Writers of fiction are often presented with an interesting quandary. What I mean is, they draw from life. Even the wildest fantasy comes from some intellectual root which in turn is based on, or is an extrapolation of, something which has been seen, felt, heard or said. But fiction is all too often decried for being "implausible". Some claim that it is not "true to life", whatever that means. Life, in reality, is often disconcertingly stranger than fiction because it is less predictable. My point is that life is full of strange, unnerving, uncanny coincidences, meetings, happenings and conversations. Most just refuse to think about them and move on. Some contemplate, some elaborate. The latter class of person often chooses to become a writer, a storyteller, or simply mad. Some philosophers have sought to ban everything which had nothing to do with the physical or natural sciences, because writing and poetry "tell lies about the gods". They probably do, but reveal so many more things that they may just be worth putting up with.

 

                                                - The Archivist, your narrator

 

"E vos etz lo meus jois primers,

E si seretz vos lo derrers,

Tan com la vida m'er durans."

 

"Reporting in, as required, sir." Isolde announced as she stepped into Dassau's office. The arcanoloth's desk was in its usual state of disarray. He had ploughed through the best part of a decade's worth of statistics annuals just as readily as he had consumed close to a decade of vintages from an extremely rare denomination situated on a world Dassau had mentioned and Isolde long since forgotten.

 

"So, I see." Dassau replied, engrossed in mentally calculating the standard deviation of the average age of death of human-celestial hybrids in Sigil.

 

"It occurs to me, sir, that the Radiant Path has been quite active recently in a presumed slaving ring connected to the radical atheist faction..."

 

"Athar." Dassau corrected.

 

"I know, sir...in any case, operatives of the Order of the Radiant Path have been present throughout the Shattered Temple district and in the Great Bazaar. I have documented their activities thus far, though I must take the opportunity to draw attention to the sanitary conditions in the..."

 

"Eumenorrhea - second day, if I am not mistaken." Dassau remarked. One of his favourite mental games was keeping track of Isolde's cycle.

 

"Yes, sir, but I think it's hardly relevant..."

 

"Nonsense, there is no reason you should be in discomfort. Order some menial to clean it up to sufficient standard."

 

Isolde cringed, her definition of sufficient standard was simply not possible to replicate, "I can survive, sir," she continued, with burning irritation - she loathed it intensely when her body acted up on her in such a way: it was morbid and utterly disgusting - "what I meant was whether you ought to inform the Fifth or the Seventh Bureau about such activities which, strictly speaking at least, are paramilitary in nature."

 

"They have our informal authorisation. To my knowledge, that is the only compromise by which we can keep a semblance of order in this unfortunate city. Nevertheless, your suggestion is duly noted just as my curiosity is piqued. You are free, no - actively encouraged - to find any incriminating information on this Order of yours, especially with reference to malpractice. You hinted that they may be involved in illegal displacements of goods or persons - capitalise on that, make sure I have something suitable as a pretext to issue search and arrest orders." Dassau's voice was more sanguine and enthusiastic than Isolde had heard it in a long while. It appeared that her plan to co-opt the old dog was working.

 

"As you wish, sir, but, one question, how exactly do you intend to pin the Radiant Path down?"

 

"I do not recall enjoining a crusade," Dassau specified, his demonic mind churning, "I have no target in particular, indeed, no grudge against any given organisation. I merely believe that is in the interests of this fair city and my good conscience to appropriately punish all malfeasance and, by extension, those individuals and organisations that abet it."

 

"So, why the Radiant Path and why the pretext of this Shattered Temple business?" Isolde inquired, thoroughly confused.

 

"Isolde, you misunderstand me. I do not seek culpability in and of itself. As far as I a concerned, all of these organisations are equally low and worthless. Their love of their own, risible doctrines repels me in the extreme. No, I need something. A reason to exist after abandoning my natural, essential vocation as a corrupter of mortals. Their demise, like the demise of any other organisation whose doctrine I find repugnant and whose influence I find subversive, is a benefit to Sigil and, most importantly, my dear Isolde, to me."

 

"But sir, I don't think we should necessarily undermine the Order in and of..."

 

"Isolde, I fear it is too late. You raised this issue for, as I have deduced long ago, your own personal reasons. Unfortunately, such is the way of the Multiverse, that once plans are passed on to a higher power, the supplicant has no further control over them. You began the game, my dear Isolde, but you shall play by my rules for my amusement."

 

Isolde tensed only slightly. She could live with that. It had not been her intention to implicate all of the Radiant Path, her issues lay with Virginia and Virginia alone. Nevertheless, there would be no harm in indulging Dassau. After all, although she bore the Radiant Path no particular ill will, she also had no especial sympathy for it. Now that she thought of it, she found herself not having any sympathy for anything. With the possible exception of her 'acquaintance', Lirai, but that was a matter of mutual benefit rather than any active, heartfelt sentiment.

 

"Is there anything further, sir?"

 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I have recently read through a rather interesting commentary on the doctrine and history of the Radiant Path. It appears that their methods of recruitment, training and operation are not at all dissimilar to those of other militant orders which, broadly speaking, share moral-ethical outlooks associated with the Plane of Arborea. However, in the appendix, I was fascinated to find a reference to a disquisition on the recruitment aspect which, it is claimed, is striking in identifying and cultivating merit over selection by ancestry, as has been the case in quite a number of chivalrous orders. Of course, I dispute this comment in and of itself, as egalitarian orders have existed and are indeed widespread, though not necessarily in this writer's homeworld..."

 

"Sir, if you don't mind..." Isolde ventured.

 

"Ah, yes, the point. Well, the point is that which will kill the noble art of conversation. My point is, as my previous professional experience has taught me, to work through the context of your target and not against it. There is so much to be found in reflecting on what sentients want, need and desire."

 

"Worthy advice, sir."

 

Isolde knew that Dassau knew. His remark about selection, recruitment and the constitution of the Radiant Path's membership had been a subtle comment. He had known all along and Isolde suspected that there was very little, if not nothing at all, the arcanoloth did not know about her personal life, her history or her mind. The 'reformed' demon's efficiency in performing a demonic job made her wonder why he had resigned his commission, as it were, in the first place.

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

 

In Sigil, it is said that there are some basic laws to the vast, quasi-infinity of the Multiverse. Some claim there is the so-called "Rule of the Threes", that is, all major functions and agents in the Multiverse entertained triadic relationships: chaos, order, neutrality; body, mind, soul and so forth. Other claimed there was a grand scheme of causality; that everything from the Abyss to the Seven Heavens was connected with even the slightest event in the first generating unforeseen consequences in the other. Ithunn, however, could only conclude that the infamous and culturally ubiquitous rule that if something could go wrong, it would, was the true root of all the Multiverse's workings.

 

The novice had complied with Inge's over-enthusiastic request and graciously brought her flowers, escorted her from her lessons and taken her for a recreational walk through the Temple complex. Inge had been lively and enthusiastic throughout, clinging onto Ithunn's arm and chattering amiably about nothing in particular. For her part, Ithunn had taken it all in good grace; she actually enjoyed spending time with Inge, though the circumstances - with the trainee priestess occasionally looking up at the taller girl, expecting a kiss or some other gesture of affection - were compromising, to say the least. Inge's wide, grey eyes, already seemingly perennially pensive, almost sad, were positively heart-rending when she felt starved of romantic attention and Ithunn, cursing the ease with which her emotions could be manipulated, complied almost spontaneously with little caresses, and soft, placatory kisses.

 

That had been bad enough. Ithunn felt that every novice she knew had passed them by, no doubt exchanging knowing smirks as soon they were beyond visual range. But now, none other than Syf, the sun around which all of Ithunn's desire helplessly rotated, strode down the main courtyard in front of the great Temple gates. Ithunn felt her heart sink. There was a selfish part in her that wanted to thrust Inge to one side and take refuge somewhere far away so that Syf would never think that she had even contemplated the idea of replacing her idol. Of course, that was a non-option. There was, in Ithunn's more sensitive and moral mind - that which was almost always dominant - no reason for which Inge should suffer for the preferences and choices of others.

 

"That was a good practice session, today Ithunn." Syf commented as she crossed Ithunn and Inge's path, "You were much more focused on your swordplay. If you keep that up, you will almost certainly be one of the best this Order has seen."

