- The Archivist, your narrator

"What is this feeling - this thing that I feel welling inside of me? What is this need, this desire, this stirring, lambent passion that inflames me each time I see her? No, this is more than love, more than lust. Min's presence brings me close to madness, to that I long to kiss her lips - red like the fire at the belly of the World - caress her hair and lose myself in the forbidden flower of her sex. I blush as I write this, my beloved Yssinel, but my hand and heart are more wanton than my mind would like to concede. If only you could see her, Yssinel - no, you must see her. Just meeting her eyes will drive you mad and silently raving with desire... "

- Excerpt from Aerylle's letter to Yssinel. Sigil to Imej correspondence.

"Isolde, there is a task with which I would charge you." Dassau said, not bothering to look up from his reading. Comparative dwarven linguistics was a fascinating topic which merited his - almost - undivided attention.

"Sir?"

"You are to proceed on a unofficial operation on my behalf."

"But sir, I am your secretary...I am not authorised..."

"Authorisation granted. Cross-reference Article 172, Paragraph 2 of the Personnel Regulations for Civic Security. You will find that Bureau chiefs are entitled to deploy non-operation personnel to operational positions should there be reasonable cause to do so."

"Reasonable, sir?"

"Reasonable, of course, at my discretion." Dassau affirmed, raising a long, gloved finger to emphasise his point.

"How then, sir may I be of service?" Isolde asked, very wearily indeed.

"I have been informed that there may have been some illegal movement of goods and/or persons into the city. You are to proceed to the location disclosed in the sealed envelope on my desk and not inform anyone either that this order has been promulgated or of your ultimate destination. At that location you are to evaluate all activity you deem suspicious - incognito, of course - carefully annotate it and present this office with a written report within two days. At such time I shall audit your report and make recommendations as required." Dassau continued reading. This, to Isolde, was a relief because it spared her the sight of the arcanoloth's snarling, canine visage, pointed ears alert, elongated muzzle always twisted in an expression of either hate or contempt. Reformed indeed.

"But sir, surely matters as triv...I mean as minor as these should be handled by the Second or Fifth Bureau."

"Isolde, how many times has this city faced an actual external threat in recorded history?" Dassau asked rhetorically, marvelling at the richness of consonant shifts in the Late Thorbardin Commonwealth era.

"None sir, because the Lady of Pain..."

"Exactly, this position is a sinecure. I wish to take some of the sine out of my professional activities."

"Huh, sir?" Isolde had lost Dassau's rambling argument.

"A pun, Isolde, a pun. Let us say that I wish to have my curiosity assuaged. You are to comply. Dismissed." Isolde sighed and took up the sealed envelope from Dassau's desk, already laden with that day's borrowings from the library.

"Is there anything else..."

"Single Vineyard Tarczal Sapravedi, '781. Decant it."

"Yes, sir." Isolde replied, her fist clenching so hard that she thought she might draw blood.

****

"Lys, I have had something on my mind for quite a while now." Cirily confessed. Elyszara lay sprawled on a vast, padded, armchair-cum-bed which lay against the far wall of their Sigil home's living area. The tables for the evening's festivities had been set and those canapés and tidbits which could be left out had already been predisposed in carefully choreographed, artistic patterns so as to clear the kitchen for Cirily to finalise the cooked dishes. For her part, Elyszara was enjoying a leisurely read, clad only in a virtually transparent, short dressing gown.

"What would that be, my love?" Elyszara said languidly, stretching slightly so that the light pink of her nipples pressed enticingly against the thin fabric of her gown which was more draped around her elfin frame than worn. Cirily swallowed. There was no really delicate way to put it, but her sleepless night and days spent thinking of the myriad of possibilities which may have concerned Elyszara's secret life had begun to take their toll. Even when cooking, an activity which Cirily found profoundly therapeutic, not to mention artistically stimulating, her thoughts had veered back to the torn dress. Why, she did not know, but it was no doubt the culmination of a long, mounting process.

First, there had been Elyszara's general evasiveness whenever they came to Sigil, as if she wished to live paralell lives, one in Arborea and one in Sigil. Second, there was the simple fact that Elyszara was most assuredly not a clumsy person, it would have been unthinkable that she would have torn any item of clothing in accident. Third, and most pressingly, had been the smell of the dress. Cirily had not dwelt upon that at first because of the sheer unthinkable vulgarity of the thought, but there had been this smell of metal, leather and...another. She did not quite know how to explain it to herself, but her intuition told her that something was amiss. Surely if Elyszara had chosen to take a casual lover, she would have consulted Cirily - as Arborean custom and etiquette dictated.

"So?" Elyszara asked, impatiently, returning to her reading.

Cirily realised she was still thinking and cleared her throat, swallowed again and thought of another approach, "Is it me, or have you been a little...uh, distant since we arrived?"

"I wouldn't think so, no." Elyszara said dismissively.

"Well there was that evening you went out..."

"Yes, for food, Cirily." Outwardly cool, Elyszara's heart began to beat a little faster.

"That's the question, Lys. You were out at least two strikes of the Bell Tower and...well, I found a tear in the dress."

"Oh, dammit, I must snagged it on something. Sigil is a little worn around the edges, must have been a nail, or a drainpipe or something." Elyszara said, regaining composure. It would be relatively easy to bluff her way out of this one.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would have fixed it straight away."

"Sorry, must have forgotten." Elyszara said, feigning distraction.

At that point Cirily realised that her argument had been skating on very thin ice indeed. Nevertheless, if there was something that her celestial heritage had given her, it was a sense of when things were amiss. Though the evidence, in and of itself, of any malfeasance on Elyszara's part was lacking, just staring at the dress had given Cirily a bad feeling. Just as Elyszara was, quite clearly, hiding something now. To say that Cirily knew Elyszara well was reductive: she had begun to detect even slight variation in her lover's tone, vocabulary, prosody...Attention to detail, as befitted the artistic calling of her firre blood, was one of Cirily's most astounding intellectual qualities. Or perhaps she was just being paranoid. Time, Cirily thought, would tell.

"Well, be more careful next time." Platitudinous, yes, but at least it made the conversation sound innocent. Cirily did not want to admit it to herself, indeed she had relegated that thought to the very back of her mind. But, deep in her subconscious, she knew full well what Elyszara was suspected of; she knew what was amiss.

"You've been working so hard...come over here and rest for a moment." Elyszara invited, her voice laden with honey-sweet promise.

There she goes again. Cirily thought, but she complied, happy to at least take a seat after having spent most of the day back and forth between the kitchen and dining area. Sitting down at Elyszara's side, Cirily immediately felt cool, firm hands caress her shoulders in a gentle, rubbing pattern which immediately began to dispel the accumulated physical stress, if not the anxiety, of the day.

"I'm so grateful that you've put so much effort in for the celebrations tonight..." Elyszara's voice trailed off into warm, titillating licks on Cirily's sensitive, pointed ear, "everybody is jealous that I have such a loving friend." Cirily was flattered and she had to admit it. Elyszara had this way of making her feel the centre of the Multiverse, a sensation which she had always craved. Before she knew it, Elyszara's soothing hands had worked all but the most stubborn tension from her shoulders and had proceeded lower down the bronze-tinted paleness of Cirily's skin, sliding the simple white blouse from her shoulders and revealing soft breasts capped with burnished red nipples riding atop aureolas of polished copper.

