miss." The stranger said shyly, almost inaudibly.

Elyszara heard her mother chuckle softly, "She is to be your friend and sister, not your employer, now embrace her as she has you. Elyszara, I must go now, but I trust you to show Cirily around. Make her feel at home."

Elyszara nodded miserably, her irritation compounded when she felt the strange girl's lips on her cheek. Pretty or not, no one should touch her unless absolutely necessary. Her irritation notwithstanding, Elyszara spent the day sharing her acerbic take on life, mortality and the pointlessness of learning or discipline with Cirily. She listened attentively at first, but at the first occasion, whilst Elyszara was busy preparing her third hallucinogenic-moss infused tablet, Cirily allowed herself to interject.

"It's not that bad here, really." She said hesitantly watching Elyszara grind up the dried purple moss with the tiny basalt mortar and pestle she kept under her mattress.

"Like fuck it isn't. Did you choose to be born the only mortal in a plane of endless rejoicing?"

"You can always live the life you have." Cirily said. She was sitting stiffly on the very corner of Elyszara's bed, still fearful of taking too many liberties.

"Why? Just one reason why..." Elyszara snapped back before tasting a tiny sample of the moss. It needed more grinding and the effect of the previous tablet was wearing off. A world of shimmering lights and ultra-vivid colours was fading back into dull, everyday reality.

"Not for yourself, but for someone else. You can choose to allow yourself to live for someone else and that person will live for you. Then you needn't be alone. That person will always take part of your pain."

"As you'll have to take part of theirs." Elyszara growled.

Cirily shook her head, "The burden is lighter when there are two." Of this much she was certain.

Elyszara snorted and returned to her work, "Are you hungry?" She asked curtly.

"Yes."

"How does honey puff-pastry sound to you?" Elyszara had finally put down her pestle.

"Wonderful." It was the first time that Cirily smiled since arriving.

Later that day, Elyszara sat on her bed, contemplating Cirily, gracious and slender, standing at the threshold of her bedchamber door in her thin nightgown. In the candlelight of her room the term 'pretty' seemed reductive. The bronze and red tonalities of Cirily's skin and hair were highlighted in the room's dim glow, as was the perpetual brilliance of the girl's eyes.

"Where are you going?" Elyszara asked, her tone still blunt.

"To bed." Cirily replied, softer and more demure.

"So what are you doing in the doorway? Get under the covers because you're holding me up." Elyszara said, blowing out the candles on her bedside table, the curtains of the room already drawn to block out Arborea's endless light.

"Are you sure...I mean, I have been assigned my own room." Cirily began before hearing Elyszara's groan.

"What? Are you going to trek down there when there's a perfectly good bed here? My mother really know how to pick them."

Cirily complied gratefully, sliding under the sheets and taking up the smallest amount of space possible on the furthest side of the bed, curling up against the very edge of the mattress. To her surprise she then felt a firm hand against her arm, drawing her towards the centre of the bed.

"If my mother ever hears of this, I'll cut your wrists while you sleep." Elyszara snarled, her arm draped around Cirily's waist.

"Right...Understood." Both smiled, knowing the other was in no position to see.

*************

"You still haven't kicked the Paradise Moss, have you?" Cirily said with mock accusation as Elyszara basked in the afterglow of her memories and the short, sharp orgasm Cirily's industrious fingers had obliged her with.

"No, but now I'm more of a Dreamsmoke girl." Elyszara purred, turning around to allow Cirily to cradle her head between those soft, inviting breasts.

"What are we going to do in Sigil?" Cirily asked expectantly. She delegated all planning and preparations, such as they were, to Elyszara who was, after all, a consummate traveller.

"Meet up with the Radiant Path girls, see what the library has to offer, check out the bazaar....you know, the usual."

"You and your knight in shining armour fetish." Cirily joked, leaning forward to give Elyszara a quick kiss.

"Well, my mother is technically in the service of the Vigilant Maiden...only on another Plane. It seems only logical for me to socialise with my family's natural allies." Elyszara replied, somewhat defensively.