 

"Many thanks, Syf, I am always honoured to be complimented by you." Ithunn said hastily. Under normal circumstances she would have basked in the glow of the paladin's praise. Now was not, however, the time to allow Syf to reflect too much on the circumstances.

 

"Oh, and who is this with you?" Syf inquired with playful curiosity, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

 

"This..." Ithunn began heavily.

 

"Ingeborg, Sister," Inge interjected enthusiastically, eager to show herself off to Syf, "though I prefer Inge."

 

"Yes, I remember...you're in the Temple's seminary, it is a pleasure to meet a future custodian of our faith." The irony, Syf reflected, was that although many novices training to be paladins thought the path of the priesthood to be boring and study-intensive, it was the priestesses who were the ultimate guardians of the secrets of the Radiant Path and who, by extension, were responsible for administering it.

 

"We were just taking the opportunity to enjoy a walk together." Inge crowed, much to Ithunn's dismay. The novice would have objected, if she could find the words in the nervous, convoluted sea which was her mind.

 

"I'm happy for you Ithunn," Syf commented approvingly, relieved that the novice had found someone else upon which to lavish her attention, "you make a beautiful couple and I wish you a long and joyful time together."

 

Ithunn cringed inwardly, Syf had used the formal blessing of well-wishers to a bonded couple. Although Syf's smile was radiant in the novice's eyes, she could help but feel something sinking in the pit of her stomach. Now she would be nothing more than a student to Syf, a friend too, perhaps, but nothing more. But it was the opposite that she had wanted. She loved Inge as a friend, a confidante and even found the trainee priestess very pretty in an endearing, cute sort of way. There was, however, no way she could fill the void that Syf would leave.

 

"Many thanks, sister." Inge answered in Ithunn's stead, "Convey my greetings to Friyya. I too wish you much happiness."

 

There was a part of Ithunn that wanted to erupt, to seize and shake the delicate Inge demanding to know when, exactly, did a little clumsy fumbling under the sheets - so common amongst novices - constitute the official beginning of a bonded relationship. Granted she had always been a close friend of Inge's and granted they had, out of loneliness one night, exchanged their first kiss, but this was taking the issue further than Ithunn could have imagined.

 

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow on the training court, then. Have a nice evening." Syf said as continued on her way.

 

"You...too, Syf." Ithunn mouthed dejectedly. Inge huddled closer, her head leaning on the novice's elegant, statuesque breasts, her shoulder-length sky-azure hair draped over Ithunn's pristine white tunic. The trainee priestess realised that there were no further obstacles in her goal to find her other, cosmic half. Syf had given them their blessing and that, she thought, would close the case once and for all.

 

"If you like," Inge began, her voice typically soft and innocent, "we can take a walk in the garden later this evening, sometimes there is so little privacy in the dormitory..."

 

Ithunn burned with hot frustration inside. Frustration at Syf for being so superficial that she failed to realise how contrived the situation had been, frustration at Inge who appeared to believe that all her adolescent fantasies had come true, and frustration at herself for being totally unable to address either issue. In short, a romantic escapade with Inge in the shade of the garden was the last thing on her mind, "Maybe not this evening, today's training was a little hard on me, perhaps I should rest."

 

"Oh, I know Syf drives you hard, but I can at least try to make you feel better." Inge suggested, an edge of sensuality creeping into her voice. As expected, it was not that hint of desire which changed Ithunn's mind, but Inge's wide-eyed, expectant gaze and her eager, innocent smile. Against those weapons, Ithunn knew no countermeasures.

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

 

The Great Bazaar was abuzz; both figuratively and literally for there was a pronounced insectoid presence that day. Great mantis-like thri-kreen exchanging sculptures of their crystallised saliva for Sigil currency, vaguely humanoid ant-like formians protecting the precious egg sac of a bloated queen as they made their way down the Bazaar's main promenade. All around goods and services of every description were on sale; from magical trinkets in dusty shops run by blue-skinned mercane, to - more human - hawkers from at least two dozen Prime worlds selling the most prized produce of their region. That of course, was the upmarket section of the Bazaar.

 

Lower down the main promenade, closer to the Hive, Virginia's squad made its way through ever tightening, labyrinthine mazes. With each step the buildings became more decrepit, the wares on sale more bizarre, unsettling and downright vile, the denizens ever shiftier and less readily identifiable. The trail of a group of slavers was still hot; one of the Order of the Radiant Path's contacts had been notified that some illegal transits in 'live material' had taken place at a planar portal near the Bazaar and Syf was certain that she had caught glimpse of what appeared to be a couple of lookouts who had, upon detecting the presence of four paladins of the Vigilant Maiden, quickly turned to inform their superiors.

 

It was difficult to coordinate in the din of the marketplace, though Syf and Virginia remained ever focused, peering into the crowd, squinting through reeking smoke and low-hanging fabrics. Friyya followed behind, a little disorientated though she was getting used to work in the less reputable parts of Sigil, with an outwardly relaxed but ever vigilant Marséna at her side. The Mareterran paladin operated more by intuition than by concentration, paying only cursory attention to the art of detection and listening primarily to what her senses told her.

 

"On the left, in the side alley." Syf suggested. She had definitely detected the movement of some beings in dark robes in the corner of her vision.

 

"I'll go with Virg, take Friyya and continue down the main street. Weave left at the next side alley and cover us." Marséna replied, her hand firmly on the pommel of her longsword.

 

"Agreed." Syf nodded, as Virginia and Friyya also made signs of agreement.

 

"Right, Virg, you take point." Marséna instructed. In the open, Virginia preferred to use a footman's lance; it gave her better reach in long, dark alleyways and allowed her to keep opponents at a safe distance.

 

The blonde paladin nodded in acknowledgement and moved forward, easing her way through the crowd into the relative calm of the side alley. Dilapidated wood and stone peered down on them ominously and a few equally decrepit merchants, flogging their unsavoury wares, looked on in apprehension. The presence of self-professed defenders of good were never welcome in those parts of Sigil where the light could barely peer through the sunken, stooping gables of the buildings.

 

"See anything?" Marséna inquired anxiously, drawing her sword in a single, clean motion.

 

"I'm certain I saw movement, we can keep moving to the base of the alley and hope Friyya and Syf can flank anything that's down there." Virginia noted tensely. She readied the gleaming head of her lance so that it was perpendicular to her body, a good two three feet in front of her. In close quarters, she always kept her longsword in reserve, though it was always better to press the advantage against foes with less formal weapons training, just so they did not capitalise on the cramped environment around them for strategic positioning.

 

"There!" Marséna cried as something scampered in the shadows between two makeshift stalls on the roadside.

 

Virginia dashed forward, overturning a stall carrying bright red exotic fruit just as she detected the figure move into the narrow entrance of a building. She pursued, Marséna behind her, the emerging sense of tension becoming a deep, methodical pulsation in her chest. Each breath, each movement began to fall in synchronism with her thought and heartbeat, so she knew exactly when the dark-robed figure would lunge forward with his cruelly curved shortsword - no doubt coated with poison. It was easy enough for Virginia to sidestep, but it was with the counterattack that she came into her own, exploiting the momentum of her evasive movement to thrust back into the darkness of the hallway and catch the figure at the juncture between the shoulder and chest. The blonde paladin could not see the result of her strike, but could hear the blood trickle wetly on the creaking, wooden floor and the figure slump forwards to impale itself further on the shaft of the lance.

 

"One down." Marséna commented straining her eyes in the darkness, she knew he was dead because she could hear no breathing but her own and the familiar sound of Virginia's.

 

"Was there another?"

 

"Yes, he must be further down the alley, I'm certain of it."

 

They continued their descent into the bowels of where the Bazaar met the Hive. Now the smoke had become thicker and more noxious as they approached the tanneries and the charcoal-burners.

 

"Goddess, the air is heavy!" Virginia complained. Though it was not in her character to complain about the circumstances of her work, the odour was truly intolerable.

 

"You're such a city girl." Marséna chided playfully, hoping at least to defuse some of the tension.

 

"This is the city. In any case, I hope you don't actually find this smell pleasant."

 

"No, but you get used to it."

 

"Hey, Marséna, over there, by the fortune teller's stand." Virginia warned as the pair rushed down further into the depths of the alleyway, so much, indeed, that they ploughed through low-hanging curtains and fabric to scramble in the penumbra, hoping to find their quarry.