Elyszara knew Cirily set fire to her loins in a way she had never experienced, she knew because as she gently caressed the squirming girl's breasts, she could smell the slight perfume of spices from the kitchen which had seeped into Cirily's clothing, taste the sweet, yielding warmth of the heated skin beneath her tongue and know that all her senses were being exalted. Making love to Cirily, though sublime, was not the beginning and end of Elyszara's desires. It was a good start, though, which would, as far as the dark-haired aasimar was concerned, reach its culmination later that evening.

Cirily moaned softly, undulating rhythmically under Elyszara's touch, those expert fingers caressing her breasts and belly in, long, teasing patterns. Settling on her knees behind Cirily, Elyszara eased her lover into a prone position onto the elongated chair, face against the velvet padding. The sensation on Cirily's nipples was astounding, the smooth, textured surface beneath her an almost agonising stimulation as her breasts swayed back and forward, Elyszara planting long wet kisses down her neck and the curve of her back. Dancing and playful, Elyszara's indigo lips and pink tongue played down the length of Cirily's spine, the dark-haired aasimar's fingers skilfully undressing as she descended, before proceeding to tug her lover's skirt off, casually tossing aside the light blue fabric. Cirily sighed, her sex finally exposed to the cool air, Elyszara was behind her, on top of her, controlling her with effortless, delicate ease.

Contemplating the spectacle of soft, feminine curves before her, Elyszara revelled in the anticipation she was generating in Cirily; it was so profoundly arousing to see her lover lie there, breathing heavily, her breasts heaving against the velvet fabric of the surface beneath them, her sex already moistened with salty, floral nectar.

"Now don't be a naughty girl and peek." Elyszara teased, her tongue hungry as it licked down Cirily's sacrum. There she paused, casually stripping off her dressing gown to kneel naked behind her prone lover. "You've been so good, I think you deserve a reward."

Elyszara fingers carefully parted the lips of Cirily's sex, feeling the rush of heat and warmth which emanated from the pink, blooming core. Cirily gave a sharp cry, the muscles in her thighs and bottom tensing at the initial impact. Just the thought of being under the gentle direction of Elyszara's feather-light touch was deeply exciting; it built heat and pressure in her chest as her heart hammered in her temples. Sliding the two fingers along the soft, pink contours of Cirily's inner lips, Elyszara allowed the very tips of her fingers to graze the exposed clitoris which had already slipped its bud and now stood stiff and tense at the peak of the redhead's sex.

The circular action of Elyszara's fingers was tortuous and even more so as Cirily cried out again, this time in surprise as she felt Elyszara's tongue lap in the valley between the curved half-moons of her bottom to settle on the tight, pink muscle of her nether portal, slowly teasing and coaxing. Cirily tensed under the dual assault, her breasts swaying rhythmically with the firm, massaging action of Elyszara's hand subtly ruling every movement of the redhead's body.

Elyszara plumbed the secrets of Cirily's sex and bottom with consummate ease, her tongue gently working its way deeper into the moist, earthy recesses of her lover's nether portal. Cirily felt only her laboured breathing and the beating of her heart in her head, every other sense was sublimated into the indescribably delightful sensation between her legs. Sliding her thumb into the sopping wet core of her lover's sex, Elyszara renewed her assault on Cirily's clitoris, sliding the stiff little bud between the pads of two fingers. Her tongue was still busy exploring the delights of the redhead's bottom, the globes of her buttocks so harmoniously feminine, yet the muscle nestled between them so tight and reticent like a little flower which needed to be opened with just a little tender attention.

Cirily writhed in ecstasy, feeling the onset of her climax as her sex began to spasm, bucking hard against Elyszara's fingers. Her sharp, wailing cries filled the room, as her hips moved frantically back and forth, thrusting herself further against the invading digits and tongue. Elyszara happily allowed her lover to ride out her orgasm, relishing the sensation of control she obtained from opening up and pleasuring her lover on a whim.

Cirily collapsed on the armchair, her mind still reeling and dizzy, but lightened of its load of sensual tension. Elyszara lavished a few more lazy, teasing licks on her lover's sex and bottom before embracing her from behind, holding her close enough to detect the pounding heartbeat of her climax through soft, passion-flushed skin.

"Never leave me. Ever." Cirily said fervently, turning around to kiss Elyszara's, softly at first, then more passionately, inviting the dark-haired girl's tongue deeper into her mouth. There was so much unspoken need and longing in those golden eyes, framed by fine, long coppery lashes, so that even Elyszara was moved.

"I won't. Now we better get prepared and dressed, we wouldn't like to be caught like his."

"You would." Cirily said, smiling teasingly, placing tender little kisses on Elyszara's pale throat, "And since you were so considerate, I'll do anything you want me to tonight."

"Anything?" Elyszara said, almost moaning in anticipation, her arousal still fresh, hot and pulsating between her legs.

"Anything." Cirily specified, her voice rich and sensual. Passionate did not, however, mean stupid and the aasimar reminded herself that she had to be alert with regards to whatever had been...bothering Elyszara recently.

***

"So you affirm that you have no further interest or sympathy for drow society or interests." Isobel observed, the words rolling dryly out of her mouth. Sitting behind the great marble table at the Altar of the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden, the Vice-Commander was not entirely amused. Indeed, the more she thought about it the less, she found the situation endearing. Around her were the vividly carved statues of previous Abbesses and High Commanders of yore, standing around the main apse of the Temple. Elegant but simply carved columns supported a great ceiling of stained red, blue and white glass carved in the form of a radiant beam of light slicing through two concentric circles.

This was surely not the place for a creature of evil. As a matter of fact, this was not the place to be dealing with hare-brained ideas. Isobel had expected some comparably stupid behaviour from Friyya further down the line, but Virginia had so far been unimpeachable, straight as an arrow and almost certainly leadership material. Now she had been forced to take time from he schedule to deal with the - ridiculous - question of whether the Order of the Radiant Path should take it upon itself to facilitate the transition of a dark elf from the depths from whence she came to the light of the Vigilant Maiden. This, to Isobel, was a case and point instance of there being harm in trying.

"Madam, I suspect you would not have much sympathy for a system which annihilated your family and deprived you of all your worldly possessions." Lily said with some self-confidence, though she could not help but be wary of two fully armoured senior paladins on either side of her, their swords at the ready. Virginia cringed, Lily's sense of humour was one thing she knew for a fact would not go down well with Isobel. But this had been Virginia's last resort. Now, standing beside Lily, she realised that it would be hard to get around the simple fact that Isobel's contact with drow so far had been limited to the blade of her mighty greatsword. Lily, however, looked self assured, though awkwardly dressed in one of Virginia's military tunics. The dark elf, Virginia supposed, was used to dealing with potentially arbitrary authority figures.

"No I wouldn't," Isobel snapped impatiently, "but I fail to see how this is not some sort of elaborate ploy."

"Well, assuming this was a well thought out plan..."

Don't humour her! Virginia found herself shouting in her mind.

"...sending a junior priestess of meagre talents such as myself with no form of enchanted disguise and presenting her, as I am, at your mercy would be quite a...circular method of doing things." Grovelling to this painted, barbaric human with the same tone she would use to win the favours of a high priestess galled Lily to no end, but necessity, of course, trumped all else.