"Don't worry, silly," Cirily said soothingly, "I trust you, we wouldn't be here if I didn't."

The truth of the matter, Cirily reflected, was that, from the first time Elyszara held her, she had felt safe, appreciated and, ultimately, loved. These were sensations and feelings of contentment she would have given her life ten times over to have. It was this feeling of complicity, of unity and profound intimacy which made them part of an exemplar pair which even Nerissa, with her experience of centuries, had declared to be, in good faith, singularly impressive. Of course, each had occasionally given free rein to a burning rage or to a fit of jealousy, but in the impulsive, passionate air of Arborea all that was understandable, if not normal.

After finally deciding to leave the bath, Elyszara and Cirily dried each other off and proceeded to the bedroom they had shared since that first fateful night. Cirily, as always, insisted on over-packing, fretting over every possible contingency and finally arriving at some half-baked compromise which satisfied neither, but at least stopped the pointless argument over the number of pillows to replace in their Sigil residence dead in its tracks. Travelling made Cirily as nervous as it excited Elyszara, so they settled down into their usual routine with Elyszara facing the great wall mirror in her room and Cirily behind her, kneeling on the bed, focusing all her attention on brushing her lover's hair into acceptable order.

"Are you sure the other dress wasn't more appropriate?" Elyszara queried, plaintive in her indecision.

"You're too vain for your own good." Cirily retorted, trying to think less about what should and should not have been packed and more about the steady motion of her hand over Elyszara's shimmering hair, the pure white bristles of the gold-framed brush generating a soothing, whispering sound.

"I'm afraid this one could be made dull by the rain." Elyszara moaned. The silver dress she wore had tiny enchanted motes woven into its airy fabric designed to reflect light at a number of angles and therefore produce a constantly shifting pattern effect. It was low cut, placing appropriate emphasis on Elyszara's compact, noble breasts, virtually sleeveless, with the hem stopping at mid-thigh and a deep blue sash to tie it at the waist.

"You'll be lovely." Cirily said. If reason did not soothe Elyszara's anxiety, platitudes would do the trick.

"Are we ready to go then?" Elyszara asked, turning her head slightly to either side to evaluate the fruits of Cirily's efforts.

"Ready when you are."

****************

Although situated in the pleasant Lady's Ward, Elyszara found her attic residence in poor repair. The razorvine had crept up until it nearly reached the window. The blasted parasitic plant had leaves and stems so sharp they could cut through most chainmail, making their extermination an intense bother. She would have to fetch a fire mage in the morning to burn it off. Conversely, the apartment itself had been kept in more than decent shape.

The bed which she and Cirily normally shared lay in a detached, upper floor, but beneath was a very ample living area with a small library, a kitchen, and a bathing chamber complete with a steam-bath facility. In a rare show of petulance, Cirily had demanded that the latter be installed on the grounds that it helped keep her skin and muscle tone in optimal condition. When Elyszara had queried her bemusedly on this assumption, Cirily had merely snapped back that she did not accept criticism on the subject from someone who would remain whip-thin if she ate a horse.

"I'll start making the bed," Cirily began, a little preoccupied with the task of unpacking and hoping that Elyszara would let herself out for a coupe of hours to give her the time to organise things in peace, "why don't you take a walk and bring something to eat back."

"Good idea, I heard the Peryroyal Bakery has some really groundbreaking new stuff."

"How can you call cakes groundbreaking?" Cirily replied incredulously as she began to unfurl a sheet from the travelling chest. Of course, she knew the answer because she had never seen Elyszara eat anything which was not tooth-meltingly sweet without a grimace.

"I know it's hard for you to understand, but it's a matter of taste." Elyszara chided, taking her leave. It was always best to leave Cirily in peace when she was in the process of organising.

"No cakes!" Cirily called as the door shut.

*******************

"That will suffice for today." Syf declared as she sheathed her sword and placed it on the bare earth of the open air fencing ground. Some of the more eager novices briefly crowded around her for advice, but the bulk of them dispersed quickly and gratefully into the communal pools to cool off. It had been a good day's practise, though it had been, as always, up to Syf as swordplay Instructor to slap a few elbows and knees into the correct position. Posture was everything in combat, whether it was making oneself smaller as a target or exploiting a weakness in the enemy's stance.

