"When Xenthellexxtius - the abominable Green Dragon necromancer - cast his pall of acid and poison on the lands of the Elven Peoples, the priestesses of Hanali called out to their Goddess and begged her intercession. When she heard the suffering of her children, Blessed Hanali Celanil - Mistress of Love - sent down an avatar who confronted the Green Wyrm. In those days, dragons were as old as the World and as powerful as deities, so Hanali knew she could not win in direct combat. Thus, she challenged the Dragon's pride - for that is their weakness - and said, 'You are mighty, O Xenthellexxtius, you who call yourself the Final Ruin of Elfhame, but I defy you."

'Then look, O mighty Wyrm.' the Blessed Hanali said and produced her magic mirror, wherein the wicked Dragon saw Innjla - the Queen's Champion whom he had declared slain after shattering her breast with a thousand needles of dark light - rising, wounded but breathing, to meet the embrace of Osinthaena, the humble maid whose love for a noble was forbidden and whom Xenthellexxtius, in his arrogance, had deemed too insignificant to slay..."

- An Elven fairy-tale

"Leave, please, leave now." Friyya said, her voice almost inaudible. She sat on her bed, her face turned from Syf, eyes fixed against the wall.

"I...don't know what to say, I just thought I should tell you that what is done is done, but I am so deeply sorry..." Syf could not finish what turned out to be a unduly contorted apology. Her tunic felt as heavy as solid lead. She had never seen Friyya so paralysed by anger in her life.

"Leave now." Friyya interrupted, the rage welling up inside her again. All that time, all that devotion dedicated to Syf and she wasn't good enough? Friyya was not good enough? The bile in her throat rose again, like hot, roiling acid. She had tried to be calm, but Syf had taken any pretext for civility away. There was only incandescent, primal rage now.

"Friyya, it was my fault...but I..."

"Leave now you whore!" Friyya howled, seizing the ceramic flower vase at the bedside table and hurling it in Syf's direction. It shattered against the wall.

Syf stood absolutely stunned for a few moments. She had never imagined that such burning hatred could have resided in Friyya's breast, but, and it bore remembering, her reaction was to be expected. So Syf complied, leaving wordlessly only to find a somewhat groggy Marséna, still dressed in her clothes from the previous night, standing perplexed in the common room. Syf cursed silently to herself; she had expressly waited for the other occupants of the apartment to leave for their daily duties before confronting Friyya with the evidence. The idea, of course, had been to minimise the scene she knew was coming.

"What in the Nine Hells is going on?" Marséna inquired. Her head hurt slightly with an irritating, dry pulsating throb and the shouting had certainly not helped her case.

"I really have to go." Syf said tersely, "I'll explain later. Please, do not be too harsh in your judgement." She leaned forward and surprised Marséna with a soft kiss on the lips, then turned and left.

Feeling disorientated and thoroughly confused, Marséna decided to press the matter further and entered Syf's room. Friyya sat on the bed, clasping a pillow so tightly that Marséna thought she must be on the verge of ripping it. Her visage bore the expression of such livid, violent anger that the Mareterran was at first frightened to approach. Had they quarrelled? Perhaps, but there was no quarrel Marséna could even begin to imagine would cause Friyya to look like she was the walking dead. The auburn-haired paladin's eyes were wild, fixed on the wall, seemingly lost in another time and place.

"Friyya?" Marséna probed, taking a seat the girl's side.

"I need to be alone." Friyya replied coldly. Her fingers felt rigid, hard and violent, like the claws of a raptor clutching its prey.

"What happened?...It couldn't have been that bad."

"Syf is a whore." Friyya said, each word rolling off her tongue like a poisoned dart.

"What?" Marséna said, surprised that Friyya had chosen to express herself in such terms. In her experience, she had never heard the paladin use anything which could even be broadly defined as crude language.

"Elyszara."

"Are you certain?" Marséna felt as if something had struck the doors of her consciousness, forcing them open. All of a sudden, it was as if the world she thought she knew so well, the world of transparent relations, of transparent emotions, had been swept away, only to be replaced by a new realm of grey-shaded ambiguities. That Syf would even consider betraying Friyya's trust had been beyond Marséna's rational conception.

"She told me." Friyya said, her voice lower now, almost a confidential whisper.

"Goddess..."

"Three times." Friyya specified.

"I don't think you should dwell on the details..."

"Whatever you give, it's never enough...right? Your soul, your heart, your body. When they've taken everything you have, they leave you on the side of the road - alone and naked."

Marséna would have loved to deal rationally with this most delicate of crises. Unfortunately for her, she was neither in the physical or intellectual condition to do so. Nevertheless, it was her duty to at least make an attempt. "I'm sure she's sorry." Marséna began, the banality of the statement struck her as potentially insulting, but she had to begin somewhere.

"I don't care. I curse her, may her heart and womb and liver rot." Friyya spat venomously.

"Hush!" Marséna interjected, somewhat frightened. "You mustn't, the Furies oblige the curses of lovers. You can't take them back."

"There are too many things we can't take back. Then there are times like these when you just wish you could take back your whole life and crawl back into your mother's womb; to be safe, nestled in a soundless of ocean where no one can touch you, no one can hurt you."

"Goddess, Friyya..." Marséna said, uncertain of how to deal with the increasingly apocalyptic tones of Friyya's rage. All the Mareterran girl could do was wrap her arm around Friyya's shoulder and draw her into an embrace, hoping that, in some small way, it would help.

Friyya found comfort in Marséna's warmth, in the rhythm of her breath and the gentle stroking of the Mareterran paladin's hands as they glided through her auburn hair. All she could see now was the darkness of Marséna's hair and the rich tan of her breasts. Friyya gradually let go of her anger and frustration; deciding to set them aside to recover her strength and to undo the profound enervation of Syf's confession. That she found solace in, of all people, Marséna was not so much ironic as especially fitting: it was all too easy to be a friend in good times, but a friend in need...

"Come, lie down." Marséna said, her voice soothing in a way Friyya had never heard it. There they lay for long moments, Marséna propped up against the headboard of the bed with Friyya lying wordlessly on her breast, wishing for her universe to shrink to encompass only the two of them so to shut out the pain which lay outside. Although Friyya often irritated her beyond all rational comprehension, Marséna hated seeing her friend and sister-in-arms thus reduced.

"Marséna?" Friyya said quietly.

"Hmm?" The Mareterran had begun to doze off again, the headache between her temples subsiding to a dull throb.

"Shouldn't you report to Isobel?"

"No, I've got something more important to do." Marséna replied, feigning indifference. She felt hot, dripping moisture on her breasts. Friyya was not sobbing hysterically as Marséna had expected, just weeping silent tears of impotent rage.

"Marséna?" Friyya whimpered pathetically.

"Yes, Friyya." Sister or no sister, Marséna sensed it would be a long day.

"I must confess I feel guilty."

"Why is that?"

"I wished I told you how much I loved you more often, just so it didn't sound so contrived now." Friyya blurted.

"I can live with that."

"Forgive me." Friyya sobbed softly.

"I do...I do, come on now, just rest with me as long as you need." Marséna would have given anything to prevent the situation from collapsing into a hysterical - and loud - scene.

"Don't abandon me. Don't abandon me like she abandoned me." Friyya implored, snuggling closer to Marséna's soft, comforting breasts.

"I'm here." Marséna said simply. In reality, she had no idea how to respond to Friyya or even whether it was wise to respond at all. What she did know as that wheel of fate seemed to have turned again and that this was just the first drizzle of a coming storm.