"Virginia has sworn by your character..."

How nice. Lily thought, a barely perceptible smile of satisfaction forming on her lips.

"But I remain unconvinced. My duty is, however, to the Founding Axioms of our faith and its Rule. So I can extend a probationary ruling on your behalf. Be advised, however, that you will be under surveillance. Most importantly, remember that novices and paladins alike fear me in this order. Relapse even slightly into your wicked, depraved past and I guarantee that you will be terrorised of me. You may go." Virginia drew a sigh of relief. Lily took a low, obsequious bow and backed out of the Temple. The blonde paladin turned to follow her.

"Not you, Virginia." Isobel said imperiously.

"R-Reverend Sister." Virginia acknowledged nervously.

"Care to explain what in the Goddess' name is going on?" the Vice-Commander thundered.

"Reverend Sister, I thought it my duty to support the redemption of the..."

"Silence!" Isobel growled, rising to her feet. Her stature and lean, powerful musculature were truly imposing. "Who do you take me for, a fool?"

"No, Reverend Sister." Virginia said, not without desperation.

"She's your kind of thing, isn't she?" Isobel spat venomously.

"Reverend..." Virginia was interrupted by Isobel's haughtily raised palm.

"I suppose finding a nice human girl is too much to ask of you, isn't it? Be that as it may, I must say that your record so far has been good. So good, in fact that I'm going to stick my head out and trust your judgement, for now, though, of course, with appropriate caution. Naturally, this is not the first time we obtain a conversion of this kind, however, this may well be one of the first times the subject in question found her faith under the bedcovers. Since it isn't my policy to intrude on the private lives of my subordinates, however, my final decision has to be impartial. But I am watching."

"Thank you, Reverend Sister."

"Dismissed."

Virginia gratefully withdrew to the temple door, almost running down the marble paving. Lily was outside to greet her with a hungry kiss, the dark elf's violet eyes already alive with passion - not so much for Virginia, though the paladin was arousing enough, but for her resounding success which went to prove that, despite the destruction of her House, she, and she alone had the ability to survive and start anew. More relieved than excited, Virginia was nevertheless grateful for her lover's first show of affection outside the confines of her bedchamber.

"I would like you to come with us tonight. To celebrate." Virginia said as they walked back to Quarters, passing through the walled fencing yard which, by that time, had already been vacated, and the refectory.

"Are you sure I would not be a liability?" Lily noted sceptically.

"No, not at all," Virginia said airily, "but I'm sure I'd make a lot of people jealous if I showed up with you at my side."

"You're too kind." Lily said, not without irony.

"Anyway, the point would be for you to meet some people who could help you know Sigil better."

"That would be interesting." Lily mused, the more contacts she had, the better.

"Well, it's settled then," Virginia said, before reflecting on rather ill-fitting tunic she had leant Lily, "there is one problem though..."

***

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Friyya complained, tensely rifling through her wardrobe - not her official, registered one, but the one containing a few choice outfits stowed carefully at the bottom of her equipment trunk.

"Nobody's forcing you." Lily snapped, as embarrassed as Friyya was, if not more. Marséna and Syf looked on, utterly bemused at the spectacle. Virginia had begged Friyya to lend the dark elf and appropriate outfit for the evening, but the results had so far been farcical. Lily leaned sullenly against the wall of Friyya's bedchamber, clearly irritated, whilst the auburn-haired paladin, who found the thought of sharing her clothing with - potentially - a being of pure evil unsettling at best, felt the mounting stress of being observed as she unpacked a selection of items which were, self-evidently, well in excess of the sumptuary regulations of the Rule.

"I don't see why I have to lend her something. Anything of mine is going to be seven inches too long." Friyya snarled through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, but the bust and hips are about right. And, of course, your dress sense is flawless, my fair donaisela." Marséna commented, adding a mock bow.

"Same can't be said for you." Friyya snarled between gritted teeth.

Marséna could not help but look at herself, self-consciously, once again in the mirror. She thought she had made perfectly presentable use of the material available to her: her favourite white cotton blouse, worn half unbuttoned, ankle length black skirt slit to the waist, and her good black boots. What did Friyya expect? Marséna remembered that, as a child, she had to help in the grape harvest, bring olives to the mill to be crushed and tend to the ducks and geese just for there to be enough to eat, with some set aside for feast days or weddings. She was grateful whenever she had new clothing at all and simply did not see the appeal of cycling through hundreds of different colours or styles.

"Look, this is desperate." Friyya said, exasperated. She had considered a green Shou Lung silk dress for a moment, but swiftly decided that it should only know one owner.

"Give me a shirt." Lily interjected, tired of the pathetic display. Friyya was obviously irredeemably ineffective and venial.

"What?" Friyya said, her surprise evident.

"Give me a shirt." Lily repeated, slowly.

Assenting, Friyya tossed her one of her good silk blouses, so blue it was almost violet. Lily undressed matter-of-factly, deposited Virginia's tunic on the side of Friyya's bed, briskly pulled the blouse on and, seizing the simple black belt of the tunic she had just removed, tied it around her waist.

"All done now." The dark elf said curtly. It had not been a bad idea, the extra length was more than sufficient to make Lily presentable, but Virginia suspected that the drow knew how the silky hem would flow around those perfect, obsidian thighs with every step she took.

"Looks wonderful." Virginia complimented and even Syf granted a slight nod of her head in approval. Not that she had much sympathy for such unedifying activities, like Virginia, she considered the quiet formality of the Radiant Path's dress uniform more than adequate: a form fitting, long sleeve white tunic with golden buttons and golden trimming, white leggings and dark brown boots. Simple, elegant, and so much more dignified.

"So are we set?" Syf said, assuming leadership of the outing. She was nervous, not quite knowing what sort of irritating ploy Elyszara had no doubt planned. Festivities were, moreover, not her thing. She would have much preferred a quiet dinner and a nice, restorative bath with Friyya. Now she was being co-opted, once again, into what she could only define as a circus. A circus with a very entrancing ringmaster, though, in the shape of the accursed sorceress, Elyszara.

"Yes, Shesayne will meet us there." Marséna said, hoping that spending some time with the half-elf with some company around would broaden the scope of their communication. Oddly, she had felt no recent resentment towards Lily, even as her desire for Virginia continued to burn. Marséna was level-headed enough to realise that the break with Virginia had occurred long before the drow had tumbled, unexpectedly on the scene; she was no more of an irritant, in that respect, than Shesayne.

"Well, we should be on our way then." Friyya concluded, careful to take on last look at herself in the mirror. Logically enough, she had chosen to wear Syf's favourite: the silky, airy orange dress which wrapped around her sculptural figure - like a flowing stream of saffron - rather than clothed her.

"Friyya, dearest, are you sure you don't want anything over that?" Syf insisted. The last thing she wanted was for Friyya's decidedly provocative dress sense to somehow inconvenience them. Certainly, if Isobel caught her wearing that, it would give the Vice-Commander exactly the excuse she needed to truly make Friyya sorry she had been born.

"Oh well," Friyya said teasingly, addressing Syf and Virginia, "with two fair knights-at-arms from the Order of the Radiant Path by my side, I think I would make just the perfect impression."