 

"Damn, it's dark." Marséna commented ruefully as she cut through a low-hanging clothesline. That did not improve her visibility, for the wreckage of ancient buildings stood between her and the sky. Nevertheless, she sensed movement in her proximity. Her sword at the ready she lunged forwards into the furthest recesses of the alley, sensing the heavy breathing of another being. Now, Marséna knew she was at a disadvantage. She could not see in the dark, whereas many of Sigil's denizens, their nature heavily influenced by the energies of the Lower Planes, could. But, she knew she could rely on her perception and reflexes. It was dark, between buildings and in the cool, dank, shady air where open sewers ran together with the outflow of butcher shops and tanneries. The smell was overwhelming, but Marséna knew better than to the let that affect her.

 

The raven-haired paladin paused a moment to gain her bearings, before deciding that she was not going to panic and call out to Virginia. That would merely betray her position. She had to remain calm, composed and on guard. So when she heard the slightest hint of breath, she knew where to move, back up and counterattack. By the time her longsword had caught another blade, she knew that the playing field had levelled somewhat. In the darkness, she could not see him, but she could estimate the slaver's distance. He was almost certainly to her right and, as Marséna rightly predicted, he could at least faintly see her because he thrust his weapon in exactly the right place, slicing under her guard and against her thigh.

 

Although the pain was sharp, Marséna knew she could tolerate it. For a glancing blow, the slaver had traded knowledge of his position, so the Mareterran girl knew her current placement put her in threat range. Steadying her longsword as she had done many times before in practice, she estimated his size, his position and his guard, before slicing her weapon back into the darkness and sensing, with a sigh of satisfaction, the steel finding purchase in flesh. It was almost certainly the slaver's arm, for she heard metal drop against the cobblestones of the alleyway and a low groan. That was her signal to bring in the finishing blow, which she did with a wide, arching slash into the slaver's neck. Once again, there was a dense thud as the metal of her blade sliced into fabric, skin, flesh and bone. Marséna knew the iron smell that followed. It did not trouble her in the least. It was the same smell she noted whenever she had cut the throat of lambs at slaughter time in her village or cut a goose's head clean from its neck on feast days. Nothing to be worried about, just flesh and blood like any other animal.

 

"Virg, this one's down too." Marséna called proudly. There was no reply.

 

"Virg?"

********************  

 

Virginia looked around herself, the gleaming bloodstained lance firmly in hand. It was dark but for a lambent, green-blue glow emanating from a single sphere in the middle of the chamber. What chamber? This Virginia did not know, though she steeled herself against any potential threat. It was long, rectangular, and dark except for a sphere floating as if hanging in nothingness. A sphere so perfect, so hypnotic that the blonde paladin thought it some device of the afterlife. Perhaps she had been backstabbed, or shot with a crossbow and now, dead, was forced to confront the judge of all eternity.

 

She took a deep breath, felt the cool room around her, the faint smell of incense and burning lamp oil. Just moments ago she had been with Marséna, now she was alone, covered in cold sweat, dimly illuminated only by a low, haunting light.

 

"Fear not." A low, feminine voice called from the darkness and Virginia turned, startled, to see a green-skinned humanoid woman with a perfectly hairless head look up at her with milky, sightless eyes.

 

"What?" Virginia gasped, more afraid than she would ever have admitted.

 

"Fear not, you are not dead...or at least, not quite yet." The woman commented, sitting on an invisible stool near the glowing, pulsating sphere. She was slender, with long, black nails, fang-like teeth, and a strangely reassuring voice.

 

"I was out..."

 

"Not anymore."

 

Virginia then realised that she must have stepped sideways. Sideways into another pocket dimension, like the innumerable little hiding holes in space and time which dotted Sigil. This must be a demiplane, the abode of a strange, yet powerful being whose very whim had brought Virginia through the fabric of existence and time into another world.

 

"Why did you bring me here?" The blonde paladin asked with trepidation. There was little she could do against such a being, even with her weapons and her knowledge of the arcane, some beings were simply too powerful to even countenance a confrontation with.

 

"Listen to me," the green skinned woman began as she stroked the green sphere, its vibrations apparently sending her into some sort of trance, filling her mind with insight which Virginia could not even imagine, "because there is nothing that happens in this Multiverse without a reason, nothing."

 

Virginia nodded and observed carefully. Her throat dry and her mind so achingly confused that she wished she could be with one of her comrades, any one, just to have the security of one of them supporting her in this strangest of places.

 

"There shall come a time in which you shall have to choose which path is yours. And no, young paladin, this is not the empty platitude of a fortune-teller, but the words of a prophet. I know that now there are two in your heart, but that one can only be loved more than the other, because that one is bound to you. She was bound to you before you were born, so will she be bound to you in death." The green skinned woman said this with almost ecstatic abandon, as if she were drawing upon an otherwise hidden source of energy deep within the glowing sphere.

 

"I...don't quite know..." Virginia began, already realising the fortune teller knew what she claimed to know.

 

"I see you, I see you by the seaside in a great ocean of golden corn under a blue sky and a burning sun." The voice replied, as if ignoring each and every one of Virginia's comments.

 

"What? Please, tell me, I don't understand."

 

"I see you, under silver-green trees, where it is warm and the air is filled with the light, salty spray of the sea. Go to it, for it calls like nothing else."

 

"But why did you bring me here to tell me...this?" Virginia asked, her disorientation all too evident.

 

"Because there are things that are known to the Multiverse and the Multiverse alone. These are not things that mere mortal discover, they stumble upon them like a blind woman searching for gems amidst a sea of pebbles. The Multiverse has its reasons and I follow them and them alone."

 

"So what am I to do?" Virginia asked plaintively. Though her fear was strong, her curiosity and resolve to know were stronger still.

 

"Go to the sea and see its white-blue spray crash against rocks. Go under the sun and see its rays crash against the silver-green leaves and off the golden ears of ripe corn. So go now, for this is not what I say, but what is."

 

"Madam, please tell me..." Virginia began, before realising that she was, once again, in the middle of the darkened street, with no sound around her but the movements in the distance and soft breathing.

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

 

"Virg?" Marséna called desperately into the darkness, groping blindly. She could not even imagine it, though the thought had crept into the back of her mind.

 

"Marséna?" Virginia answered, before feeling a tight, hard, hungry grip around her waist as Marséna collapsed into her arms.

 

"Virg...my treasure...child...kitten, never do that again...fuck, Virg, never again." Marséna sobbed, almost hysterically into Virginia's arms. The blonde paladin could feel her friend's hot, desperate tears on her neck.

 

"I...don't understand." Virginia said, perplexed, as she held Marséna close to her in the near pitch-blackness of the street, cradling the raven-haired paladin in her arms.

 

"I thought I'd lost you, then I saw you...saw you, but you seemed...different, like I never want to see you again."

 

"Never mind, never mind," Virginia said soothingly. Marséna was not the unprofessional type, so whatever she had seen, it had been a powerful vision indeed, something which had stripped the paladin's usual sangfroid from her, "come on, I'm here now, pull yourself together. You don't want Friyya to see you like this, do you?" Virginia reprimanded, half jokingly.

 

"I saw, it Virg, I saw it: it was like red on black." Marséna said enigmatically as she buried her face against Virginia's breastplate, drawing in the aroma of her friend's body, the cool steeliness of her armour, the sweetness of the leather beneath.

 

"Hush, come on now, this isn't the time."

 

Marséna snuggled closer against Virginia, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth, the heartbeat, the soft, fragrant smell of the blonde paladin's skin.

 

"Hey, come on Marséna, Syf and Friyya will be here soon...come on, we can talk about this later."

 

"I need you, Virg, I know this because I felt it like never before a few moments ago. I need you."

 

"Me too, but there's something else I must ask you."

 

"What?" Marséna inquired, recovering from her outburst and settling by Virginia's side.

 

"Soon we'll have two days' leave. I think I would like it if you took me to Mareterra...you know, perhaps to visit."

 

"I haven't been back in so long." Marséna sniffed, composing herself a little.

 

"I know, and I would love to go back with you. Just the two of us."

 

"What about Lily?"

 

"Can you get Shesayne to look after her?"

 

"Yeah," Marséna said, allowing herself a smile as she quickly ran her leather-gauntleted hands over her cheeks, "I can do that. I'd really like to show you my home and my village, so I suppose, there would be nothing better than you coming with me."

 

"Great, so it's a deal. But pull yourself together now, Marséna, we're still on duty."