***

"Goddess, Syf, you look terrible." Virginia could not help but saying as Syf slumped miserably over a workbench in the armoury, miserably running a whetstone down her longsword in a pained, almost mechanical motion.

"I am a worm." she said simply, with no trace of emotion in her voice. She continued sharpening her sword, taking comfort in the tiny red and yellow sparks which flew off from the silvery blade. The scraping sound of stone on steel was hypnotic and it drew Syf a world away from the crushing weight of her guilt.

"It's Friyya, right?"

"Yes. I suppose good fortune was simply not good enough for me, so I had to squander it. Only perverse people enjoy destroying something beautiful...no, only wicked people do."

Virginia then knew without being told, "You...Syf?"

The paladin nodded glumly, never once raising her head from her work. "It just takes a few moments for years to be lost."

Although Virginia had never imagined Syf capable of hurting Friyya so profoundly, there was no sense in recriminations, no sense in disappointment. She had never taken Syf to be anything more than human, a truly admirable human, but still a mere mortal. In the end, there was nothing stunning or unnatural about a mortal erring. The important thing, of course, was to find the right path straight away. Guilt would merely keep Syf on the erring path, absorbed in the demons of a past which could not be changed - so why bother suffering throughout the future for it?

"No, years are never lost." Virginia said, sitting next to Syf on the workbench.

"What?" Syf abruptly stopped sharpening, laid down her sword and looked Virginia straight in the eye. There was not a trace of mockery in those lively, brilliant emerald eyes.

"Your memories and your past are those that you have. You don't lose them, they are yours to reclaim."

"Will Friyya allow me to reclaim them?" Syf asked, her voice low and sullen.

"We're all flesh and blood. The best of us try to do something about it. The even better ones pick us up when we fail. I think Friyya is one of the best of people; but you must give her time - the wound has to heal first."

Syf allowed herself a wan smile. "Are you on my side?"

"I honestly think we all are." Virginia said, taking Syf's hands into her own.

"I think Friyya and I both need space to think." Syf said pensively, her mind already contemplating a suitable penance for her to perform. No, there would be no easy way out of this predicament. She had sinned again and again, and for this she certainly required punishment.

"When you're ready, you should speak to her. But for tonight, I'll put out a blanket and some pillows on the divan for you. Also, come back a little later for dinner, I'll make sure there's something warm for you. The important thing is to put your faith in her heart; but, she is, after all, flesh and blood herself so..."

"The less she sees me the better. I know." Syf smiled again, leaned forward to give Virginia a light kiss on the lips and returned to her sharpening.

Virginia left the armour satisfied. She knew Syf well enough to read her mood from the way in which the paladin interacted with her weapon; in the beginning, the whetstone had dragged across the blade in an almost funerary trail of sparks, now it was gliding.

***

"I'm awful sorry, Miss Librarian, but I think I've got an overdue book."

"By Sehaine, Min! You scared me, you have to stop..." Aerylle's protests were silenced by Min's lips on hers as the tiefling pushed the smaller girl against a bookshelf.

"I don't have the jink for the fine, will this do?" Min said, her rich melodious voice low and seductive as her tongue teased Aerylle's, kissing the breath out of her lungs.

Min's hands were quick, firm and expert; she had no difficulty unhooking Aerylle's simple librarian's dress, letting the unflattering garment fall to the floor, exposing the perfect, pale slender form of the grey elf.

"Min, I'm at work...somebody may see us." Aerylle protested, sighing softly as she felt Min's hands cup her bottom and raise her against a bookshelf.

"Don't be silly, in this labyrinth? I swear it's harder to navigate than the Lady's sodding Mazes." Min said, tugging Aerylle's boots off to leave her completely naked.

"If they dismiss me..." Aerylle's protests were suffocated once again by Min's smouldering lips, their deep, vermillion-red richness pressing against the lighter pink of the elf's mouth, now open and yielding for every wet lick of the tiefling's tongue. Aerylle realised there was nothing she could do. She was already unbelievably wet, the thrill of being caught by surprise in the library by Min was already powerful enough, but to defencelessly naked and at the mercy of her lover was arousing beyond description.

Making herself comfortable on the bookshelf by pushing a few books back was not difficult for Aerylle, considering her petite frame. She hooked her slender, pale legs around Min's waist for support, as the tiefling frantically divested herself of her form-fitting vest and leggings. Finally undressed, Min leaned in for another kiss, savouring the moist warmth of her lover's mouth, the gentle friction of their lips brushing together, sometimes with sharp passion, sometimes with feathery gentleness.

"Well," Aerylle said, her eyes rolling in pleasure as Min's agile tongue darted to tease a hard, rosy nipple sitting astride its small, alabaster mound, "I suppose I can accept some cleaning work in lieu of payment." The tiefling suckled passionately on the tumescent peak, firm and sweet like rosehip, adoring the elven girl's taste, the quivering little moans she emitted each time Min's tongue dragged itself roughly over the sensitive flesh.

"Thanks, Miss Librarian, I promise it won't happen again..." Min said seductively, her tongue trailing down the grey elf's navel as her hands spread Aerylle's thighs, revealing pink, juicy folds, fragrant with the floral scent of an elf's arousal and in full, tropical bloom. Instead of going directly for the kill, Min decided to tease a little, planting soft little kisses on the insides of Aerylle's smooth thighs, just letting the tip of her tongue touch the tortured, inflamed pink flesh of her lover's sex, catching only the slightest hint of salty-sweetness on her lips. The elven maiden squirmed; Min had learnt well, her lovemaking had become slightly more patient, but no less passionate or...unconventional.

Min continued her delicate work, lapping up at the edges of the hairless outer lips, carefully collecting each bead of elven nectar, her lips just grazing the tiny clitoris which now stood resolutely outside its hood, glistening with sweet dew. Aerylle leaned back further, hearing a book fall behind her, her breathing accelerating as she felt the fire of passion ascend her spine. Her heartbeat was deafening.

The tiefling's languid, carefree pace was maddening. Min continued to lick around the pliant folds of Aerylle's sex, sometimes titillating her clitoris with a few quick licks, but never enough to lead the elf down the road of climax. Grey elves bore such subtle sweetness - an almost divine, floral taste that cloyed Min's tongue as she lapped hungrily at the silky petals of her lover's pussy. Each swipe of the tongue was timed to extend and escalate arousal and Aerylle was conspicuously aroused, her copious nectar licked up thoroughly by Min, even if a few, sticky drops fell on the books on the shelf below.

"Min...the books," Aerylle sighed, blushing at the thought of having to explain any damage. "I..." she was lost for words: there was no especially ladylike way to describe the situation.

Min helped her out, "I know...you're dripping, aren't I the lucky one?" the tiefling mused sardonically, placing a couple of long, firm licks on the tight, pink star of Aerylle's bottom.

The librarian could only groan as Min began to increase the tempo against her sex, the tiefling's skilled tongue now parting the velvety lips of her sex, breath hot on the maddeningly sensitive surface of her clitoris. Placing one foot on the shelf and the other on Min's shoulder for support, Aerylle began to move in rhythm with the tiefling's invading tongue.