"Yeah, just like being arrested by two guardians of the moral order for publicly soliciting." Marséna insinuated.

"How dare you...you vulgar peas-...!"

"Enough!" Syf commanded, "Come on, everyone out before this degenerates further." In retrospect, Syf mused, she did not need to go to Elyszara's parties to find a circus, there was perfectly viable one conveniently situated in her quarters.

As they filed out the apartment door, Marséna shot Friyya a look of burning resentment. The auburn-haired paladin smirked back before mouthing an almost inaudible "jealous". The need to be at the centre of attention was certainly one of Friyya's intrinsic vices. Her permanence in the Order had repressed, but not entirely eliminated that tendency.

***

"Splendid, as always." Min commented in admiration as Aerylle finally declared herself ready after ensuring that both she and the sky-blue evening gown, cut in a classic grey elven design with loose, filmy sleeves and a low neckline with a darker blue trim around it to underscore the pale milkiness of the skin beneath, were in perfect condition. The tiefling, for her part lay stretched out naked on Aerylle's plush, overstuffed bed, enjoying the fluid softness of the bedcovers under her bare skin.

"You think so?" Aerylle queried, looking at herself once more in the mirror and adjusting just a hint of cobalt-blue powder to the area around her eyes and the skin between her breasts, the dust falling like tiny azure crystals on the pale, flawless skin.

"Never in my life did I think I'd be bringing a girl like you to a fancy party." the tiefling mused wryly.

"I should take that as a compliment." Aerylle said, ensuring that the blue powder was thin enough to be invisible on first impact, yet subtly evident enough to develop a chromatic symmetry with the dress upon close observation. "When are you intending on getting dressed?"

"It won't take me long." Min said, happy enough to surround herself in the fresh clean smell of the bed.

"What were you thinking of wearing?"

"The usual."

"Oh, Min." Aerylle sighed in frustration. The tiefling would, as always, probably go for her usual functional preference of a skintight sleeveless vest, dark leggings and boots.

"I'm not wearing the sodding skirt. I mean d'you think I really look like someone who ought to be wearing something like that?"

"Min!" Aerylle chided, "There's no need to use expletives, I can understand you perfectly well without them. In any case, you have such lovely legs, why not frame them better in some more...tasteful attire."

"Wasn't I pretty enough when we first met?" said Min snidely.

"Of course you were."

"Well, what was I wearing?" Min concluded pointedly.

"That is not the point," Aerylle said, rising to her feet and walking over to her bed to sit beside Min, who was still stretching lazily like some large hunting cat.

"Look, it's just not me. When I was growing up in the Hive, the chant was survival and not much else. I don't think I could ever see being 'ladylike', or whatever that means, the same as you." Some of Min's earliest memories were of stealing an oversized shirt and ill-fitting leggings from a tailor's shop, just to replace the torn clothing she was wearing when she escaped the cold, dark place where she had spent most of her early childhood.

Aerylle nodded, somewhat understanding of Min's notion of self-image. One simply could not take arbitrarily take people from their social or cultural forge, "Be that as it may, you are my lady now." the elven girl said, leaning forward to kiss Min on those smouldering, deep red lips.

The tiefling was all too happy to kiss back, her tongue parting the grey elf's delicate lips to find its playmate. Min had found Aerylle to be a capable, conscientious lover with whom intimacy was sometimes a little drawn out, but never boring, "Are you trying to make us late?" Min said teasingly, rising languidly to straddle Aerylle, the tiefling's delicately slanted orange eyes, mysterious as ever, betraying only a hint of the desire which welled deep within her.

"I suspect that would be a little rude of us," Aerylle sighed, burying her face between Min's warm breasts, inhaling the comfortingly spicy-cinnamon smell of the woman's skin, and revelling in its softness, "but tempting nonetheless." It was times like these, Aerylle thought, that she would spend the whole night in Min's arms, chatting, making love, or just feeling the rise and fall of the tiefling's chest.

"Right you are then," Min said with as she rose to her feet, reluctantly, "what would your ladyship prefer I wear?"

Aerylle allowed herself a slight smile, it hadn't taken her long to realise that Min's joking was in no way malicious, "The usual."

"Wise choice." the tiefling said smugly, quickly pulling on oily black leggings crafted from the skin of the stealthy busen and a steel-grey, semi-transparent figure-hugging top. Despite the fact that her aesthetic preferences would have dictated another choice of clothing, Aerylle was fascinated at how Min managed to generate almost effortless presence, if not elegance, with such a simple wardrobe. In elven culture, clothing was a nuanced, highly complex set of signals which were founded on chromatic variations, patterns, materials and even the manner in which a particular garment was worn. It would have been inconceivable for Aerylle to have been effectively courted by someone who did not know the subtleties of this code; now, however, the elven girl found herself fascinated by the objective aesthetic complementarity between Min's supple, almost feline muscularity and her choice of clothing.

If she was to live a reasonably happy life in Sigil, though, Aerylle knew that adaptation would be indispensable. Old habits were, as always, difficult to kick, "Can I at least brush your ha-..."

"Don't push your luck." Min growled, affecting menace. To her mind there was absolutely nothing wrong with her hair: it was naturally straight and well-disciplined and certainly required no tampering with, "Anyway, so this woman who's invited us, she send money your way?"

"Well, the library's way to be precise." Aerylle said, quickly adjusting the nearly imperceptible creases Min had inflicted on her gown.

"A Sensation enthusiast?" Min asked, pulling on her boots.

"Donor to and member of the Society, yes."

"More money than sense, no doubt. Lots of leatherheads like that around." Socialites and poseurs did not generally enjoy Min's sympathy, but at least based on what Aerylle had told her, this gathering in particular was to be particularly interesting and definitely atypical in terms of its guest list.

"Never judge a book by its cover." Aerylle commented, the phrase making her think back poignantly to the time she and Min had first met. How thankful she was for that instant in which she had decided to try the Waterside Inn tavern for the last time. That decision had already began writing a crucial chapter in the story of her life.

***

"What a great pleasure to welcome the noble paladins of the Order of the Radiant Path into our humble home, please, please come in." Elyszara said with well practiced effusion. The art of verbal manipulation was one she had begun to excel at. Of course, it had not always been that way for she had begun her adolescent years as a bitter introvert. Times change, she thought, and people with it. In this case, it was for the mutual benefit of all.

"It's lovely to be here again. Your hospitality is legendary," Virginia complimented warmly - she did not buy Elyszara's setup for a second, but was certainly wise enough to reciprocate the aasimar's apparent affection, "may I introduce Lily who has recently joined our Order as a convert." The dark elf gave a short, dispassionate bow - convert was decidedly too strong a word. Nevertheless, if Virginia thought it most acceptable to explain the situation in those terms, all the better.

"Lily...how charming! And what astute dress sense." Elyszara was decidedly impressed by the newcomer, not to mention surprised. All for the better, she thought, as the dark elf definitely added an air of additional mystique and sensual exoticism to the evening. To Elyszara's jaded taste, there was little better. Lily, on the other hand had to restrain every drow instinct in her to repress the creeping fantasy of slitting Elyszara's throat. If Friyya was inane, there was no word in any language to describe the aasimar. Pretty specimen, though, the drow was forced to concede.