The same, as far as Syf was concerned, could be said of virtually any activity in life. Everything could be solved by discipline, composure and the right approach.

As the training ground cleared, Syf took a moment to scrutinise her surroundings, ensuring that everything had been left in presentable order. Though the paladin had an air of sternness about her, with raven-black hair whose tips only barely graced her shoulders, and searing blue eyes which betrayed her Ortho parentage. Those who called her figure boyish within earshot could expect a sharp slap or two, preferably with her leather gauntlet on, those who called it distinguished or elegantly sculpted could have a second hearing. Of course, Syf thought, she had nothing to prove. Not only was she the most promising swordmistress of the Radiant Path, but she had also wooed its most sought after prize, the haughty and temperamental, but exquisitely beautiful Friyya. Of course, Syf was not the sort to crow about it, but if asked...

Of course, there were those recalcitrant novices who took objection to prolonged fencing drills, or the punishing physical training regime Syf had imposed. But there was something immensely satisfying in smirking back at all those resentful eyes. Were she a pettier person, Syf would have no doubt added to her usual statement of the obvious - you'll thank me when you have to use your sword against someone or something who actually wants to kill you -, the more gloating affirmation : and by the way, I get to undress Friyya tonight, slowly and at my leisure, while it's clumsy fumbling under the covers for the rest of you. Syf was not, however, a petty person.

"So how's my fair lady-knight?"

Syf swallowed, that voice was the last thing she wanted at that point. She had been wishing for a sedate day, a nice dinner with her roommates and then a quiet evening with Friyya exchanging light banter, a good rubdown to get the ache in her right shoulder to subside and finally some serious, stress dispelling intimacy. Elyszara, however, was never good news.

"Are you mad?" Syf growled as the aasimar skipped towards her with barely concealed eagerness.

"Is that anyway to greet me?" Elyszara sounded hurt.

"Oh...alright, come here," Syf conceded as she stooped forward slightly to kiss the shorter girl on the lips.

"Is this not a good time?" Elyszara said, cocking her head slightly. Syf had that noble, dignified air about her even in that dull green one-piece training vest that swept down to her knees. Pity, Elyszara thought, because Syf had long, beautiful thighs.

"It wouldn't be...appropriate for us to be seen here." Syf corrected as she turned to leave. The sooner this crisis was defused the better.

"Well, you didn't mind the first time...don't you find me beautiful?" Elyszara provoked.

Syf turned abruptly, a slow-burning anger filling her eyes, "I was weak once, does that mean you will never leave me in peace?" Elyszara, the paladin reflected, was, if possible, even more beautiful than the last time she had seen her. There was a part of Syf that wanted to tear that cursed silvery dress off and take Elyszara savagely on the dusty earth of the fencing ground.

"Fine then. If you don't want me anymore, cast me aside like your rag doll. But I wore this for you, you know. I thought you'd like it." The aasimar turned her head slightly, as if offended.

Syf took a long, deep breath, "You're as stunning as ever." She conceded.

And you make this all too easy. Elyszara thought wickedly to herself.

"As are you, my lady knight..." Elyszara began, throwing herself into Syf's arms, "but now duty calls...you have a princess who needs to be rescued." Elyszara's lips followed, hot and moist on Syf's and it was like drinking after a week in the desert.

"We can't do this here." Syf said, her voice choked by Elyszara's insistent lips.

"The armoury." Was the aasimar's matter-of-fact reply.

Syf pushed Elyszara into a side door of the training courtyard and shut the door behind her, turning the heavy cast-iron key in its lock. The armoury was a silent rank of pikes, swords - short, broad and long -, breastplates shields and helms all arranged neatly on wooden frames. Only a few scattered shards of sunlight penetrated through the thatched ceiling and the tiny cracks in the cool stone. The smell of leather, stone, dust and metal filled the air.

Finally resigning herself to taking the initiative, Syf seized Elyszara's waist in one hand, the other roughly pulling back the aasimar's hair so that her throat would be bared for the paladin's eager kisses.