 

"Understood." The Mareterran girl said, resuming her combat-ready guard stance.

 

"You always were a cry-baby, you know." Virginia joked, patting Marséna on the shoulder.

 

"Yes, and you an icy-hearted Ortho bitch." Marséna growled playfully. She knew, without hearing it, that Virginia was laughing silently to herself.

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

 

"Is everything to your liking, Min?" Cirily inquired, sensing the tiefling's discomfort. Like Elyszara, Cirily liked to entertain - especially interesting, well-educated guests like Aerylle who always brought something new and fascinating to the conversation. That day, just a few tolls of the Bell Tower before the time Elyszara - reluctantly it had to be said - had agreed upon as suitable to visit the Order of the Radiant Path in order to offer her heartfelt apologies to the paladin Friyya, the two aasimar had decided to receive a representative of one of the foremost recipients of their family's grants. In her capacity as Assistant Librarian at the Library of Sensation, Aerylle was charming in a way Cirily envied. Her newfound tiefling lover, on the other hand, clearly felt out of place.

 

"Yeah...really, it's great." Min said, sounding unconvinced. She did not like the taste of herbal tea - too abundantly sugared and her palate responded poorly to sweet things - and the flower-petal preserve tartlets were even worse. How anyone could consume anything so cloying beggared belief.

 

"Oh, excuse her," Aerylle interjected gracefully, leaning forward slightly in her armchair, "she takes lunch late at work, so I suspect she may not be very hungry." They were in the comfortable drawing room adjacent to the great rectangular dining room of Elyszara's Sigil apartment. The airiness and light of the room, in and of themselves, put Min in an unfamiliar environment.

 

"Please, don't trouble yourself," Cirily reassured with great hospitality, "you do us honour with your presence."

 

Elyszara reclined comfortably on a red-padded divan, dressed in a functional set of black, skin-tight leggings and a dark bustier made to simulate the effect of a breastplate. Her definition of entertaining guests was somewhat different to Cirily's; it was less an occasion to serve and converse and more an opportunity to amuse herself, "So, what has been your most fascinating record to date in the Library?" She inquired, stretching slightly on the divan, eying Min curiously. She had seen the tiefling at that disastrous party a few nights ago, but had not been given the chance to scrutinise her properly. Now, on further examination, Min was certainly a fine specimen; like Syf, she had power, dynamism and menace beneath a graceful exterior.

 

"Definitely recorded testimonials from the Pillar of Skulls in the Nine Hells; some are decidedly harrowing, but we have patrons who seek precisely that sort of emotionally challenging experience." Aerylle said, taking a sip from her crystal cup.

 

"How awful." Cirily commented - it was always good to let a guest know that they were being listened to.

 

"I'm sure it is, but this Multiverse is full of dangerous, disturbing things, wouldn't you agree, Min?" Elyszara inquired playfully, still taking her time to measure the tiefling up. She brushed back some strands of corvine hair streaked with silver and deepest blue from her delicate, elfin face.

 

"Sure." Min replied curtly. She felt awkward sitting the in the chair and even more awkward being put under the spotlight. What she really needed was a drink; something, anything, to loosen her up.

 

"Come on, you look like a woman of experience, you must have seen you share of harrowing spectacles."

 

"I...guess." Min was beginning to question the insistence with which Aerylle had encouraged her to attend this social event. It was certainly not Min's sort of thing, nor was it something she took particularly well to. Simply put, the tiefling had no answer to Elyszara's question not so much because she did not know of a strand of conversation, but because she felt ill at ease, certainly not disinhibited enough to speak freely. Though she had always navigated the difficult social environments of the Hive with great ease, Shesayne had always been the truly social one out of the two. Min preferred a more enigmatic and restrained approach.

 

"Well, one easy way to find out." Elyszara continued provocatively, seizing upon a bright pink tartlet and consuming it in one bite.

 

"So what's that?" Min replied, somewhat irritated at Elyszara's insistence. Aerylle gave her a disapproving, sideways glance: she had asked the tiefling to hold back her sharp tongue and sharper temper.

 

"How are you with daggers?"

 

"Throwing, curved or punching?" Min replied instinctively, bemused at Elyszara's question. She had not gathered from her surroundings that her host would have any interest in weaponry, least of all the sort of arms used in darkened alleys or under the cover of shadows.

 

"Any and all, I suppose." Elyszara led on, pleased that she had caught the tiefling's attention.

 

"I can hold my own."

 

"Show me." Elyszara challenged, rising to her feet.

 

"What? Here?" Min inwardly thought the aasimar was joking; there was no way Elyszara could seriously intend to match her speed or reflexes.

 

"Yes and don't you think it will be a walkover." Elyszara said with defiant playfulness as she opened two ornate, wooden boxes to reveal two identical sets of magnificently forged, silvery daggers, wrought so that their blades almost resembled a dragon's fang with intricate, calligraphic carvings on the flat on the blades.  

 

"Lys, please, not with our guests." Cirily reprimanded, rising to her feet.

 

"Nonsense, I'm a big girl, I can handle any challenge." Elyszara replied dismissively.

 

"That is exactly the problem, Lys, I think I am still waiting for you to grow up. How is this any different from a children's game?"

 

"Cirily, my love, aren't you flattered that I am willing to go to such lengths to win your favour?" Elyszara said with mock panache as she handed the stunned Min a box and offered instructions on how the bout was to take place, "We'll do it on the table, so it will also be a matter of balance. First one to position an undisputed critical strike wins. How's that sound to you?"

 

"I..." Min began. Aerylle was already glowering at her, but there was very little she could do now that her abilities had been called to the test. She certainly had no intention of being caught off guard by this libertine socialite, "I agree. So let's see this table."

 

"Min!" Aerylle said menacingly between gritted teeth.

 

"Her idea." The tiefling replied airily, following Elyszara into the dining room. This would be interesting, the tiefling thought: the daggers were of fine craftsmanship indeed, well balanced, the edges clearly sharp and intricacy of their workmanship did nothing to reduce their obvious functionality as weapons.

 

"Really, Lys, I just had the table waxed." Cirily complained as her lover leaped on to one side with Min on the opposite end, perhaps twelve feet away.

 

"Oh, just cast another cantrip and stop playing the suffering housewife." Elyszara snapped.

 

Cirily pouted and looked away to one side. Aerylle stood close by, dumbfounded at the spectacle which was about to unfold. Sometimes she really failed to understand Min's reasons. Did she think to impress her?

 

"Right, on my signal then." Elyszara announced, sinking into a classical two-handed style position, her guard high, legs placed one in front of the other.

 

"Ready." Min replied. The tiefling preferred a more free flowing pose, her guard running the diagonal between her chest and lower thigh with her legs positioned further apart. This allowed her to exploit the momentum of each movement and turn parrying or positioning manoeuvres into potential energy for counterattacks. It was not something she had learned formally so much as deduced over time. There was, Min reflected, nothing quite like the school of hard knocks.

 

"You think this impresses me, Lys?" Cirily called as she saw her lover sink into her combat ready position, "Honestly, sometimes you're worse than a boy...'oh, Lys my heroine, I'm so wet'..." She mimicked savagely.

 

"Cirily!" Aerylle scolded, almost out of force of habit.

 

Ignoring Cirily completely, Elyszara gave the signal with a nod of her head and lunged forward. Min parried her first two thrusts with ease, quickly wheeling around the aasimar, sidestepping her, and slipping behind her back, each movement deliberately calculated to dance around the edges of the table. Elyszara, much to Min's surprise, had already detected that tactic and adjusted to compensate, lashing out in a wide, open arc and forcing the tiefling to ready her daggers to parry.

 

The speed with which the aasimar had reacted was not quite what Min had been expecting. After all, Elyszara appeared to be a good for nothing spoiled brat, but she did have natural as well as technical talent. Min was, however, certain that no one could match her for speed so she shifted into an attacking mode, trying to force Elyszara off the table by sheer force. The aasimar's eye was at least as fast as the tiefling's blade, because Elyszara anticipated the low, cutting strikes with enviable intuition and managed to sidestep back towards the middle of the table. Min pursued, knowing that for every dodge, Elyszara had to adjust her movements, lose time to seek balance and position and therefore have less space to develop a counterattacking strategy. She knew that the best technique would be to keep the aasimar constantly moving before hooking in an unpredictable attack which would throw her once and for all

 

That was easier said than done. Elyszara managed to weave skilfully through round after round of seemingly random high and low, undulating and jabbing attacks. Though this promptness of reaction frustrated Min, she knew that Elyszara would have to come up with a counterattacking strategy soon because she could not hope to match her on physical stamina As predicted, the aasimar began to tire, her breath shortening with each succession of parried blows, so that she finally readied her last gambit. Feinting to the left and shifting the dagger in her right hand for a - hopefully - unexpected downwards strike on Min's thigh, Elyszara realised too late that she had concentrated too much on the tiefling's weapons and not the rest of her body. Min, quite simply, kicked Elyszara's foot from under her, sending the surprised aasimar tumbling down on the floor.