For her part, Min worked hungrily, the veil of her ember-red hair spread over the paleness of Aerylle's thighs, her tongue now a hard point against the grey elf's clitoris, licking in short, sharp strokes. Holding one of Aerylle's thighs aside with a hand, Min worked the thumb of the other into the elven girl's sex, pinning her down against the shelf to hold her hips straight for the final assault. Aerylle had effectively lost control, her hips thrusting desperately, her throat struggling to keep in the cries of pure, white-hot passion which flashed before her eyes. Somebody would hear, she was sure of it, and this added to the arousal, the unspoken danger of being caught with Min between her legs in the throes of passion.

"Min!" was all Aerylle could say before she bit down on her lip, riding the waves of her climax as they lapped across her belly and sex in hard, muscle jarring spasms. The tiefling continued her work, adding another finger into the elven girl's sex, feeling the silky lips pout and open further under every touch. Min had become intoxicated with the texture, scent and flavour of Aerylle's sex, with the soft, ethereal pliability of its folds, the mixture of floral sweetness and light salinity. It was not long before Aerylle was overcome by a second, less vital orgasm which coursed through her at a more leisurely pace, loosening her muscles of all tension and relieving her mind of any sentiment but contented passion. Min stood up again to kiss Aerylle, her face and mouth covered in the grey elf's passion.

"Who'd have thought you were such a naughty one inside?" Min provoked, gently biting Aerylle's lower lip.

"It is you who have intoxicated me, you sorceress."

"Glad to see you're unwinding." Min said smugly, kissing down Aerylle's smooth throat.

"I must say I have never quite unwound like this before...is there anything I can do for you?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Min said, affecting a reprimand, "Y'see, there is that thing you do with your thumb and..."

"I know. I know." Aerylle said quickly, blushing furiously. "Come, lean forward against the shelf."

Min complied, arching her back somewhat, her slender, feline muscles rolling under her reddish skin, her deep-red veil of hair spread around her shoulders and arms.

Pressing against Min, Aerylle began to plant tender wet kisses on the woman's back, one hand snaking around the tiefling's thigh to cup her sodden sex, the other running down the crease of the athletic, yet feminine globes of her bottom. For a librarian, Min thought, Aerylle certainly had a lot of tricks up her sleeve.

Moving the hand on Min's sex in a slow, massaging, circular pattern, Aerylle began to part the nether lips - vibrantly dark red and spicily fragrant - kneading the pads of her fingers into the sensitive flesh while her thumb pressed firmly on the tiefling's turgid little clitoris. Aerylle continued kissing long, wet patterns across Min's back, taking advantage of the fact the tiefling did not have a clear view of anything she was doing.

This technique, Aerylle noted, reinforced and stimulated Min's curiosity by ensuring that the grey elf's actions were always unpredictable. As her massaging of Min's sex increased in tempo, Aerylle traced a hot, wet trail with her other hand from the bottom of Min's juicing sex, through the tight valley of her bottom and up to the base of her spine.

Min purred to herself in pleasure, feeling the slightly painful but immensely pleasurable insistence of the fingernail of Aerylle's thumb against her clitoris, a sensation which doubled in intensity when the elven girl slid two fingers into the depth of her sex. The tiefling gasped as Aerylle expertly parted her folds, spreading open the silky flesh, filling the air with a light scent of heated cinnamon. The fingers of Aerylle's other hand continued to weave their magic around Min's back, bottom and breasts, their motion accompanied by the gliding, lubricating wetness of the tiefling's own sex. Aerylle's fingers were magical, tracing patterns of Min's nectar on the tiefling's dark red nipples, running in hot, wet trails on the undersides of the girl's breasts, around her perfectly firm abdomen, to once again dip into the well of her arousal.

The grey elf kept Min alert; she did not know whether there would one or two or three fingers wending their way into the silky depths of sex, all that was constant was the insistent scraping of Aerylle's thumb against her clitoris. It was maddening, the tension building in Min's loins, stimulating her hips to thrust themselves against Aerylle's invasion. Her toes curled, digging into the carpeted floor of the library, her feet arched, the tension causing her calves and thighs to tense up, only to be released in one raw, cry. Aerylle felt the climax almost immediately, her sensitive fingers detecting the contractions of Min's sex. She revelled in the melodic cries of the tiefling, in the long ragged breaths she drew through those sultry, red lips.

Min turned around to kiss Aerylle once more as they both sunk down onto the floor, leaning back, panting against the bookshelf, the elven girl nestled in the tiefling's arms.

"I hope you realise we're naked in your library." Min teased, her breath still a little short, as she stroked Aerylle's long, honey-blonde hair.

"It is my pleasure when it is with you, my love." Aerylle sighed, nuzzling Min's breast. The tiefling began to soothingly stroke the grey elf's sensitive, pointed ear, running the pad of her index finger down its contours.

Min had not really caught on to the 'my love', or 'my treasure' or whatever business. Terms of endearment were meant to be spontaneous, not articulated formally as if they were a title. At least, Min considered, the grey elf did not have some embarrassing pet name for her - that would have no doubt been the worst case scenario, especially if she let it slip in front of Shesayne. Then, she may as well have forgotten ever having been called Min.

"Say, Aerylle," Min began, her post-coital satisfaction fading into curiosity, "I don't suppose you'd want to reconsider what I suggested..."

"Min!" Aerylle said reprovingly, "You know that is hardly ladylike and certainly not for two women who are romantically engaged."

"But that's exactly what it was made for!" Min protested.

"Women are women and men are men. Which is precisely why we have developed arts of lovemaking which harmoniously and naturally integrate individuals whether between or within genders. We see no need for surrogates." Aerylle had certainly never heard of elven men using a simulacrum of a female sex when they were intimate with one another.

"Don't be so snobbish," Min continued, "you could at least try, since you're into the culture thing."

"How is that cultural?"

"Never did me any harm." Min said, lightly kissing the tip of Aerylle's ear.

Well, well, let's see then - Aerylle thought - relationships are made of compromises, right? Well, we shall see how far dear Min takes it.

"All right, Min, next time we can try it. I trust you to make me enjoy it." Aerylle conceded, a smile building on her delicate pink lips.

"Bells of the Nine Hells, finally!" Min said, stretching her back languidly in satisfaction. She couldn't wait.

"But before, you will take me out to dinner; a nice place in the Lady's Ward and you will don attire suitable for the occasion."

Fuck. Min thought, as soon as she had deduced from the context what 'attire' meant. She had been trapped.

"You mean..."

"Yes and I am certain you will look absolutely beautiful in it as well." Aerylle said as she rose to dress.

Min groaned, she knew by Aerylle's wide, sardonic smile that she had been beaten. Rising wearily to her feet, the tiefling began to dress. "Which restaurant d'you have in mind?" Min asked sullenly.

"Peryroyal's." Aerylle replied airily, adjusting her hair.

It was then Min realised that she would be a fair bit more than three hundred Marks down the next time she met Shesayne.

***

"Virginia, I hoped you could explain what this tension between Syf and Friyya is about." Lily said, a trace of curiosity in her normally collected voice. They were lying in the simple wooden tub of Virginia's bathing chamber. The steam from the water and from the heating stove filling the air.

"That? Oh...I didn't think you would interested..."

"I noticed." Lily said, a smile of satisfaction spreading across her face even as her shoulders tensed slightly under Virginia's caress. She still had not gotten used to being stroked from behind - in her society, to be able to turn one's back on someone meant a bond of deep, reciprocal trust.

"I see you are always on top of the situation, so to speak." Virginia said, rinsing some residual suds of sweet-smelling detergent from Lily's long, silky white hair.