"Oh, and Syf and Friyya, the loveliest of couples," Elyszara gushed, extending a dainty, pale hand for Syf to kiss. The paladin felt something turn in her stomach. Maintaining her cool, collected exterior almost intact, Syf bowed fluidly to kiss the outstretched hand.

"What a gallant lover, you have Lady Friyya, I'm so jealous, oh...and of that dress too, its positively delightful." Elyszara gushed as Friyya blushed slightly. Elyszara's choice of dress was composed of thin, criss-crossing strips of silk that melded into a voluminous, effectively transparent, black gown fixed with a tiny, intricately wrought silver chain between the aasimar's pert, rounded breasts was certainly competitive, but for tonight, Friyya knew she must have the edge in terms of elegance - or so she hoped. However, if Syf had been telepathic and had read Lily's mind in precisely that moment, they would have found that they were thinking exactly the same thing. The aasimar was hopeless narcissist and Syf had no idea what in the Nine Hells was in the process of being concocted. Whatever it was, Syf reflected, it almost certainly involved plans for her with which she had intention of complying. That, however, was a promise Syf had made to herself before.

Elyszara, in the meanwhile, was busy complimenting Marséna and Shesayne, "Cirily, our guests have arrived." she called.

Cirily walked into the dining chamber with self-possessed elegance, the iridescent fabric of her pearly white dress exalting the slightly bronzed accent on her otherwise pale skin. Syf felt her belly turn once again. In the worst of circumstances, this had the potential be the most humiliating night not only of her life, but a few other unfortunates as well.

"Heartfelt greetings," Cirily began formally, the dulcet tones of her musical voice pleasingly soft but clear across the chatter, "may I bring some refreshments? Dinner will be ready for service at your discretion shortly." Although it may have been a stressful task, there were few pleasures greater to Cirily than being the perfect hostess and the most gracious companion to Elyszara. It was, as all things could be if sufficiently loved and practiced, an art.

"Aerylle, my treasure, what an honour, and what a stunning companion you brought with you!" Elyszara gushed from the doorway. Syf, and she was not alone, resolved that a very long night had just begun.

***

Quite a few bottles of good Arvandor feywine, Cirily's faultless, light cooking with its delicate combinations of sweet, spicy and savoury, and the soft, musical chiming of a summoned and bound air spirit trapped in a prison of silver bells soon loosened the atmosphere. Having detached herself briefly from Aerylle, who was involved in a particularly intense discussion on the significance of landscape painting in elven art with Cirily, Min had managed to catch up with Marséna, who was refilling her glass for the umpteenth time from the silver pitcher of golden feywine.

"Having fun yet?" Min asked, for lack of anything more intelligent to say, enjoying the breathtaking sight of Marséna slightly bent over the table.

"Improving with every glass," Marséna replied, turning around to place a light greeting kiss on Min's lips, "can I refill yours?"

"I won't stop you," the tiefling said, smiling enigmatically as Marséna filled the delicate crystal goblet with the cool, aromatic liquid.

"Nice catch, but I never thought she would be your type." The paladin said, nodding her head in Aerylle's direction.

"She makes me happy, she makes me wet, what else d'you want from life?"

"How's the recovery and retrieval business going, then?" Marséna inquired, always fascinated by the presence of the mysterious tiefling. Min had this infectious, endearing self-confidence which never veered too far towards unpleasantness. On the contrary, with time, she seemed positively charismatic and refreshingly unaffected.

"Dangerous, underpaid and frustrating. As usual. Shesayne says you've been taking good care of her, though. She's really into you." Min could not help but turn her gaze to the rich iodine tan of Marséna's breasts, partly exposed in all their naturally bounteous firmness by the half-unbuttoned blouse. It was so white that the cafe-au-lait nipples were easily perceptible to Min's keen eyesight below the fabric.

"Well, I must say," Marséna began, the alcohol had already loosened her tongue somewhat, and filled her head with a light, pleasant warmth, "I would have liked to have spoken to her more, but she keep moving back and forth. I don't think she's ever held a conversation for more than a few minutes."

"Hmm, but if I'm here it's because of her. She handles artifacts like spinning tops, must be some sort of sixth sense or something." Min said, her gaze lowered to where Marséna's slender, athletic thigh peak peeked through the slit of the paladin's long, black skirt.

"Do you want to get some fresh air?" Marséna said quietly, her big, deep brown eyes finding Min's, "There's a balcony in the loft."

The tiefling nodded subtly, her heart's pace quickening, her throat drying somewhat. She quickly drained her glass, feeling the sensual, fruity sweetness of the wine wash over her tongue like a welcome spring.

Min followed the paladin up the internal spiral staircase at the far wall of the dining chamber, through the bedroom and into the almost pitch blackness of Sigil's cool night. Only fires blazing in the distance and the enchanted illumination of the streets below provided lighting.

"You're stunning." Min said reverently as they both peered out into the city below. Luminescent globes, placed down the boulevards and larger alleyways like monstrous fireflies lit up the Lady's Ward, giving the impression that Sigil was one enormous, lambent wheel of light. Crowds still thronged in and out of establishments, spilling forth into streets, testament to Sigil's vivid nightlife. Min, however, was far more interested in the scenery immediately in front of her. The tiefling's hand travelled down the freely flowing raven tresses of Marséna's hair, down her back and under the slit of the skirt, grasping a perfectly flared, toned globe of the paladin's legendary bottom. Marséna stood still, silently contemplative, allowing herself to be touched. Even this contact, filled with the passion of adoration as well as lust, was a form of emotional warmth to her, comforting because it came from a woman she admired .

As the tiefling caressed, she explored more of Marséna's secrets hidden beneath the recesses of the black fabric of her skirt. She felt the tension in the slender muscles of Marséna's thigh, the tightness and firmness of the girl's bottom as she ran a finger down its crease, the midnight-black curls of hair beneath which nestled the lips of an already humid sex. Turning suddenly to face the tiefling, Marséna cupped Min's cheeks in her hands, her fingers lovingly running down the finely chiselled, enigmatically beautiful features.

"You can have me now, if you want. We can stay here until light breaks again, and do everything you've ever dreamed of doing with me. Or we can stop fucking our lives up, enjoy the scenery and a few jokes, go back and stay friends who like to admire each other every now and then. You choose, as far as I'm concerned, I can go either way."

"Marséna, what's wrong?" Min said, very softly.

"I've been living the strangest few days of my life and I'm tired. I have so much love to give and I don't know who to give it to anymore and I'm angry and I'm fucking confused." Marséna said desperately, hoping Min didn't see the tears streaming down her cheeks - but knowing the tiefling's perfect eyesight would catch them anyway.

"C'mon Marséna," Min said, her tone becoming firmer all of a sudden as she drew the Mareterran girl into a tight embrace, "I don't fall head over heels for weaklings, you're stronger than that."

"I'm sorry I'm troubling you with this." Marséna said, trying to prevent it from sounding like a whimper.

"Nah, don't mention it. I'll take this as my reward." Min said jokingly, planting a soft but loving kiss on Marséna's lips, "Now go and find your happiness...and thanks for reminding me that I should also go find mine."