 

Min was upon her like a pouncing hunting cat, her daggers planted in the immaculately waxed wooden floor on each side of Elyszara's shoulders, "Nice try, my sweet girl, but it takes more than a little training." Min admonished, smiling as she planted a kiss on the pale skin of Elyszara's forehead. For her part, the aasimar was treated to a mesmerising view of Min's perfectly firm, beautifully feminine rounded breasts and taut, flat belly.

 

"Since you won, I think you get to steal a kiss." Elyszara said huskily, her indigo-painted lips curling into a rich, sensual smile. It was as if she did not care for the presence of Aerylle or Cirily in the room.

 

Min was sorely tempted. Under different circumstances, Elyszara was the sort of girl she would have spent whole days making love to, only sitting back against the headboard of the bed to eat, drink, exchange their most passionate fantasies before sinking onto sheets and acting them out. Most importantly, Elyszara was probably the playful type who entered into a tryst only for what it was worth and not what it had been forced to signify. Nevertheless, she felt strangely constrained with Aerylle now peering down on them with curious, if slightly disapproving, concern.

 

"Maybe another time." Min concluded with another one of her ambiguous, enigmatic smiles, before rising to her feet. Elyszara remained on the floor a few more moments; her pelvis and lower back still smarted a little from the fall.

 

"Serves you right." Cirily said in annoyance as Elyszara slowly, painfully picked herself up.

 

"Come on, Cirily, it was worth it: I made a friend...right?"

 

"You could say that." Min said wryly, taking a long hard look at Elyszara in order to fully appreciate the almost otherworldly grace of the aasimar's limbs, the slender, appealing roundness of her hips and bottom.

 

"Your movements are beautiful," Elyszara complimented, "you don't only fight with skill, you fight with intelligence."

 

"Yeah, I learned fast."

 

"In the Hive?" Elyszara asked curiously, tilting her head to one side as Aerylle and Cirily looked on, intrigued despite themselves. Aerylle in particular had not heard much of Min's past aside from her dryly cynical assessments of life in Sigil's well-worn quarters and her amorous exploits.

 

Min nodded. There was no way to tell that particular story, she could only allude to generalisations and leave her audience partially satisfied. To fully understand as she and Shesayne did, one had to have walked the same streets and breathed the same air.

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

 

They had drawn the red curtains again, so the tiny, cramped room was flooded in a faint, deep crimson light which, at the very edges of the walls faded into the darkness of the corners. Min preferred it that way; it made sleeping easier and life more private. In that sense, they were lucky enough to have their own room, for privacy was at a premium in the Hive.

 

Shesayne was still a little under shock as she sat sullenly on the bed they shared, staring at the featureless wall, watching red light creep across it in narrow bands. There was no room for her to pace nervously, so Min sat listlessly by the side of the bed, her hands clasping the old sheets. She could hear Shesayne breathe, she could almost hear the petite half-elf think, contemplate the day, imagine the future and despair. In that moment, though, all Min could do was wait for Shesayne to say something; the very fact that she had to wait for her friend to open her mouth was proof enough that nothing would be the same again.

 

"I don't think I've ever had such a long, strange day." Shesayne said quietly, without her usual exuberance. She still wore - somewhat to her discomfort - the matching white lace skirt and corset she had used to impersonate a respectable lady earlier that day; that was, of course, before the incident. Unlike Min, who seemed indifferent to killing - provided, Shesayne hoped, it was in self defence - the half elf had been profoundly struck by what she had done. She had never thought herself capable of taking the life of another; the inherent respect for all living things in her elven ancestry must have had something to do with that. Now she felt neither angry, frightened or depressed, just confused. Life itself had this fragility which she had never even considered.

 

Min sat pensively a moment before mustering an answer, "Nah, you're right, I've thought 'bout it too. I don't think I can keep this up myself. Sodding Hardheads at Civic Security will get us one day if something else doesn't. What I'm thinking now is what exactly are we going to do for food and kip?"

 

"I don't think my mother will have us here much longer. I think...she thinks I'm the biggest fuckup imaginable."

 

"Besides me, that is." Min said dryly.

 

Shesayne allowed herself a little ironic laugh. That was more than enough to raise Min's spirits, "D'you know, I heard that they're actually using people with...uh, talents like ours nowadays. Dig stuff out of the ground, clear out dead temples and the houses of fucked up old magicians who've departed to higher planes...something like that." The tiefling tried, at least, to float the idea.

 

"Yeah, but why would they take us?" Shesayne asked sceptically reclining slightly on the pillow she had propped up against the wall so she could turn her vivid blue eyes to contemplate the ceiling.

 

"No harm in trying." Min said as she made herself more comfortable on the bed, leaning back against the wall at the side of the bed and taking Shesayne's athletically slender legs in her lap, "I never thought I'd see you wear stockings." Min teased, eager to change the subject just for a little while, as she ran her hands curiously down the white silk fabric on the half-elf's thigh.

 

"I hate, loathe and detest the damn things, but a disguise is a disguise." Shesayne said, relaxing under Min's touch.

 

"D'you want me to make you feel better?" Min asked softly.

 

"Hmm...that always sounds like a good proposition," Shesayne replied seductively as Min pounced on top of her, tiefling's burning lips against her own almost before she realised it, "but admit it, the thought of fucking a high-up girl makes you all hot and wet."

 

"Maybe a little," Min conceded with a barely veiled smile as she felt Shesayne's fingers run loving down the flat, tautly muscular expanse of her belly, "but I don't think any excite me as much you."

 

"You clever little bitch," Shesayne joked, sliding her hands over the magnificent curve of Min's bottom, "that's exactly the same line you used to get me to let you lick me out in the store-room behind the schoolhouse."

 

"Well if it ain't broke..." Min said lasciviously as she sank back hungrily onto Shesayne's mouth, her tongue passionate and burning against the half-elf's.

 

"I can't believe we stuck around that place for so long;" Shesayne said bitterly between kisses, "six fucking semesters to learn nothing."

 

"Only 'cause your mother insisted." Min replied, shifting slightly to run her tongue down the length of Shesayne's sensitive ear.

 

"Yeah, and see where that got us...Min and Shesayne, ladies of breeding and education." The half-elf said, reprising her carefully-enunciated affectation of a bourgeois accent.

 

"Hey, y'know Shesayne," Min began playfully, "it kind of turns me on when you do that..."

 

"Oh all's good and well, 'cause I know just the thing then." Shesayne said quickly, pressing an finger against Min's lips, "You stay here." The half-elf said as she slid out from under Min and rose to her feet.

 

Shesayne moved to the centre of the room, directly in front of Min and struck a pose of bemused perplexity, "Oh my oh my, I think I was supposed to take the road to the left, what ever shall I do now?" She said resuming her affected propriety.

 

Min giggled knowingly; Shesayne was certainly never boring. Springing to her feet, Min moved up behind Shesayne who pretended to ignore her, "Couldn't help but overhear your distress miss," the tiefling started, her tone low and sultry as she whispered into the black-haired half-elf's ear, "could be that you need a tout, someone to guide you 'round."

 

"Oh, Madam, you frightened me, why your help would be most appreciated." Shesayne's white corset, Min noted, was extremely flattering to the half-elf round breasts which, in reality, where more than adequate in size for her small frame.

 

"'Course, miss, my services come at a price." Min continued, sliding a hand against the swell of Shesayne's skirt.

 

"Oh, well, money is no object, you know." Shesayne replied haughtily. Min had to agree that it had been an inspired idea to have Shesayne act as the public front of their thieving activities: the girl was a natural actress, who could easily slide into a variety of roles.