"If you are to survive in drow society, you need to have an eye on everything which happens around you. Any change in a given relationship can potentially affect you. Which, I imagine, is the case for both of us."

"No, you mustn't worry." Virginia reassured, "They just need time to piece things together after a fight." She certainly did not want to give Lily the wrong impression about the Order.

"Has Syf fallen out of Friyya's favour? I find that strange, I was under the impression that Syf was Friyya's patron."

"It isn't like that here, Lily," Virginia said, wrapping her arms around the drow's slender waist, her lips trailing softly down an elegantly pointed ear. "It's a matter of trust. They need to know they can trust each other."

"I see," Lily began, guiltily enjoying Virginia's attention, "so Syf found another lover, where is the complication in that?" In drow society it was perfectly normal for lovers to change, often rapidly - perhaps in the order of one or two decades - to adjust for priorities and ambitions. Society was fluid, so relationships had to be as well.

"When we have affection for another, it is difficult to let go." Virginia sighed, running her hands down the undersides of Lily's full, obsidian breasts, feeling their firm weight under the soft caresses of her fingers.

"I understand, but Friyya should have no problem in finding another patron."

"What if she really only wants Syf? What if Syf only really wants Friyya?" Virginia said, raising a wet hand to tilt Lily's head slightly in order to kiss the dark elf, full on her full, violet lips. Lily sunk into the kiss, her tongue probing Virginia's mouth.

"Then they should find a way to trust one another." Lily said, feeling her heartbeat quicken. This paladin was so commanding, her touch irresistible, her lips soft and hungry but full of sensual promise. She had clearly underestimated some inhabitants of the surface world.

"Trust?" Virginia inquired, somewhat surprised, between kisses.

"Yes, the drow trust, whether you choose to believe it or not. No society exists without some trust. It is a matter, however, of whom we trust. Love, as you understand it, is blind trust. We cannot accept anything to be blind, so when we love and trust, it is for reasons we can be certain of and understand. I know that I can trust a good patron because we give each other what we need."

"Do you trust me?" Virginia asked softly, trailing her tongue down the dark elf's delicate jawline.

"Yes." Lily said, not untruthfully, "As you said, I am yours."

"Could you love me?" Virginia said, a hint of trepidation in her voice. She did not even know if the dark elf understood the concept, or realised its implications. Love was such an imprecise word, with so many nuances, so many shades of meaning which ultimately did not reflect any genuine emotion; just letters on a page.

"As drow love each other, yes, but as you love each other...well, I have yet to understand what you mean, so I cannot answer you."

"Do you want to make love?" Virginia offered, now passionately kissing Lily's throat.

"Of course. With you, always."

The rose from the steaming bath, Virginia's lips hungrily devouring Lily's, the paladin holding the shorter girl close to her, feeling the heat and wetness of the drow's beautiful form against her skin. Virginia wrapped a large bathing shawl over both of them, relishing in the intimacy of holding Lily close to her, her hands wandering to cup the drow's magnificent bottom, so magisterially feminine and rounded for an elf. The paladin looked into Lily's eyes and saw the flames of passion stirring in the violet irises, already incandescent with desire. They withdrew quickly into Virginia's room, the pitch blackness of the bed chamber a comfort for Lily's eyes.

"Wait, I'll turn the light on." Virginia said, moving to break her embrace with Lily.

"No, leave it dark." Lily said, her voice dripping with sensuality.

"But..."

"Leave it dark." Lily insisted, and Virginia moaned, sinking her lips into the drow's fragrant silvery hair, as she felt a warm set of lips latch onto her engorged nipple. The combined heat and pressure on the excited little bud was sublime, like a rippling, nervous jolt of electricity through her breast and into her heart each time Lily suckled.

"Will you trust me?" Lily asked, curious to gauge Virginia's answer.

"Yes." Virginia dared, drawing Lily closer, eagerly presenting her breasts to be ravished by the agile curiosity of the dark elf's kisses.

Lily could see perfect in the heavy blanket of obscurity which surrounded them. She could perceive the points of warmth in Virginia's body, detect the mild enchantment in the lamp, Virginia's personal sword, and the even more personal box the paladin kept under her mattress. This twilit darkness was comforting to her, it was like returning to the womb of the Underdark, where every movement and hint of warmth became a focal point. On the surface, Lily concluded, the light created too many distractions. The darkness was so much more of a loving mother.

"Oh, Lily..." Virginia sighed as the dark elf clasped the globes of the paladin's athletically toned bottom in her dextrous hands, her mouth now planting teasing kisses on the clear, blonde curls atop Virginia's sex. In the darkness, Virginia's nether lips were positively radiant to Lily's heat sensitive vision. They spread out before her like a hot, burning fruit, even though she knew them under the light as perfectly compact, pink juicy folds, so full of promise and rich feminine musk, so inclined to cause Virginia to let those vulnerable, little moans escape her lips which reminded Lily that she, too, could be in control. Virginia felt herself pressed back on the bed. Blinded by the darkness, she simply spread her thighs as wide as they would go, her curling toes finding purchase on the bedcovers, and awaited Lily's attentions.

She did not have to wait long. The drow was upon her with a malicious, provocative attack, purple lips kissing Virginia's nether lips passionately. Virginia bucked beneath Lily's ministrations, her hips striving higher, demanding that the drow's tongue penetrate deeper, spread more of the syrupy folds to reach the sensitive, lust-inflamed flesh within. Lily was patient, though. She allowed Virginia's initial intemperance to subside, leaving the paladin in a slow-boiling frenzy of unfulfilled desire.

Knowing that the initiative was once again hers, Lily resumed her attack, this time embracing Virginia's endearingly turgid clitoris in her lips, her breath hot and hard against it. The human paladin tasted like no drow Lily had ever tasted; earthy and slightly salty, so different, but not at all unpleasantly so, from the heady bitter-sweetness of her own kin. But Virginia was wet, and passionately so, the petals of her sex lips easily parting for one of Lily's tensed fingers.

Virginia growled, her passion inflamed by her blindness, the sensory deprivation making every single contact of Lily's curious little tongue on the folds of her sex feel like a sharp little tremor of pleasure through her loins. Then, when the drow brushed over her clitoris, the lips so sensual, firm and decisive on the sensitive little bud, she felt as if a white light flashed before her eyes. She was at Lily's mercy and the sensation was pleasurable in the extreme, as it allowed the dark elf to express the full range of her expertise.

Virginia lovingly stroked the dark elf's thick, white mane, her sex thrust firmly against Lily's energetic mouth. Virginia felt her orgasm approaching in the tightening feeling in her loins, the knot of her passion drawing closer in and upon itself before its release. She cried out, her voice disinhibited, her climax heightened beyond expectations by the darkness which surrounded; the darkness which ensured that her universe had become the juncture between her sex and Lily's searching tongue.

"Goddess, Lily..." Virginia sighed, the overwhelming sensation of inchoate heat which had engulfed her sex now just a dull, post coital throbbing. She had rarely felt so sensually fulfilled.

"You see, my paladin, drow women know no equal." Lily crowed.

"You're still angry about last night?" Virginia asked solicitously, drawing Lily's soft, elegant form into her arms.

"No, but I insist I show you that my arguments are founded on reasons and not just empty talk."

"It's my pleasure to be the subject of your demonstration." Virginia said, feeling Lily's lips on her own, a caressing hand sending little jolts of electrical pleasure as it stroked her breasts.

"Now, paladin, show me the advantages of being the lover of such a mighty warrior." Lily invited, her tone low and sultry, the soft, lilting tones of her accent adding to the compelling exoticism of their lovemaking.