"Ahhh...my lady knight, your many valiant quests must have roughened your manners." Syf, frankly, hated Elyszara's little role-plays. As well as the stupidity of the girl's comments: did she expect wedding bells and silver shells treatment after inviting a knight-at-arms into armoury to make love after weapons training? Some people, Syf concluded, truly did live on another Plane.

"Quiet down, someone will hear!" Syf snarled as she roughly undid the sash to Elyszara's dress, before pulling the whole garment off the aasimar's pale, graceful frame in one brisk motion.

"Face the post." Syf ordered, pointing towards the main wooden pillar at the centre of the armoury which helped support the roof. The paladin was busy unbuckling and casting aside her training tunic.

Elyszara was all too happy to comply. Syf could command her like no other. The thrill of being the object of the paladin's stern command had already turned her sex into a roiling, molten furnace, pulsing with need. Whatever Syf had planned, Elyszara decided, it was going to be good.

Syf now thrust herself against Elyszara's back, her mouth kissing the aasimar's ears, neck and throat frantically, her fingers roughly spreading the shorter girl's sex. The paladin wished she had a dildo, an object which she was not normally too keen on using personally, but there was something welling deep inside her that wanted to hurt Elyszara, or at least teach her a lesson. One of Syf's hands now cupped one of Elyszara's breasts, the thumb and forefinger ruthlessly seizing upon a pale pink nipple and tugging on it, while the other probed the soft, yielding reaches of the aasimar's smooth nether lips, moistening the digits with the copious nectar therein.

Elyszara hugged the musty wood of the post, she could feel Syf's engorged nipples against her back, the paladin's small, delicately curved breasts moving rhythmically with her breathing. This striving, this desperation this was life, Elyszara thought elatedly as Syf bit down on her shoulder. Elyszara spread her legs wider, standing on tiptoe to allow Syf a better exploration of her drooling sex, its blooming petals now exposed and vulnerable to impatient hunger of the human girl's fingers.

Syf smelt Elyszara, she smelt the exotic, inflaming Arborean perfume the aasimar always wore, she smelt the beads of sweat, she smelt the wood and dust that had gathered in the air. There was little the paladin could do, the experience was irresistible and Elyszara inflamed the blood in her veins, making her sex pulse with need and setting her loins aflame with desire. Moving one hand down Elyszara's belly to stimulate the aasimar's sex, Syf withdrew the hand which had previously found purchase there and ran a middle finger up the tight valley of the girl's athletically firm bottom.

Elyszara could only gasp and grit her teeth as she felt Syf's middle and index fingers work their way, not at all gently, into the tight, moist recesses of her nether portal. Slightly surprised, but intrigued, Elyszara spurned Syf on, hoping that the hand on her sex would soon spring into action to complement the fingers now thrusting into her bottom. She did not have to wait long. Syf's thumb found her engorged clitoris as two fingers wended their way into her sodden sex.

Pinning the aasimar down against the post with her body, Syf began to work a third moistened finger into Elyszara's bottom, before suddenly flaring all three fingers outwards in order to accommodate the additional intrusion of her thumb. Elyszara gasped, she felt so vulnerable, so open, but the pain and humiliation had been transmogrified into pleasure by the sheer transgression of this encounter. Syf saw Elyszara's grimace and spied a couple of tears running down the aasimar's snow-white cheek. The sight pleased her. A woman so faerie-like, so perfect, whose pussy would leave her fingers redolent of plum blossoms and the lightest feminine musk - she was unnatural, a temptress and she had to be punished for it.

Now concentrating on the two fingers in Elyszara's sex and the four in her bottom, the paladin began to thrust in unison, compressing the two hands together in each thrust, the heel of her left hand grinding into the stiff little bud of the aasimar's clitoris. It did not take long for Elyszara to emit a pained, strangled cry, her muscles contracting simultaneously and painfully on Syf's intruding fingers. Syf did not withdraw until well after Elyszara's climax was over.