 

"Honestly, miss, I wasn't thinking of jink..." The tiefling's hand slipped up Shesayne's thigh, fingertips gliding over the silk and under the skirt, up to the juncture between the thighs. Silk undergarments too, Min noted - Shesayne had the act down to a tee; with, of course, the involuntary contribution of the tailor's shop.

 

"Oh really, how crude!" Shesayne protested; her theatrics were in order, but Min was happy to smile conspiratorially to herself when she sensed the dampness in her friend's undergarment.

 

"C'mon, miss, it's only a small price to pay." Min's lips were kissing the breath out of Shesayne's as the hand up the half-elf's skirt pressed firmly against the moistened sex through the delectable sensation of the damp silk.

 

"As you wish...I yield." Shesayne said breathlessly, heat stirring in her loins and between her temples. Min's hands were expert, agile fingers undoing the corset in firm, careful tugs, each successive round of laces coming undone to finally allow Shesayne's marvellous breasts, slightly tan like the rest of the half-elf's smooth skin, to spring forth. Her dark pink nipples, like ripe raspberries for the plucking, were achingly hard, so sensitive to the agonising brushing of the lacy garment against them as it came undone.

 

Min remained behind Shesayne, her hand still searching teasingly against the fabric of the half-elf's undergarments. Shesayne squirmed in the tiefling's arms, feeling the building tension swamp the wet juncture between her thighs, each movement complicated by the sliding of silk against hot, wanton flesh. Min gently cast the corset aside and began kissing down the curve of Shesayne's neck, her deep-red fingernails brushing with sharp little touches across the half-elf's skin which had seemingly become hyper-sensitive with desire. Trailing her tongue down lower, Min adjusted herself so she could crouch in front of her lover, just low enough take an enticing nipple between her lips, her tongue lapping hungrily against the engorged bud.

 

The raven-haired half-elf moaned, softly, leaning back against the wall of the cramped room, surrendering herself to Min's familiar touch. Min kissed lower down, brushing her lips against the rounded swell of Shesayne's breasts, before running a trail of hot, wet kisses down the girl's taut abdomen until she reached the frilly, lacy waist of the skirt. Hooking her dextrous hands under the folds of the garment, Min seized the edges of Shesayne's slip and began to pull it down at an agonisingly slow pace.

 

"Oh, Madam, I think it would be indecent in public like this." Shesayne protested breathlessly, still immersed in her role.

 

"Don't worry miss, I don't think you'd want to leave it on...y'know, soaked as it is it mightn't be too comfortable." Shesayne gritted her teeth as Min pulled the sodden undergarment down to her ankles so she could step out of it. The half-elf's heart hammered in her chest, the dense, sultry eroticism of Min's movements, gestures and voice was like a sensory assault on her. Min lunged under the skirt, her lush, deep-red lips now pressed against Shesayne's blooming, pink sex, the tiefling's mouth worked with passionate abandon, eagerly lapping at the lust-swollen folds, happily collecting the salty-sweet moisture therein.

 

Shesayne leaned back and spread her thighs further to give Min the fullest access possible. The tiefling kept her pressed against the wall, hands raised to stroke Shesayne's lean flanks and firm, buoyant breasts, her tongue busy at work coaxing the silky folds of the half-elf's sex open. Shesayne's sharp, high-pitched little cries began to fill the air as Min's hungry, passionate lapping increased in tempo and precision, closing in ever more on the swollen little bud between the hairless lips of her sex. Min knew of no greater pleasure than plunging into the delicately aromatic depths of Shesayne's sex, to nestle her head in the firm, welcoming nook between her lover's thighs; the girl was a beautiful synthesis of the two strands of her ancestry. Delicate, soft and floral like an elf, but with the wiry yet feminine athleticism Min more often found in humans.

 

Clasping Min's soft, ember-red strands of her in her fingers, Shesayne drew her lover in closer, beginning to thrust her pelvis with burning, passionate determination against the tiefling's invading tongue. She could feel Min deep within her core now, lapping at her innermost folds, lips locked, as if in a passionate kiss, with the folds of her sex. It was almost as if she could sense the tiefling's smouldering eyes, bright like two coals, scrutinising the wet feast before them in the dark, silken recesses of her skirt. Min knew exactly how to tease; how to scrape her fingernail deliciously under the tip of Shesayne's nipple, drawing out a renewed yelp of pleasure and surprise or how use the very tip of her tongue navigate the innermost folds of the half-elf's sex and to graze, ever so gently, against the tiny hard bud which had long since slipped its hood and now stood out stiff, as if begging for attention.

 

Min was all to keen to take her time and lavish her petite lover with all the attention she deserved as she slowly built up to the final push that would send Shesayne spiralling into her abyss of pleasure. It was, of course, Min's responsibility to remain calm and calculating, Shesayne, however, had already lost herself in the throes of passion. All she knew was the undulating movement of her hips, wantonly presenting her juicing sex to Min's attentions, and the pulsations in her chest and in her loins. As she felt the electric spasms of her climax overtake her, Shesayne realised that her mother was, in all probability, home, but she did not care. She allowed herself each and every sharp, passionate gasp as she felt the waves of her peak wash over her, flooding her belly and spine with hot, tension releasing pleasure.

 

The tiefling rose, quickly running a hand over her sultry lips to brush away excess moisture, before leaning in to kiss Shesayne and appreciate the last ragged breaths of the half-elf's orgasm, "I always leave the customer satisfied, miss." Min commented sensually as she kissed down her half-elven lover's neck. She wanted to be close to the girl's chest, just to feel the wild, primordial beating of her heart.

 

"Yeah..." Shesayne replied, lost in the spontaneity of what had, ironically, originally begun as an act, "But it's my turn now. Sit back on the bed, I want to make this extra-special for you." The half-elf ordered passionately.

 

Min complied, hastily pulling off her top, boots and leggings, her eyes never once leaving Shesayne. She usually preferred taking the lead when making love, but, then again, living with Shesayne she had to be flexible. As the tiefling settled back against the pillow, legs spread to reveal the crimson lips of her sex, already permeated with the nectar of her passion, Shesayne rummaged through a ramshackle drawer of the tiny bedside table and withdrew a dark blue vial.

 

"Well, well, it looks like sweet little Shesayne always knows what mood I'm in. So, where are you going to go this time?" Min sighed contentedly as she spread her thighs further, absentmindedly running a hand down the graceful swell of her own breasts, relishing the sharp sensation of the contact between fingernails and engorged, deep-flame red nipples.

 

"I still have to decide, but since it's my choice and my turn, I think I'll just take my time." Shesayne taunted as she poured the clear, oily contents of the vial onto the palm of her left hand and then spread it carefully on her right. Min could only bit her lip in anticipation, the tangy-spicy cinnamon scent of her sex filling the air just as the reddened light passing through the curtains appeared to emphasise the rich, red tinge of her skin.

 

"You ready?" Shesayne asked softly.

 

"Never been more ready in my life." Min replied with a wolfish grin as her half-elven lover moved on top her lips locking passionately once again.

 

Shesayne's lubricated right hand slid down the taller girl's belly, before gently teasing the sparse red curls on the tiefling's sex. The half-elf's movements were slow, sensuous and deliberate, as if she were deliberately decreasing her naturally hyperactive rhythm of life just to savour every single moment of intimacy with Min. Their kissing became more passionate as Min began to undulate her body against Shesayne, feeling the delightful sensation of her nipples brushing against the soft, yielding flesh of her lover's breasts. It was then that Shesayne decided it was time.

 

The half-elven girl slipped two fingers into the velvety, crimson folds of Min's sex, eliciting a sharp gasp from the tiefling. Silencing Min with a passionate, breathless kiss, Shesayne began to use her fingers to coax the canal into relaxation, gently spreading the sodden, swollen flesh apart. Her penetration was effortless even as she inserted a third finger. The lubricant she had applied had been concocted to maximise the sensitivity of the skin and flesh onto which it was applied, so it was not long before Min, despite all her efforts at dignified restraint, surrendered to low, lusty moans. Shesayne allowed Min to revel in her own passion, her lips now focused on the tiefling's exposed throat.

 

A fourth finger was added so that Shesayne's hand was bunched up in the steaming, welcoming recesses of Min's sex, her thumb still idly stroking the tiefling's inflamed clitoris. Shesayne allowed Min time to adjust and relax, her kisses between her lover's throat and shoulder becoming almost soothing as she disengaged her thumb from the girl's engorged little bud and gently brought it to join the other fingers in the depths of Min's canal. The tiefling drew a sharp intake of air as Shesayne worked herself in, worming in a half-inch at the time, pausing to allow Min to take enjoy the full pleasure of the penetration.