"I'll take that as a challenge. But you have to light the room for me a little." Virginia said, shifting Lily aside and rising to her feet.

"As you wish" Lily assented. She concentrated on the edges of the bed around her, summoning up her internal reserves of magical energy to release a lambent, heatless glow around the contours of the bed which lit the room up in a ghostly, violet glow. The motes of light hovered lightly around the white bedspread, flitting like hordes of willow-o-wisps.

"You never cease to amaze me." Virginia said, reaching under her mattress to retrieve an inlaid, wooden box, "But now, allow me to amaze you." From the box, the paladin extracted her intricately carved olisbos, seemingly crafted out of living wood. It was stylised, its shape ridged, rather than naturalistic, the wood still young and supple, for it had been carved from a dryad-tree. "Come now, Lily, spread for me." Virginia invited lasciviously, inserting the stem of the dildo into her own sodden sex, feeling its enchantment take root in her, linking with every tiny nerve ending.

Lily was all too happy to comply, propping herself up against the pillows, she spread her thighs and lifted her hips, presenting her sex, light violet like a midnight flower, for Virginia. The paladin could not help but admire the beauty of Lily's glistening sex in the lambent glow of the faerie fire: the colours complemented one another beautifully, so that the palette was a muted blue-violet, exactly like the hothouse flower spread before her, fragrant in an odd, intoxicating sort of way, like the addictive lotus of some forgotten vale. Placing herself between Lily's perfectly sculpted, onyx thighs, Virginia positioned herself, trying to make sure the penetrating end of the olisbos lay above Lily's needy sex.

It took a few moments of adjusting, but the tip of the instrument was soon pressed against the tight entry of the drow woman's pussy. It was now only a matter of plunging in, but experience told Virginia to do it slowly, especially because she had yet to get fully used to the dynamics of the dildo. She remembered one unfortunate experience with Marséna when they had tried to make love against the side of the bed and she had slipped, falling embarrassed but laughing, onto the floor.

"So...you intend to torture me." Lily said, her passion mounting as she felt the textured, wooden tip of Virginia's instrument brush against the lust-heated lips of her sex. Adjusting her legs to lean and wrap around Virginia's shoulders for support, the dark elf bucked her hips upwards, indicating her desire to be penetrated.

Virginia then decided to make her move, sliding the olisbos slowly, inch by inch into the sopping depths of the drow's sex, feeling it through the mindlink part the velvety smooth walls of Lily's sex with slow, agonising firmness. Fortunately, Lily's mounting arousal had provided ample lubrication so that Virginia was soon pressed, sex to sex, against her lover. The sensation could only be described as enlightening. Lily was tight, but yielding, the muscles of the drow's sex contracting rhythmically, seemingly in synchronism with her breathing. So she began to move herself in and out of Lily, very carefully to avoid slipping or mistiming a thrust. Each time she entered Lily, she made sure it was perfectly in rhythm: a slow, languid thrust which did not so much as thrust the wet nether lips apart and spread the canal nestled between them as coax the flesh, parting it gently and naturally.

Lily could not contain her pleasure, her gasps sharp and high with each entry, which culminated in Virginia's sex brushing maddeningly against her engorged clitoris. In the faerie fire, Virginia reflected, Lily was stunning, her obsidian skin was lit with the deep glow, her nipples looked like budding violets lying atop perfect, full hillocks shrouded in darkest night. She could not help but clasp a firm breast in her hands, feeling its weight under her touch, the softness of its skin in contrast with the warm hardness of the sensitive nipple. Thrust followed thrust as Virginia's mouth covered Lily's, her deep green eyes staring into the enigmatic, violet pools of the dark elf's. For a moment, just as she felt Lily come under her, hips bucking savagely, desperate for the last few thrusts which would bring her over the edge, Virginia thought she saw something akin to love in those boundless eyes.

But it was only an instant, Lily climaxed hard, her sex contracting painfully against Virginia's dildo, the waves of pleasure triggering a hot, burning spasm in the paladin as she collapsed, panting, on top of her drow lover. It took a few more good, firm thrusts to relieve her of the last traces of tension, now all dispersed in hard, keening cries suffocated only by kisses to Lily's neck and ear. The dark elf's breath was still irregular, her elegantly generous breasts rising and falling under Virginia's pale, caressing hand. "Not bad, paladin, not bad." Lily admitted, kissing Virginia's cheek. "There is much we have yet to discover about each other."

"There's no hurry." Virginia said, releasing the dildo from her sex and setting it back aside in the box, "But for now, I think we should get under the sheets."

"Agreed."

Virginia opened up the bedspread to allow Lily to crawl in, before following her drow lover under the comforting, soft warmth of the sheets, their silkiness so much in place with the sensation of the other girl's skin. She wrapped her arms around Lily's waist, holding her close enough to smell the perfume of her freshly washed hair.

"Remember, you have that trial retrieval with Shesayne tomorrow." Virginia reminded, her legs twining at a leisurely pace under the covers with Lily's.

"I know...I hope to make myself useful." After all, Lily thought, Virginia was nice enough, but there was no benefit in being utterly dependent on another person. A professional role would certainly give her more security, though it remained unclear to her what exactly Shesayne expected her to do. That would have to be clarified in the due course of the following morning.

"Lily, you are beautiful, fascinating woman and I am happy to have met you." Virginia said, more as a confession than a profession of love. She hoped the drow understood, or at least sympathised with Virginia's emotions which were, doubtless, unfamiliar to her.

"Had I not met you, I would probably have died. Had I not met you, I would not have felt the joys of victory or intimacy again. I think, Virginia, I too am happy to have met you." Lily said, feeling slightly moved when Virginia snuggled closer, one of the paladin's hands reaching to tightly clasp one of the drow's.

"This means I won't let go." Virginia said, tenderly kissing Lily's ear.

***

Whatever Marséna did, she found herself unable to address her relationship with Shesayne as she wished. That evening was an emblematic case. Friyya had lain in her arms weeping - sometimes silently, sometimes sobbing softly to herself - until she had no more tears left. Then she had slept. By the time they awoke again, a little after the middle of the day, they bathed together and finally sat down for a sullen dinner with Virginia looking on, somewhat worried by the unfolding crisis, with Lily and Shesayne looking on perplexed.

The tension had been made doubly palpable by Syf's absence and Friyya's sepulchral silence. Marséna, of course, could not leave Friyya alone for the night so she had begged Shesayne to allow her to sleep in the same room. The half-elf had assented amiably enough, though she suspected it sounded like a setup for a very odd menage-a-trois, but in the darkness of the room that evening, Marséna was certain that Shesayne had regretted the decision.

Friyya slept on a makeshift bed on the floor, improvised from some sheets and pillows, but her presence definitely put both Shesayne and Marséna off any amorous or intimate activity. Indeed, it even inhibited conversation, since Marséna could simply not bring herself to speak, lest she wake Friyya who - and Marséna would hate herself for days afterwards for even contemplating such a thought - looked adorably angelic in her sleep. Shesayne was not of a similar opinion and, as the petite half-elf lay in the bed, hearing Marséna turning once in a while to cast a concerned glance over the side of the bed, she could not help but ask herself why her presence was still required.