"Hmm, your elven friend probably wouldn't have appreciated what you were doing down there." Marséna said, a smile returning to her lips.

"I know, but she doesn't have your ass." Min quipped back.

"She doesn't deserve us behaving this stupidly. No one does."

"I know." Min agreed, before taking Marséna by the hand and leading her back downstairs.

***

Aerylle was convinced that Sigil's cosmopolitan tolerance had its profound advantages: it made life more interesting, more varied and opened one's horizons, intellectual or...otherwise. Aerylle's tolerance, however, stopped at drow. The very fact that she had been co-opted into the proximity of one by Shesayne was galling, to put it mildly. The half-elf chattered on as if nothing were the matter, seemingly uncaring that a specimen of a race which had been rejected by the light of day itself was within earshot. Shesayne's mother, Aerylle imagined, would have paled at this thought. The dark elf was, furthermore, genuinely unctuous: vague, evasive, and when it suited her, charming enough.

Most annoyingly, she had a sharp little tongue which had been throwing little barbs in Aerylle's direction all evening, insinuating that the drow alone knew the boundless power of elven femininity. Politeness, however, dictated that in the house of another, she could never step beyond the bounds of cultured civility.

"So, Lily, what is it that draws you to the magical containment and retrievals business?" Aerylle asked, gracefully crossing her legs and leaning against the side of her armchair farthest from Lily.

The dark elf turned her head slightly, her eyes imperious and haughty, "I think that would be where my natural talents lie." The drow's lilting accent had become progressively uncongenial to Aerylle's ears.

"Yes, yes, I think we could make really efficient use of someone with such natural, spontaneous magical affinity-attunement such as yourself." Shesayne agreed as she sat forward in her own armchair, her elbows propped on her knees, peering curiously at the dark elf. Alcohol made her speech even faster.

"I find it reassuring that you would so readily recognise the value of my innate abilities." Lily said, scrutinising Shesayne carefully. She had to learn every single detail of her surroundings, remember faces, names and preferences. This was all part of the necessary process of adaptation. Lily's adaptation, however, stopped with surface elves.

"Oh well, Shesayne, I do hope you find dark elves to be every bit as reliable as collaborators as they are made out to be." Aerylle said, forcing a fake, ironic smile.

"Drow." Lily snapped, her deep red eyes searing into Aerylle with silent fury.

Shesayne could only stare on, dismayed at the tension of the conversation. It had been no problem whatsoever for her to offer Lily a trial period in her retrievals team. Drow did, after all, have a powerful affinity to all things enchanted and Lily would be an asset in both the detection and containment part of the business. Nevertheless, she had spent all of her life in Sigil where such ancestral hatreds, though by no means nonexistent, were at the very most muted. She personally saw nothing intrinsically wrong with interacting with a member of any given race. If Sigil had taught Shesayne anything, it was that the good, the bad and the ugly could be found in any species or culture.

The conversation proceeded with the underlying note of tension, but all would have been restrained enough had Virginia not suddenly appeared behind Lily. Having been suitably relaxed by a few glasses of feywine and a couple of amiable conversations, the paladin was in an enthusiastic mood. She made sure Lily knew by leaning on the side of Lily's armchair, craning her neck slightly to share a short, but wetly passionate kiss with the drow, one hand sliding ever so slightly under the fabric of blouse to caress the top of her generous, obsidian breasts.

To say that something in Aerylle snapped would be reductive, "Virginia!" The grey elf hissed, her voice louder than she had hoped, her nails digging savagely into the red fabric padding of the armchair. Startled and confused, Virginia whipped around to face Aerylle. It was then that the effects of the alcohol very rapidly faded into a cold, unpleasant awkwardness. She realised then that she had definitely forgotten to put two and two together; but that the grey elf, who had clearly been disappointed with Virginia's clumsy efforts at courtship, could still feel irritation that she had found another lover, drow or otherwise, seemed inconceivable.

"Aerylle...I...thought that you had, uh, moved on." Was all Virginia could manage. The paladin had the impression that whatever she said would only serve to irritate the elven girl further.

Aerylle stared lividly, her face suddenly paler than usual. Typical, she thought, this slattern is a temptress as well as an instrument of conniving wickedness. There is truly no vice of which the drow are innocent.

"I apologise, but regrettably, I must leave you." Aerylle said tersely, rising to her feet, "Excuse me, Shesayne." Moving angrily back into the dining area, she hoped to find Min as soon as possible. It was time to go home.

"Virginia?" Lily inquired quizzically, she knew surface elves to be highly strung, but surely Virginia's relationships were well outside Aerylle's remit to judge.

"Ah..." the paladin began, not quite certain how to avoid further disaster. "There was a time in which I courted her."

"Right, terribly, terribly sorry, but I should find Marséna." Shesayne said, wanting only to escape being ensnared into another tense conversation. She rose quickly from her armchair and scampered off. In reality, Marséna could wait; the half-elf had a craving for one of Cirily's elderberry syrup pastries and desperately hoped some had been left on the table.

"Her?" Lily sneered. The very thought was inconceivable. What was there in a bland, anaemic surface elf to like?

"Yes, but some time ago." Virginia conceded.

"Well," Lily said huskily, seizing the front of Virginia's tunic with her dextrous fingers and drawing the paladin in for another kiss, "it looks like your re-education still has to be completed."

Lily's kiss was electric, her violet lips soft, yielding and moist, her tongue wantonly curious, teasing, fencing and coyly withdrawing from Virginia's advances. With her free hand, Lily guided Virginia's fingers to her silky, exposed thighs, before drawing them higher, under the blouse, to the warm, wet mons of her sex. Virginia moaned into Lily's mouth. The contrast between the soft skin, silky fabric and the yielding, damp sex was divine.

"Lily, not here," Virginia said breathlessly, hoping no one was paying too much attention, "We could..."

Virginia was silenced once more by hungry lips, "Later, I think I will have to show you the infinite advantages of drow women." Lily said, flicking her tongue one last time over Virginia's lips before loosening her grip on the paladin.

"I am honoured." Virginia said, feigning indifference. Inside she could hardly wait. Just disengaging her hand from Lily's sex was a struggle.

"I warn you, paladin," Lily said, her voice full of lascivious menace, "it will not be a short night." The drow emphasised her comment by raising Virginia's hand to her lips and hungrily licking off the residue of her own nectar from the pale fingers.

***

"What a rare privilege, my lady knight wants to speak to me in the privacy of my bathing chamber." Elyszara said, locking the door to the spacious stone and red-tile room behind them.

"Stop it. Stop it now." Syf said firmly. She had not eaten, she had not drunk. She just wanted to rid herself immediately of this gnawing guilt at the pit of her stomach and at the edges of her conscience.

"Stop what, my lady knight?" Elyszara asked innocently, beginning to unbutton Syf's tunic.

"This," Syf snapped, angrily seizing the aasimar's hands and thrusting them aside, "we can't go on like this."

"Why not?" Elyszara pouted.

"Does this look healthy to you? Or fair, to Cirily or Friyya?" The paladin was becoming progressively indignant, there was a limit to all selfishness but Elyszara clearly had yet to discover it.

"But isn't it wonderful to be able to choose?" Elyszara insisted, moving back against Syf, resuming the unbuttoning of the paladin's tunic. "How many would envy you for the opportunity to choose between Friyya and me at your liking. Hmm...I bet with a little talking to, Friyya could join us..."