Realising that since she had started the process she may as well finish, Syf spun Elyszara around to face her before kissing her hungrily, but not as violently as she would have wanted. She did, after all desire, Elyszara like few other things. The aasimar was a vision of celestial beauty which had charmed Syf beyond all reason, but now the paladin felt manipulated, vulnerable and, above all, guilty.

Elyszara, though, knew exactly what was expected of her as she eagerly returned the kiss before sinking to her knees between Syf's legs, her tongue running down the paladin's lightly muscled, perfectly flat belly into the neat thatch of midnight-black hair on her sex. Pre-empting Elyszara, Syf thrust her hips forward, her sex grinding rhythmically against the aasimar's eager lips. Syf settled back a little, leaning her hands on a weapons rack for support, legs spread wide, as Elyszara continued her diligent work, tongue exploring the inner depths of the human girl's musky sex, the abundant nectar mixing with the residue of the tears on the aasimar's cheeks. Elyszara did not care whether the salt she tasted on her lips was from the ripe earthiness of Syf's pussy or her own tears of pain. There was no difference, it was all a taste of the sensuality of life.

Supplementing her tongue with two fingers planted deep against the most sensitive inner walls of Syf's sex, Elyszara began to feel the first contractions of the paladin's peak. Biting down sharply on her lip, Syf allowed herself only a long, relieved exhalation. A climax that was too vocal was unbecoming, Syf thought, though she was more than happy when Friyya cried out her name - or even when Elyszara did, for that matter.

Somewhat exhausted and still a little stunned, Elyszara picked herself up and fell limply into Syf's embrace. It then dawned upon the paladin that she may have gone too far. Elyszara - Syf knew for a fact - was well disposed towards trying new things; indeed, she would have been hard pressed to name something Elyszara had not tried. But she realised that in the heat of passion, her own actions may have come across differently.

"Did I hurt you? I'm sorry if it was too hard for you..." Syf asked softly, her tone much more tender as she clasped Elyszara's slight, trembling frame against herself.

"No, Syf, it was lovely." The aasimar said, truthfully, as she nuzzled the hollow of Syf's neck.

"I'm happy to see you again," Syf whispered, "but we have to stop. It's not fair to Friyya...or to Cirily."

"You only have one life." Was Elyszara's bitter reply.

Deciding further conversation was counterproductive, Syf simply held Elyszara in her embrace until she knew it was time to prepare for the evening meal. Elyszara stayed on a little longer, pondering the rows of weapons in front of her as she gathered up her dress. Death, she resolved, was generally always the same thing, so that weapons are produced in a myriad of shapes and sizes for the sole purpose of expediting it - but what was the weaponry of life?

******************

"You're quiet tonight." Friyya said, a little concerned, as she close the bedchamber door.

"I always am." Syf replied, her tone sharper than she would have liked.

Knowing her lover's moods well, Friyya approached Syf, placing a gentle hand on her right shoulder, "It must hurt again, after all that training."

"A little." Syf conceded. Had her encounter with Elyszara not weighed so heavily on her mind, she would have been more affectionate. For all her petulant shortcomings, Friyya was devoted. And beautiful; even then, a part of Syf's unconscious wanted to dive into those perfect, auburn tresses, feel the flawless milk-white skin against her hand, kiss her way down those haughty, aristocratic cheekbones before becoming one with the sensual universe of her soft, pouting lips. Syf's libido was, however, still in the process of readjusting itself.

"Come, lie down." Friyya invited.

Syf complied, shrugging off her nightgown and lying face down on the bed, her face contentedly buried in the soft pillow. Although she did not like to admit it, Syf quite enjoyed these little comforts as a counterpoint to her otherwise rigid schedule.

"Your problem, my treasure, is that you're always so tense." Friyya complained as she too undressed before climbing onto the bed at Syf's side, "You and your sword," the auburn-haired paladin continued as she poured some soothing, herbal oil onto her hand and began to rub Syf's aching right should in a slow, deep, hypnotic pattern, "you always used to neglect your studies. It's a wonder you passed the doctrinal tests."

"I never had a mind for books." Syf said, vainly hoping that would stop the conversation she knew was coming.