Then again, Shesayne thought, she was a strong girl. She had certainly put up with worse neglect and with more difficult people and Marséna had so far shown herself to be a considerate and thoughtful lover. Her patience, though, was beginning to run thin. Perhaps it was her fault for seeking out a paladin of the Radiant Path. After all, they came with their highly distinctive and complicated emotional baggage. Sometimes, Shesayne could not help but think that Min would have been a better choice. To be sure, Min loved Shesayne to death, but the tiefling lacked the consistency to give her lovers the stability they needed. A wise woman, though, had no doubt once said: "never date your colleagues". As far as Shesayne was concerned, the tragic case of Syf and Friyya was ample proof of the eternal validity of that statement.

***

"Very thorough, Isolde, very thorough indeed." Dassau mused, taking a sip of a particularly mature Athasian fortified red - Green Age vintage of course - which had spent the last five centuries - by the reckoning of that world - in hermetic storage. He did not have Isolde's report in front of him, having memorised and filed it long ago; instead, he was intent on concentrating on a particularly dense piece of Saurian prose which had been transcribed directly from the original reptile-skin scroll. Dassau found translations from Saurian cumbersome at best. He would probably try his hand at producing a more felicitous one at a later date - time, after all, was certainly not something he was pressed for.

"Thank you, sir." Isolde replied, a half smile creeping across her lips as she stood to attention in the middle of Dassau's office. The arcanoloth never asked her to sit.

"I find that your skills of observation, deduction and rational argument to be rather impressive. Perhaps I shall, in due course, consider some sort of commendation. For the moment, however, if there is nothing else, you are dismissed."

"Well, sir, there is the business of my report." Isolde ventured.

"Yes, I have read it." Dassau commented, distracted by his interpretation of Saurian chromatic metaphors.

"I believe that there ought to be recommendations..."

"Ah, yes." Dassau began, raising a single long, gloved finger. "You assert, not without reason, that there may be untoward movements of sentients in contravention with the Provisional Civic Code, specifically Articles 477 - 478. Furthermore, you assert that, and I quote: 'I am left with the strong impression that illicit activity involving the embezzlement or misplacement of funds allocated for artifact retrieval may be traced back to sources such as these'. Surely, this is - prudentially speaking - a stretch, so to speak."

"Sir," Isolde continued, trying to draw Dassau into her net, "perhaps if you allowed me to investigate further, I could provide you with ground for an arrest and, if you would allow me, sir, those have been few and far betw-..."

"Indeed." Dassau interrupted. "The idea of actually performing some sort of edifying service to this Bureau is tempting. Technically speaking, since it does involve the movement of sentient life-forms to and from Sigil it could, broadly, be viewed as a within this office's remit." Of course, Dassau was perfectly aware of the fact that Isolde had ulterior motives. He had not spent an eternity corrupting all manner of intelligent life to be led by the nose by some impertinent girl, but Dassau was above all bored. Bored and depressed with the sheer, mind-numbing pointlessness of his work, irritated at his 'superiors', disappointed in his subordinates and generally disillusioned with this redemption experiment which had so far been only marginally preferable to the crushing stupidity of tempting equally stupid mortals. So, he decided on a whim, he would humour her. Mortals could be so fascinating at times, they never ceased to amaze Dassau with their pettiness, their greed, their hate.

"Very well." he enunciated, utterly nonchalantly, taking another sip of wine, feeling the pleasant spice, damson and hydrocarbon flavours flood his palate.

"So do I have dispensation to..."

"Yes, you are to pursue the investigation as you see fit and liaise with me every three hours during your day shift."

"That is...very generous of you sir." Uncharacteristically generous, Isolde would have added, but she had no particular objection to Dassau's mind games as long as she obtained what she most desired, Virginia's comeuppance. That would be the driving force of her life, that which would fill the void of her being with meaning. With that prospect of vengeance, she could easily put up with the indignities Dassau inflicted on a daily basis. Indeed, it almost made her position at the Civic Security offices worth living for.

"I know." Dassau said dismissively with a wave of his hand, "Before you leave the Bureau, do take these rather dreary compilations of drow poetry back to the library. I detest billing the Budget Department for my overdue fines."

"I obey, sir." Isolde said, with more heartfelt conviction than she had ever mustered since she had entered into Dassau's service.

***

Min took a deep, sighing breath as she looked at herself in the mirror of Aerylle's bedchamber. The cream-white blouse had an irritating, redundant frilly border around the neckline and the fabric was almost painfully smooth, feeling unfamiliar on the tiefling's rose-marble skin. Worst of all for Min's dignity was the godsforsaken skirt which Aerylle had foisted upon her. The miserable little elf had outmanoeuvred her so masterfully that the tiefling felt used. Now she stood glumly, staring at the gauzy, frilly monstrosity which stopped at the middle of her long, slimly muscular thigh in multilayered, tissue-like pleats of red, rose and white. The same chromatic pattern was repeated throughout the garment, giving the impression of stylised, impressionistic roses rising forth from a snowy winterscape.

Even her usual, comfortable knee-high boots were gone, replaced by a frightfully impractical, ivory-white model which reached only a little above the ankle. Min could only conclude that she looked utterly, irredeemably ridiculous. But a compromise was a compromise. Aerylle would pay for dressing her up like a doll from an adolescent elven girl's fantasy.

"Oh, Min it is lovely." Aerylle swooned as she entered her bedchamber.

The tiefling cringed. She had to admit that she liked Aerylle - a lot - but that tone was always sent an irritated shudder up her spine. This, of course, Min reflected, was cosmic punishment for a life which, since adolescence, had been misspent chasing skirt. That last phrase had been one of Min's classic one-liners whenever she was asked what her hobbies were. In retrospect, the irony of that particular pickup line was all the more painful in her current predicament. She had, it appeared, after some years of chasing it, finally caught it.

"That's music to my ears." Min finally said - tersely - surveying herself once more. Aerylle had insisted on adding the lightest touches of vermillion powder around her eyes to better complement the colour of her hair and skin. Yet again, Min found herself helpless before the course of momentous change. Before she had met Aerylle, she had prided herself in the fact that she never used or required cosmetics of any sort. That had been another integral line in the seduction process: as soon as the conversation shifted, as it often did, to the deep, red richness of her lips or nails, Min would lean forward fluidly, sultry lips close to her prey's ear and whisper in sensual tones: "this isn't lip paint, you know...". If she was not between the girl in question's thighs after a few more sentences, Min would consider it an unlucky night.

"Sarcasm is not becoming of a lady." Aerylle corrected, running a knowing, punctilious eye over her own honey-yellow evening robe which seemed to fuse seamlessly with the colour of the grey elf's hair.

"I swear, if anyone I know sodding sees me..."

"Yes, I know you will slit their throat with your dagger so there will be no evidence to present against you." Aerylle said wearily. To say that Min had been nervous about this wardrobe experiment would have been a grotesque understatement.

"Fuck," Min growled, "this is barmy." Not only did she feel ridiculous, she felt vulnerable - as if her natural dexterity and lightning-quick reflexes would be dulled by the atrociously ornamental nature of her clothing.

"Min!" Aerylle reprimanded, giving the tiefling a sharp, playful slap on the rump.

"Right, a deal's a deal. You ready, then?" Min decided that it was best to resign herself and take the evening with good grace. Aerylle's part of the deal filled her with a certain anticipation and almost enough sensual tension to offset the humiliation of being forced to don that costume. If it had been a private fantasy of Aerylle's to see Min thus attired, then the tiefling would probably not have had too many problems complying for the benefit of her lover - in the privacy of the bedchamber, though. Outside exposure was another matter entirely.