Syf slapped Elyszara, harder than she had wanted to, sending the aasimar crumpling to the floor, "You don't deserve to touch her."

Indignantly, Elyszara rose to her feet, a slight redness forming on her otherwise pale cheek, "Don't you dare try that with me. I might like you, but I'm not stupid for you. You can put your queen on as high a pedestal as you want, but you wanted me. Twice, Syf, twice! Each time you came mewling like an adolescent girl. Look at me and look at you: one strike of your hand and I'm on the floor. So tell me, my lady knight, who deserves to touch what or whom."

"I didn't mean to hit you so hard." Syf relented, "Forgive me, but I...just cannot live with myself like this." Inside she felt like crying out in hot, boiling weeping frustration.

"Oh, there's no need to apologise," Elyszara said, her tone changing, become more pliable and less confrontational, "as a matter of fact, I should apologise for so shamelessly seducing you. But I think that shouldn't be enough either, I think I can only repent once I've been sufficiently punished." The aasimar's lips and tongue found Syf's exposed neck, kissing in slow, sensual brushes of the lips and tongue.

"Don't you ever think of anyone but yourself?" Syf protested, but the fire in her loins was spreading. She tried to think of Friyya, of her smile, of her orange dress, of her melodious voice rousing her in the morning with sweet nothings. But all her mind could see was Elyszara, slender, elfin limbs and pale skin against the impenetrable darkness of her robe, the perfect, feylike beauty of her form, those beautiful, soft, indigo-painted lips. Hatred swept through the paladin, hatred and hot impotent anger. Hatred of Elyszara, hatred of herself, hatred of the stupidity of her past decisions.

"You always come round..." Elyszara teased, finally unbuttoning Syf's tunic and letting it drop to the floor, before latching her teeth around the waist of the paladin's leggings and gently pulling them down with the aid of curious, dextrous hands.

"Hmm," Elyszara mused, contemplating the soft black thatch atop Syf's sex - she could smell the enticing musky fragrance of the paladin's arousal, "I bet Friyya never gets you this wet."

"Shut up!" Syf growled, seizing Elyszara's hair roughly in one hand and forcing the aasimar's face against her sex.

Elyszara cooed, her mind now at ease with the pleasure of reconfirming her hold over Syf. The aasimar sprung admirably to her duty, lapping hungrily at the nectar drenched lips, coaxing the soft silky folds open to reveal Syf's core. The paladin could only emit, short strangled cries as the aasimar's tongue probed the pink juiciness of her inner depths, prizing apart the slick folds and caressing the hot, tortured flesh with the cooling malice of her tongue. Elyszara adored the taste of human women; so much stronger and more primordially feminine than an aasimar or an elf's pussy.

Syf felt her world closing in on the juncture between her blooming sex and Elyszara's curious tongue. She was so shamefully wet and tense between her thighs, her hips thrusting against her will, begging Elyszara to lick ever harder and deeper, to lap up every last drop of passion which sprung forward from the sodden nether lips. The combination of suffocated rage and passion was not a healthy one as far as Syf was concerned.

The moderate affection she had once felt for Elyszara was now gone, replaced only with a base, visceral desire to fuck the girl, to make her answerable to all the agonising emotional games she had unleashed on Syf. Grinding her sex harder against Elyszara's mouth, Syf gave a sharp, involuntary cry as the aasimar lightly bit down, with the very tip of her teeth, on the paladin's engorged clitoris. Lavishing her attention on the tiny bud which had coyly but decisively slipped free from its hood, Elyszara tongued Syf's sex in quick, expert licks, feeling the first pained contractions in the depths of the paladin's hips.

Syf felt the hot, leaden stirrings of her final release, the knot of tension in her belly tightening. She knew she had reached the brink when Elyszara effortlessly inserted a single, probing finger into the furnace of her sex. Syf felt the rush of the first flushes of her climax; it was as if the world, if briefly, were at peace. All her universe was Elyszara's bobbing mane of black hair with its naturally silver, blue and violet highlights, the slender girl's elfin, oval face thrust passionately and hungrily against her sodden sex, a single curious, irreverent digit parting the puffy, swollen folds of her sex to find and tease her most sensitive spot, deep inside her core.

Syf rode the waves of her peak, each thrust bringing back a flashing memory of the past she had briefly, but blissfully, forgotten. By the time she slumped back against the door, Elyszara still busy between her thighs, Syf hated herself more than ever before.

"So...who’s the loose woman now?" Elyszara sniped, looking up from Syf's sex, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

She could not gloat long because soon Syf was on top of her. Kicking off her boots and leggings, Syf effectively ripped off Elyszara's robe in one sharp jerk, casting it aside.

"Are you..." Elyszara began, somewhat surprised, if excited, by Syf's determinate passion. She was silenced by the paladin's lips, hungry and demanding rather than affectionate.

Kissing her way down Elyszara's flawless skin, Syf dragged her lips over the rounded peak of the aasimar's breast and seized a bright pink nipple between her teeth, biting spitefully. Elyszara writhed in response, her squeal one of mixed pain and pleasure. Syf was so predictable, the aasimar thought, so easy to control, so wild and reckless in her passion. But then again, she knew the paladin better than Syf thought. Elyszara knew what it meant to be in bad faith with oneself, to have duties and expectations which forced one to repress desires, needs and passions.

Kissing back up Elyszara's throat, Syf contemplated her with a long, cold stare. It was wordless, the only sounds coming from Elyszara's sensually parted lips as she sought to catch her breath from the shock of Syf's initiative. Rising to her knees, Syf reached to grasp an ornate vial of reddish oil from the side of the great tub of red tile which lay at the centre of the room. Pouring a liberal quantity of the dense, rose-smelling oil on her right hand, Syf briskly lifted Elyszara's left leg over her own shoulder, holding the aasimar's pale sex wide open, the silky wet lips, pink like peaches, covered in dewy moisture. Placing herself atop Elyszara, Syf forced the aasimar into a kiss, her tongue hard and insistent, tasting the residue of wine and honey mingled with arousal on the girl's tongue.

Elyszara felt deliciously exposed, her smooth leg eagerly hooked around Syf's smooth, muscular back; surrendering herself to the sheer power of this woman was intoxicating, filling her sex with suggestive pulsing and copious, sticky nectar. Two of Syf's fingers began to probe between the pouting lips of Elyszara's sex and the aasimar sighed in pleasure. After easing two fingers in, Syf began to add a third and then a fourth, each time spreading the silky, pliable lips further, coaxing the muscle gently to relax and accommodate around the intrusion, the mixture of musky-sweet wetness and rose oil filling the room with a slight floral scent.

"Oh, Syf, careful there..." Elyszara gasped, two tears rolling down her cheeks as she felt Syf's thumb join the other four fingers deep into her sex, spreading her wider than she had thought possible, slowly, but inescapably working in deeper and deeper in agonising, tiny thrusts. Biting down, savagely on Syf's shoulder, Elyszara felt the most sublime flash of pain mingled with deep, toe-curling pleasure as she drew the paladin closer. Syf needed no encouragement and continued to work all of her hand into Elyszara's sex, easing it in with firm, twisting motions until she had impaled the aasimar almost to the wrist.