 

The ember-haired tiefling bucked her hips slightly, her hungry sex finally swallowing Shesayne's slender, delicate hand to the wrist. Her pleasure was indescribable, it exploded before her like a curtain of white, blinding light and, as she twisted her fingers cruelly into the tiefling's sex, Shesayne knew that Min was caught in an instant of pure, molten pleasure. For her part, Min almost felt as though she were about to choke, each intake of air in her lungs in no way sufficient to fuel the blazing flames of pleasure in her loins. When the pad of Shesayne's thumb found her most sensitive spot hidden deep in her sex and pressed, Min abandoned herself to the sharp, jarringly intense spasms of her climax, her sex clenching savagely around the half-elven girl's hand.

 

"Fuck! Shesayne..." Min gasped, her words almost inchoate as the great knot of tension in her loins was suddenly released in a stream of ecstatic contractions.

 

Shesayne eased her hand out of Min's still contracting sex, feeling the velvety walls close around her exiting fingers, "It didn't hurt too much, did it?" The half-elf inquired, concerned for a moment that she may have been too vigorous. Min's lower planar - some would insensitively say demonic - ancestry granted her some added flexibility, but Shesayne was always careful to ensure that particular procedure was always executed as carefully as possible.

 

"Nah, it never does." Min said almost dreamily, taking Shesayne into her arms.

 

"Hey, Min..."

 

"What?"

 

"Could you help me get out of this skirt and stockings, I look fucking ridiculous."

 

"Sure...sure." The tiefling replied, smiling as broadly as she would allow herself, as she untied the complex laces of the skirt and carefully peeled down and set aside the silken hose.

 

"Careful with those, they were sodding hard and a pain to steal."

 

"So we are going back to thieving?" Min inquired, planting a long, playful lick on Shesayne's big toe.

 

The half-elf squirmed slightly at the tickling sensation, "No...I mean, I don't know - haven't a clue. We could think about, other options...I mean...." She paused for a moment.

 

"You mean what?" Min said, leaning forward to draw Shesayne into her arms, sensing the girl's unease.

 

"I was thinking that...it's no big deal in the end, if you don't want to do it, I can do it for the both of us...really...you wouldn't have to do anything, just look out for me, y'know, select the..."

 

"I'm sick of this discussion, Shesayne, there's no way I'd do that...I'd fucking kill anyone who put a hand on you like that." Though she knew Shesayne to have a strong character, there was a hint of deep vulnerability in her. Now cradled in the tiefling's arms, she looked strangely small and wounded. That, in itself, was enough to irritate Min - they had fought together throughout childhood and adolescence to try to ensure that life - as they understood it - never overwhelmed them. Sometimes life was difficult, Min reflected, but never desperate - never that desperate.

 

"So what then?" Shesayne said anxiously, drawing closer to Min for warmth.

 

"We can go to this place tomorrow. Show 'em what we can do and if they tell us to sod off, we leave - no harm done."

 

"Min, we know absolutely nothing and nothing at all about magical items, spelunking or whatever. Why in the Nine Hells would they hire us?"

 

"'Cause we're cheap and eager to learn; we've got the speed and the quick thinking, I'm sure they'll like that." Min reassured.

 

The door to the bedroom suddenly sprung open, creaking at the hinges.

 

"Oh, fuck, Alaia, in Sigil we knock!" Shesayne shouted, springing to a kneeling position and seizing a pillow to cover herself. Min remained defiantly naked, it was not the first time Shesayne's mother caught them - far from it, it was almost as if she took pleasure in confirming her daughter's depravity.

 

"Is that any way to speak to your mother?" Shesayne's mother looked tired. Min always thought of her as rather pretty, in an aloof, elven sort of way and Shesayne quite obviously took a lot after her, but Sigil had apparently sapped much of her will to live, a decline which had worsened markedly over time.

 

"What do you want?" Shesayne snarled. Min lay back in the bed and decided to let them quarrel, as she always did, there had never been any point in interfering.

 

"I cannot allow you to stay anymore. You are an utter disgrace and you have brought me nothing but worries. You refuse to study, refuse to work or dedicate yourself to a craft, refuse to find a decent elven..."

 

"They don't fuck halfbreeds Alaia, get it? But you do, don't you? That's why you're here, still all alone, you'll always be the slut who had to go fuck a human!" Shesayne's eyes were vivid with resentful fury.

 

"If you knew..." Shesayne's mother began mournfully. It truly pained her to hear her daughter speak in such a manner, not least to her own mother.

 

"Yeah, you told me a countless thousand of times, and I still don't fucking feel sorry for you."

 

"Shesayne, easy..." Min interjected, although her policy was one of non-interference, the scene had become one of hysteria as opposed to rightful indignation.

 

"Look at yourself, my daughter, a tiefling has to tell you to hold your temper. Ethai tuun ahmeily..."

 

"I don't speak Elven." Shesayne interrupted brusquely, clutching her pillow with hot, angry violence. Min knew that to be a lie, though they seldom talked about it. Shesayne was actually fairly proficient in the language but generally refused to speak or give sign that she understood it.

 

Shesayne's mother shook her head sadly, her cause was lost, "It pains me, my daughter, but I would like you to leave by next daybreak. I can only hope we meet in happier times." With that, she turned and left.

 

"How much do we have in the stash?" Shesayne asked after ascertaining that her mother had left.

 

"Four, maybe five hundred."

 

"That little?"

 

"Don't worry, it'll last a while if we go stay at Khaida's, she'll cut us a deal on a room."

 

"Right," Shesayne said, a little spark of her normal, determinate self resurfacing, "so how do we get to this retrievals place?"

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

 

Elyszara drew a deep breath as she waited outside the side chapel in the great Temple of the Vigilant Maiden. The class of novices Friyya taught had yet to disperse and time seemed to drag on. Upon reflection, she still had the opportunity to leave, though Cirily would no doubt find out and come up with yet another means of chastisement. Although it was large, sleeping on the divan for three consecutive days could take its toll and no amount of seductive play on Elyszara's part could make Cirily change her mind. If there was one thing the aasimar was good at was firmness of convictions and that included punishment. In reality, Elyszara thought, Cirily would probably make a good mother.

 

The Temple was cool, its stone and marble structure conveying an elegant, but solid beauty. Although the columns were, in Elyszara's view, a little overwrought, the Temple itself seemed to breathe an effortless, minimalist dignity. Hearing stirrings in the side chapel, Elyszara steeled herself, reclining on the side wall to let the novices walk out. She could have approached this matter more directly, but on second thought, the more responsible side of her - that side which she had very often neglected - told her that she had caused Syf far too much embarrassment already. It would have been inhumane to drag her for a formal meeting - a surreptitious apology to Friyya would be all that was required and that would be the end of the story. Or so Elyszara hoped. In retrospect, it had probably been a bad idea to provoke anyone with good proficiency in the longsword.

 

A wave of white-clad novices passed Elyszara by, most immediately setting out back to their daily chores, even as one remained to steal a curious glimpse at the aasimar. Elyszara could not help but smile enigmatically in return and the novice, a charming girl in the aasimar's eyes blushed visibly, averting her deep, green eyes.

 

"Have a good lesson?" Elyszara called, nodding her head in greeting.

 

"Yes, thank you," Ithunn replied, somewhat perplexed at the strange woman, fascinating, fae-like woman who looked like something she had seen in a storybook, "Friyya always explains things quite clearly. She knows how to communicate with the novices." Although it was only a minor doctrinal lesson on the rules of propriety, Friyya's course was one of Ithunn's favourites, certainly less dense than her other courses. Of course, this assessment was contingent on Ithunn not thinking too hard about how Syf was, and since the recent, infamous incident with Inge, would probably always be Friyya's.

 

"Sounds great...say, what are you doing after..." Elyszara almost had to bite her tongue to contain herself - force of habit, "sorry, nevermind. Anyway, I must be holding you up. So it was nice meeting you, have a nice day."

 

"Nice to meet you too, my name is Ithunn and if you want, you can always find me here or near the armoury." The novice replied as she turned to leave; good fencers were normally quite perceptive.