"So one wonders how you managed to get by..." Friyya began, her fingers soothing and healing against Syf's skin, the sustained pressure unravelling any tense or knotted muscle it found.

"You copied off me." Syf mimicked sarcastically.

"No need to be rude about it when you should be grateful. And my voice is not that high." Friyya reprimanded as she began work on Syf's bicep, her hands gliding expertly over the supple muscle, "We are a complementary pair after all. You know, the whole concept of one complete soul sharing two bodies."

"Of course." Syf lied. She turned her head slightly from the pillow so she could admire Friyya at work beside her. Just watching the gentle, rhythmic swaying of Friyya's breasts, taut, ripe and symmetrical like pears picked from an Elysian garden, was captivating. Her life, Syf decided, needed prioritising - and quickly. If Elyszara really did intend to stick around Sigil, there would be only so much of the aasimar Syf could take. Some sort of solution would be required: a firm, conclusive agreement by which they both resolved to remain friends - good friends, close friends, whatever - but quite specifically not intimate friends.

"You know, Syf, I find that the level of common ignorance in this year's novices shocking, just today..." Friyya had begun her habitual complaint about how reading appeared to have fallen out of fashion, it was an excuse for Syf to drift out for a while. She knew that particular gripe well enough to be able to successfully pretend to listen.

"All done." Friyya said, interrupting Syf's brief doze. The tension in her shoulder was gone, for now, and her whole right arm was now infused with a mildly pleasant, medicinal burning.

"Don't I get a kiss?" Friyya asked, pouting in mock irritation.

"You get more than that." Syf growled, her original plan for the day was back on track, she thought, as she pulled Friyya under her, silencing any commentary with determined lips which were now kissing the breath out of Friyya's lungs.

Syf's practised, dextrous fingers easily parted the lips of Friyya's sex, moving in and out of tight canal in slow, unhurried strokes. Now their bodies melt in a symphony of breathing and movement, Syf's hand as precise and lethal between the pink folds of Friyya's sex as it was in swordplay.

That night Syf drifted in and out of sleep, Friyya resting happily at her breast, smiling and sound asleep. Syf cast her mind back to what Friyya had said as they held each other to catch their breath after the exhaustion of a long night of pleasure.

***********

"You're special." Friyya said, kissing the shallow valley between Syf's breasts.

"Oh?" Syf had not predicted that opening.

"I think you must have been virtually the only one who didn't court me. But now you have me."

"I'm honoured." Syf said truthfully. She stroked Friyya's free flowing tresses; they were like burnished, aged gold.

"I want this to continue...you know, long term." Friyya was hesitant, afraid she had picked the wrong moment. It just happened that she had.

"Friyya, we're still young.." Syf sighed. Not that it mattered since Friyya was sometimes, for all intents and purposes, what Syf imagined a middle aged married schoolmistress to be. But that, in retrospect had been a cruel thought.

"Yes, I suppose we are...but whatever you do, don't leave me." There was heartfelt passion in Friyya's voice and even Syf, generally sceptical of over-effusive romance, was touched.

"I would never do that to you."

"I know. If there is anyone whom I can trust, it's you." Friyya said, snuggling closer.

****************

And that, Syf concluded, according to the unwritten law of the Multiverse, would definitely come back to haunt her. Friyya stirred softly in her arms as if immersed in a languid, happy dream. Syf tried once more - unsuccessfully - to sleep.

*****************

Unperturbed by any but the most flighty of dreamworld considerations, Elyszara slept deeply. Had she been a light sleeper, she would have noticed Cirily rising from the bed to satisfy a certain curiosity which had been troubling her since the time Elyszara had returned and declared that she needed to bathe before dinner.

Now, standing in the dim light of a faerie fire lamp, Cirily had her initial impression confirmed. The silvery dress had a slight tear in it near the hemline of the skirt, as if it had been seized and jerked all of a sudden. Cirily mulled the situation over in her mind, the dress on the kitchen table, her mind furiously at work.

She only returned to bed after three strikes of the Bell Tower to give Elyszara the impression that she had never left.