"Syf!" Elyszara sobbed, feeling the paladin's knuckles hard and squirming against her innermost core, every single subtle movement of Syf's hand felt like agonising electricity in the recesses of her pussy.

"You wanted it, now you have it." Syf said dispassionately as she gave a few more firm thrusts with her hand, sending Elyszara over the brink in a gasping, breathless frenzy. The aasimar's body spasmed, hard, but impotently against the invader in her sex. Syf held on to her purchase in the girl's sex and did not relent until she was certain that Elyszara's protracted, agonised orgasm had definitively passed.

Thoroughly filled and left with a deep, dreamlike satisfaction, Elyszara lay on the cool stone surface of her bathing chamber, breathing in the residual perfume of the rose oil and of damp tiles. She exhaled deeply as Syf carefully withdrew her hand from her sex.

"That was fabulous." Elyszara said; the combination of agony and ecstasy had been sublime. Syf ignored her. The paladin rose to her feet and dressed quickly before rinsing her hands in the scented water of the washbasin at the entrance of the bath chamber.

"You're in a hurry." The aasimar noted.

"Did you enjoy it?" Syf asked brusquely.

"Oh yes, but I don't see why..."

"Remember it, this is the last time I touch you. Ever. The less I have to do with you in future, the better." Syf turned her back to unlock the door.

"You've said this before." Elyszara snapped, gathering up her robe.

"This time I swear by the Vigilant Maiden herself that I would rather thrust a dagger into my own breast than ever kiss or lie with you again."

"Bitch!" Elyszara growled, knowing the potency of the oath, "I'm sure Friyya will take due note of your promise."

"I probably won't have her by tomorrow, either. But at least I will be rid of you." The door slammed behind Syf.

Elyszara dressed quickly, adjusting her hair and rinsing her mouth and sex out with some cool water. In the end, though, the aasimar admitted that, simply put, Syf was an infinitely better person than she was. At no time had she threatened to tell Cirily, nor, probably, would she ever. But then Elyszara was also resentful of Syf's refusal to understand the emotions that flowed within her. Syf was an ideal of power, confidence and commanding beauty; she had been resplendent, like salvation in a sea of uncertainty.

***

It had begun to drizzle. Not an ordinary drizzle, but the long, cold, Sigil drizzle of thin, dirty droplets which fell like needles. Fortunately for her, Isolde was indoors, crouched in front of the window of an upmarket tavern in the Lady's Ward looking out on the attic apartment immediately opposite her position. Dassau's black-and-gold telescope firmly in hand, she scrutinised what appeared to be festivities in the brightly lit dining chamber.

The telescope's enchantment allowed her excellent definition and she was quite able to pick out the subjects involved and the general tone of their interaction. Of course, it had not been necessary to rent a room in New Aura Tavern, but since the Bureau would be picking up the tab, she thought it the ideal place to set up camp. Now, kneeling on a pile of plush cushions, a pot of triple filtered glucose-sweetened tea by her side with a sterile silver cup, Isolde thought the amenities almost worth the inconvenience. Lirai would have been jealous.

As she observed, Isolde jotted a few notes down - just enough material to present Dassau with a report which would placate the sadistic old dog. Just as she had finished remarking the withdrawal of what appeared to be the host and a human female clad in the dress uniform of the Order of the Radiant Path into the bath chamber (presumably to be intimate, was the euphemistic annotation), Isolde spied something else which almost made her drop the telescope.

Focalising long and hard on the figure as it interacted with a dark elf and another human in what Isolde could only describe as a scandalous orange dress, something dawned on her. The conclusion was hesitant and quickly dismissed at first. But upon closer inspection of the figure; after long, hard thought, that same conclusion became ineluctable. Isolde's mouth dried, her heart began to sink slightly in her chest, her stomach turning as if she needed to vomit.

"Virginia." She mouthed in disgust.

Leave me alone, will you? Leave me alone with her and then go off to become a Consecrated Paladin. How convenient. You could have taken me, but no, you left me alone with her. Isolde rarely felt rage of this sort. Not even when Dassau had her perform the most appallingly repetitive, demeaning, humiliating tasks. She never felt rage, only weary frustration. In that moment, though, not even the plush silk, mahogany and velvet surroundings of the Imperial Suite of the New Aura Tavern could assuage the burning dragon of unutterable rage which hatched in Isolde's breast.

Isolde gathered herself and continued watching. Her pen flew like the raging storms of Pandemonium over sheet after sheet of paper.

***

The festivities, in the end, turned out to be something of a minor disaster for all concerned, the only exception being Cirily who, shielded from the subtle - and not so subtle - intrigues around her, was widely and honestly complimented for the quality of her catering, the care with which she had selected food and wine, and the irresistible pleasantness of her company. She had spoken to Friyya about religious doctrine, to Aerylle about literature and aesthetics, and to Lily about the social and political system of Sigil. All in all, Cirily thought that the experience had been a great social mixing event and vociferously recommended another such event in the near future to an evasive and pensive Elyszara.

Back in the Radiant Path Quarters, Marséna had essentially collapsed, face first on her bed, instantly asleep despite Shesayne's protestations that they should talk for a while. Virginia found herself virtually thrown into her room by Lily, leaving Friyya to change into her nightgown at a leisurely pace, carefully folding her dress for storage. Syf looked vacantly on. Her piercing blue eyes looked as if they were staring into another dimension. She undressed slowly, carefully, rinsed her face and mouth and slid naked - as was her preference - under the sheets. She simply did not know what to tell Friyya, how she could look her lover in the eyes and tell her that she had betrayed her trust and devotion for an exotic thrill with Elyszara. It was inconceivable.

The very thought pained Syf as her mind raced, desperate to find some sort of palliative which would break the shock, or at least render it more palatable. She would sit out Friyya's rage, her recriminations, her insults and tell her she loved her, tell her she needed her, tell her that Elyszara was but a memory. But then Syf was Syf; she was supposed to have been beyond moral reproach, one of the most upstanding paladins of the Order. The very thought of confessing her weakness, even to Friyya, was painful in the extreme. More so because she feared Friyya would reject her - as she would have every right to do - and Syf would, once again, be left to the solitude of her sword. As the thought, Syf counted the moments she knew it took Friyya to prepare for bed, each a further step down into the Abyss. It was agonising, like waiting for an execution.

"Is there something wrong?" Friyya asked as she stood over the bed, giving her lustrous auburn hair a final brush down. Syf gazed back into Friyya's tender, loving smile and felt like the pit of her stomach extended into the Abyss.

"There is something I need to tell you." Syf said, enunciating each word as if it were a painful birth.

"Tell me tomorrow," Friyya said, laying down her brush and climbing under the sheets to embrace Syf tightly, "I had a good time tonight, but right now I'm absolutely exhausted. I'll probably think better in the morning."

As Friyya huddled closer to Syf, her autumn-blonde tresses spilling all over the dark-haired paladin's breast, her only thought was that she was thankful her relationship with her lover was free from the travails she had observed in other couples during the night. At least, with Syf she was happy.

"I really need to..."

"Tomorrow, Syf, please tomorrow."

Syf, most assuredly, did not sleep a single minute.

***