"When you are, my love." Aerylle said, smiling so sweetly Min almost forgot her embarrassment.

Peryroyal's was predictably busy. A moderately famed tavern at the edge of the Lady's Ward, it boasted an attractive view over a vast marble fountain complex, magically carved to stunning levels of accuracy and depicting a wide menagerie of rare beasts, and a dynamic kitchen. S. P. v. Dassau, a ranking member of the Civic Security department had written an especially complimentary review in the Sigil Oenophile Annual, praising the "exhaustive wine list, in perfect gustatory synchronism with the gastronomic experience" and the "commendably excellent selection of old vintage Tellurian and Oerth whites - with some in the latter instance dating to the Suel Imperium - which I had previously been unable to successfully track down". Min felt immediately out of place, the plush furnishings and the tables, constructed like immense, low silken couches were very much unlike her preferred locales. The place, for one, was too bright and there was far too much ostentatious banter going on around her.

Much to Min's relief, they quickly found an isolated table at the far end of the dining room, near the entry to great wine cellar which opened like a yawning chasm into what seemed like an infinity of immaculately polished wooden racks and bottles of every size, shape, material and description, some requiring their own enchanted micro-climates to be preserved in optimal condition. That was not, however, Min's concern as she threw herself down against the couch, stretching languidly, trying to enjoy its luxurious softness.

"Min," Aerylle hissed softly, "legs."

"Huh?" What now? the tiefling thought.

"You are...ah, inappropriately seated." Aerylle struggled for a suitable euphemism.

"Oh fu..." Min bit her lip and quickly readjusted her posture upon noting that she had been giving anyone who passed by a fairly detailed view of her inner thighs.

"You may cross your legs if you like..." Aerylle stopped her budding lecture as soon as she perceived Min's glowering gaze settling on her, the tiefling's eyes like burning coals.

"I think I need a drink."

"Right away, my treasure." Aerylle agreed.

They ordered a decent bottle of aromatic Thayvian wine and, by the main course of lightly dressed Bytopian vegetables and flower petals, Min was beginning to ease herself into the flow of the evening. Her self-consciousness had been mitigated by the effect of the wine, which she had drunk quite liberally, and the dawning realisation of how subtly provocative Aerylle movements were. Each movement of the elven girl's fingers, each coy little smile and each gentle, brushing motion of her smooth, pale legs as they crossed and uncrossed intermittently betrayed a profound, smouldering eroticism. Though the meal was insubstantial by Min's standards, she had begun to look forward in earnest to the far more satisfying meal which awaited her.

Leaning forward slightly on the table, her fine, rounded breast pressing sensually against the light fabric of her blouse, deep red nipples barely perceptible in their silky white prison, Min decided to turn the conversation to more interesting directions.

"D'you have a lover, or something, back in Imej? Before you came here, I mean." Min inquired.

Aerylle smiled enigmatically, her eyes - cool and azure blue seemingly staring back in counterpoint to the rich, orange tone of the tiefling's irises, "No, nothing so formal. It is normal for us to form intimate friendships, but a lover is something else and a life-companion something else still." There was no easy way to explain it, especially with the imprecise translation from High Grey Elven to Sigil's lingua franca. Aerylle realised that Min viewed all intimacy as, broadly speaking, the same activity, whereas it was nuanced and laden with significance insofar as her own people were concerned.

"Intimate friendships...like what?" Min asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"My closest friend at the Academy of the Second Sun was, you could say, a kind of lover."

"Was she beautiful?" Whatever she was, Min thought, she was almost certainly more strait-laced than Aerylle.

"Yes, very." Aerylle said, taking a sip of her wine from an intricately cut crystal goblet, before almost imperceptibly grazing her bottom lip with the tip of her thumb. "But I already knew my home to be a place of beauty when I left, which is why I left it to search the Multiverse for things even more beautiful."

Min smiled with satisfaction; Aerylle certainly knew how to flatter. "I just can't understand where you're coming from - culturally and everything," the tiefling admitted, "for me love was something which could burn and die in a few days."

"I understand." Aerylle replied truthfully, it was perhaps a touch unfair to demand the same patient, ritualised approach her culture own culture favoured.

"I've had good ones and bad ones. Before I met you, there was this lovely girl, human, I think, - wiry like a dancer with blonde hair, all in braids - I met her in a shop of enchanted trinkets. I heard her complain about how much an ioun stone was going to be costing her, so I went up to her and told her that since she was so pretty, I'd buy it for her. She smiled at me with her eyes, not her mouth, and put her hand in mine. We fu..., made love for the rest of the day and most of the night. By next daybreak she was gone. Just emptiness in my room where she used to be. I felt sad, then, sad 'cause I wanted to talk to her so she could tell me where she came from, what she wanted; so I could tell her how pretty she was and how I'd have liked to take her out and how jealous everybody would be when they saw us together. Later, I found a note she'd scribed under my pillow. It said: 'thank you, see you'. It was then I realised, that's just how she communicated. What she'd done, I did with so many girls. But it was only then that I thought of how many of them would probably have wanted to wake up with me at daybreak, tell me I was beautiful, tell me they wanted to see me again."

Aerylle nodded wordlessly, understanding full well the significance of Min's account.

"I was about to do the same to you. Then I realised that I didn't want you to feel like I did that day." Min confessed.

"Min, I think I have only Hanali to thank that I met you."

"Hmm, don't go all storybook on me now, you hear?" Min said, her smile widening into a malicious grin as she slipped a foot out of its boot and delicately ran her bare toes across Aerylle's exposed calf in a circular, stroking motion.

"I would not dream of doing that." Aerylle sighed, her eyes half closed in sensual tension as she felt the tiefling's slender foot part her thighs.

"Good, I like streetwise more than book-wise." Min purred as she felt wetness and soft, yielding, silky flesh at the tip of her toes.

"Oh?" Aerylle gasped, blushing hotly as she felt her nipples begin to stiffen against the fabric of her robe.

"But you're the exception that proves the rule." The tiefling felt her lover's nether lips spread into a pocket of delicious, moistly luxuriant warmth. Aerylle did not even hear Min call for the bill.

***

"Good luck." The wide-eyed novice said as Syf waited patiently for Friyya's class to disperse. Syf could only nod gratefully; she recalled the novice's name, Ithunn. She was a charming, promising swordswoman, who wore her wheat-blonde hair in the traditional Ortho fashion: in one long braid.

"Thank you." Syf mouthed, virtually silently. Ithunn was quiet, determined and a classically beautiful Ortho girl, the sort of person who, in less troubled times, had occasionally managed to distract the paladin with her disarming smile.

"If I may, sister," Ithunn continued, her sapphire eyes sparkling. "I know she still loves you. As do I, for I dream of becoming like you after my Consecration."

Syf smiled, leaning forward to kiss Ithunn on the forehead, "When I have more time, I promise we'll talk; just you and me."

The novice nodded, her enthusiastic youthful face reminded Syf of paintings of the sylvan goddesses of her homeland. Ithunn was perhaps the only novice Syf did not wish to be feared by, so much as admired. Her support was like a refreshing, vital breath of pure air for Syf.

Rumours, however, of a rift between Syf and Friyya had been quick to spread. Now, Syf felt as though she was accompanied by the silent encouragement, or silent reproach, of the novices who exited the chapel annexe of the main temple where doctrinal lessons were held. Friyya had always been good with all things written and to be committed to memory, so much so that she had been charged with teaching some minor courses.

Once Syf was absolutely certain that the novices had left the cool, shaded chapel, she began to mentally prepare herself as she knocked cautiously on the open door, awaiting an invitation to enter. In her other hand she clasped a bunch of fresh, pink tulips - Friyya's favourite - which a sympathetic Shesayne had obtained for her through various connections. They had certainly not been cheap.

"Come in." Friyya's voice was sullen, heavy in thought.

"Friyya, my beloved..." Syf began, a knot of emotion tightening in her throat.

"So it's you." Friyya said coldly, still looking at the book open in front of her. She was sitting in a simple wooden chair behind the altar, consulting the material for her next lesson.

"Please, just hear me out."

"Fine." The auburn-haired paladin still did not look up from her reading. The chapel's cool air weighed heavily on Syf. It was as if she could see every single crack in each stone, every single shard in the stained glass window, the detail of every single bead of wax coming from the aromatic candles on silver supports by the far wall of the room.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say anymore. If you never want anything to do with me anymore, I can understand that. It would be perfectly comprehensible because I failed - failed in proving to you that you are my goddess, the centre of my world, and since you deserve nothing less, if you wish to forget me, you would be justified in doing so." The words spilled from Syf's mouth like a torrent from her heart. She hoped Friyya would understand that her mind was simply not in the right condition to produce anything more coherent, or more eloquent.

"Was I not enough for you? Was my touch not pleasurable enough, were my kisses not sweet enough, was my love not deep enough?" Friyya's hands now gripped the sides of her chair so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

"I need nothing aside from you, Friyya." Syf said quietly, kneeling before Friyya and placing the bouquet of fragrant tulips on the cool, marble floor in front of her lover.

"Is that what you think I'm worth, a bunch of flowers?" Syf froze, she remained on her knees, her limbs paralysed by the terror of uncertainty. Of course, there was no apology which could fully atone for her sins, but she had expected Friyya to at least make an effort to understand the sentiment of her apology.

"No, my beloved, I just thought..."

"You all seem to think that I am some silly girl, easily swayed, easily bought off with superficial presents. They all thought that and I thought you were different. But evidently I was mistaken." Friyya said through gritted teeth. In what way was Syf different from all those who had sent her pointless, anonymous messages or bunches of meaningless flowers when she was still a novice?

"You're right." Syf said, suddenly raising her head, her piercing steel-blue eyes boring straight into Friyya, "You had become my flesh and blood, my soul. These material things are meaningless. So allow me to show you what you mean to me."

With that Syf drew her glistening silvery dagger from its scabbard and slashed it down, hard and fast, the length of her inner forearm, from wrists to elbows. The torrent of blood was immediate and copious, spurting out in rapid, dark red streams, pouring down Syf's pale arm, into the palm of her hand and down onto the cool marble below, running in thick, crimson rivers into the interstices in the marble floor.

"Syf, fuck." Friyya heard herself say as she fell to catch her lover, the blood staining her tunic in a vital, red hue. Syf was impassive in her arms, only a thin smile on those soft, elegant lips Friyya had so often kissed, "Syf, I'm here...you know I forgive you, I'll always forgive. Just don't leave me you stupid, stupid girl." Friyya felt her words spilling out like a torrent as she ran her hand down the sticky, pulsating wound, silently invoking the favours of the Vigilant Maiden, hoping that her healing skills were as good as she thought them to be.

The muscle began to suture and close, the veins squeeze shut, the skin slowly fall back into its original shape under Friyya's careful, insistent care. She concentrated as she never had before on the healing enchantment, but she knew that, in the Temple of Vigilant Maiden, her prayers would not go unanswered.

***

As Syf awoke in the infirmary, she immediately thought herself in her own bedchamber, awaking at the first break of light with Friyya by her side. Instinctively, she wrapped her arm around her lover's waist, drawing her in close, so as to immerse herself in Friyya's fragrant, autumn-golden tresses. It was then she realised that her arm was bandaged and the recollection of the day's events began to flood back into her mind.

"Friyya?" said Syf, almost in surprise as she felt her lover next to her in the bed.

"Syf..." Friyya stirred, still somewhat disorientated from being awakened from a fitful slumber. Earlier that day, she had thought she had wept all the tears she had, but to see her lover in such a state had driven her to the exhaustion of despair.

"I don't think I will ever stop apologising..."

"No, no, it's all forgiven, I swear. I just want to go back to quarters, make love, make up and never speak of this day again." Friyya said fervently, turning to kiss her lover passionately on the lips.

"My beautiful Friyya..."

"Is now going to leave us for some more serious matters." Isobel interjected from the entrance to the infirmary.

"Reverend Sister!" Syf exclaimed, her surprise evident as she struggled to sit up in her bed. The blood loss had been substantial and she still felt faint, her limbs heavy and weak.

"Be at your leisure, we already risked losing you once, I don't want to push the case any further." Isobel said tersely.

"Thank you, Reverend Sister." Syf acknowledged, gratefully, her head still felt light and dizzy.

"What are you still doing here?" Isobel growled, noting Friyya lay resolutely immobile in the bed by Syf's side.

"Apologies, Reverend Sister, but I cannot move. Punish me if you will, but I will not budge." Friyya said defiantly, her voice welling up with the heat of passion, though she felt the terror of Isobel encroach into the pit of her stomach. Fear be damned, Friyya thought, this where Syf and I start anew, as a true unit, an indivisible pair.

"Good," Isobel conceded, nodding her head in approval, "it looks like you may finally be showing yourself worthy of your woman, but I shall wait another time before deciding that I misjudged you altogether."

Isobel strode forward to fix Syf in the eyes, her hands on her hips, her gaze less fiery than usual, though, and, perhaps, a little more curious. "As you know, Syf, this is no place for crimes or acts of blind passion. Nor is it a place for free and open philandering - the clerics of Hanali and Selune are more than sufficient for this city to have its fill of those sorts of activities. You are, however, an exceptional paladin and I confess that the thought of losing you was worrying, to say the least. From what I understand, you are also possessed of a good soul and much admired. See to it that this does not change. I won't make an issue out of this incident, but Syf, hear me well. Do not even think of disappointing me again."

"Yes, Reverend Sister." Syf said fervently.

"Good, I trust your word. I trust the word of anyone willing to shed her blood for what she believes in. It bodes well for your service to the Order."

"Thank you, Reverend Sister."

"Now you may return to where you were before I interrupted you." Isobel said, imperiously striding out of the chamber in long, powerful strides.

"Friyya..."

"Let's get back in, my beloved," the auburn-haired paladin interrupted, kissing her lover with fiery passion on the lips, "we ought to show everyone that everything has returned to normal. What has been done cannot be undone, but what is tied in blood and tears can never be loosed. Understood?"

"Yes," Syf said passionately, before deciding to bring some levity back into the conversation. "And I also understand you have to start being nicer to Marséna."

"When Phlegeton freezes over." Friyya joked, holding Syf close.

"I know every Radiant Path detachment thinks itself unique, but we really are special, aren't we?" It was in the most bizarre and unpredictable of times that Syf realised the value of having a stable base with her fellow sisters-in-arms, of knowing that she had the unconditional love and devotion of three other women.

"Without a shadow of a doubt." Friyya said as she rose to her feet, Syf smiling wryly and leaning against her for support. Syf’s smile broadened further still when, upon returning to her bedchamber, she found her pink tulips resting happily in a new ceramic vase, half-full with fresh, pristine water.