 

"Elyszara..." The aasimar specified almost out of instinct, she really had to begin to control herself. But, in a sense, it had been inevitable. Ithunn had viscerally, deep down in her subconscious, reminded her of Virginia when she was still a novice and when they had met in Arborea. The happiness of that moment had never quite slipped from Elyszara's mind.

 

"See you then, Lady Elyszara." Ithunn called out as she made her way down the Temple's nave. She did not quite know whether that was a promise or a platitude.

 

Deciding to sideline the matter - hopefully once and for all - Elyszara turned and entered the side chapel. Friyya was gathering up a couple of leather-bound books, preparing to leave.

 

"Uh, milday Friyya..." Elyszara began tentatively.

 

"What can I do for you?" The paladin interjected, not coldly, but simply matter-of-factly.

 

"I think I owe you an explanation. What I mean is, there is something I ought to..."

 

"You need to apologise?" Friyya again interrupted, turning to face the aasimar, "Your lover sent you, didn't she?"

 

"How do you..."

 

"She is a good person, she has a conscience and cares very much for individuals besides herself." Friyya replied tersely, standing impatiently in front of Elyszara, her eyes, as blue as a glacial river seemed to sear into the aasimar's.

 

"I can understand your distress, milady Friyya, but if you would give me the opportunity to speak, I would be grateful." Elyszara said apologetically.

 

"Go on."

 

"You and I clearly have different takes on this. But what I do know now, just as I knew it then, was that this would probably cause you and Syf both much pain. So I apologise both for my intemperance and my stupidity. Never for a moment did I intend to replace you in Syf's heart, it was just a silly little dalliance. Of course...that doesn't, uh...excuse me, but please understand that there was no malice." Elyszara, who had never been one for lessons in humility, found herself quite irked at her own grovelling.

 

"Do you hate yourself?" Friyya asked suddenly.

 

"What?"

 

"Do you hate yourself so much that you cannot accept that you are enough to fill another or that another is enough to fill you? When you tell me it was but a dalliance, you are telling me that you view yourself as incapable of making others love you...as if your affection had no lasting effect."

 

"But why would Syf take one thing to be another?" Elyszara asked, not quite sure where Friyya intended to go with her line of argument.

 

"Because, you have your good qualities as well. When you want, you can be witty, charming and loving. And you and I both know that you are very beautiful. My point is that you have great gifts and so this situation is a twofold shame because, as far as I'm concerned you cheapened yourself with Syf and, by unfortunate extension, with me."

 

Elyszara looked down on the stone flagstones of the chapel dejectedly. There was so much she would have wanted to explain to Friyya, but then there were some things she could not even confess to Cirily, though she had suspicion that she knew already without being told, let alone a virtual stranger, "Sometimes," the aasimar began tentatively, trying to translate her troubled thoughts into audible words, "I feel this emptiness in my conscience, so sometimes my selfish, shameless side slips in and I can't control it. It seizes control of me."

 

"We all hurt." Friyya replied tersely, "But you have been fortunate all your life, you have never wanted for anything, you have a devoted lover and, from what I understand, a very doting mother. You, of all people, the daughter of celestial being should know the importance of dealing fairly and ethically with your emotions."

 

"Sorry." Was all that Elyszara could conjure up. She just wanted the lecture to end, to sink into the earth and never be seen for a thousand revolutions of Sigil's wheel.

 

"You have already apologised and I have already accepted your apology, so let us be at peace." Friyya said calmly.

 

"Understood."

 

"Elyszara, please, don't misunderstand me. I have no intention of lecturing you. We are all flesh and blood and live with the consequences of our - often foolish - choices. Now come, if you have time, I would like to offer you a cup of tea, you are technically my guest here, after all." 

 

"That would be lovely." Elyszara said, perking up a little in response to Friyya's softening approach.

 

As they proceeded into the communal dining hall, Friyya decided to be civil and put the incident behind her. So they spoke of nothing in particular - an art in which Elyszara shone. The whole incident had, however, opened up another, more secret and personal, debate in Friyya, something that had been haunting her for quite some time. Every, of course, was inter-connected and no one event was free from the distant causal effects of another. That was one of main theories to explain the vastness and order of the Multiverse and one which still left Friyya perplexed and fascinated. So she tried to remember that time when the sensation had first started.

***********

 

"This is awful." Friyya moaned. It was only going to be thirty days before their Consecration ceremony and she had, of all things, been assigned with Marséna to undertake a survival exercise on a Prime world. Friyya was certain that the assignment of her partner had been Isobel's doing, the Vice-Commander's sadistic streak when it came to her knew no bounds. Now she was immersed in almost pitch blackness, under the pouring, freezing and almost torrential rain in a world she had never seen in an area she had never even imagined the gods and goddesses could have bothered to create.

 

"Stop whining," Marséna said tensely - Friyya may have been a pain, but she did have something of a point, "just help me with the tent." The Mareterran girl could not help but notice that she must have gotten the worst possible pick of a world merely because she was partnered with Friyya; Isobel did not care who suffered alongside Friyya, as long as she suffered.

 

"I can't see the blasted thing, and I can't feel my fingers." Friyya whimpered, groping the in the near darkness, her frozen hands only illuminated by a single, magically levitating mote of light.

 

"You're useless." Marséna snapped. She was certainly not used to these temperatures and could only wish to once again see the bright, hot sun of her native land, but under the circumstances it was her duty - or so she understood - to stretch her capabilities to the fullest. How they would get through the night was another matter. Although they had been fortunate enough to find a relatively sheltered rock outcropping in the wood into which they had been gated via planar portal, the wind was cutting and lashed the droplets of rain into their faces.

 

"I hate you," Friyya said desperately, "you have no compassion." Her fingers fumbled once again with the fabric of the tent, letting it slip into the muddy ground.

 

"You stupid bitch!" Marséna snarled, pushing Friyya aside. If you want something done properly, she thought, always do it yourself.

 

"How dare you address me that way, peasant, I thought you would have been at home in the mud." Friyya sniped viciously.

 

Marséna reluctantly swallowed the urge to wring Friyya's neck and ignored her. There was no way the tent was going to find purchase in the muddy ground - it was far too wet and the wind far too insistent. She could not even hear herself think; all she could hear was the howling of the wind, the moaning of the trees and, most distracting of all, Friyya's petulant whining. Marséna decided to give it one last try by planting the central wooden support into a patch of earth she hoped would be more resilient. It wasn't and the wet wood slipped from her hands, sliding down to one side of the outcrop.

 

"I give up." Marséna said darkly. They would simply have to sit it out; wait till after noontide the next day and hope for a planar gate out.

 

"What do you mean you give up?" Friyya shouted, almost hysterically, "Do something!" The wind had saturated her long auburn hair and it clung to her pale face in long, kelp-like strands.

 

"Why me?" Marséna replied defiantly.

 

"I don't know...you're...good with these things."

 

"And what exactly, may I ask, are you good with?"

 

"How did you do in your last exam?" Friyya said snidely.

 

"Whatever, great...you'll make a wonderful priestess, no doubt, so why don't you stop playing the paladin? You're not a child anymore and this isn't a game of 'let's pretend'."

 

"What, and give you the satisfaction?"

 

"Nevermind," Marséna said, keen to interrupt the bickering for a moment, "did you bring any extra supplies, we finished the ones they gave us at lunch."

 

"No, but I do have two hundred Sigil marks."

 

Marséna took a long, hard stare at Friyya. It was a look of utter, dumbfounded confusion, "What the fuck for?"

 

"You should really hold your tongue, it's unbecoming of a lady, let alone a paladin."

 

"No, really, what for?" Marséna felt the rage she had repressed rising back into her throat.

 

"Well, my mother always used to say to carry some spare change around, there is no situation you can't buy your way out of, to paraphrase one of her lectures."

 

"What do you expect us to do with that over here? Look, just wait here like a good little girl while the adults look for something to improvise a shelter from." Marséna had taken quite enough of Friyya's farcical behaviour. She rose to her feet and looked around, her eyes lashed mercilessly by the flailing droplets. She took a few steps forwards, away from the outcropping and towards a particularly dense cluster of trees she had seen in the distance. Her tunic and cloak were utterly soaked, but there was no point in sitting down and resigning herself to her fate.

 

It was then that she spied something in the corner of her eye.

"Friyya, how many enchanted motes of light did we bring with us?" Marséna called back into the night.

 

"One, why?" Came the faint reply.

 

"Get up here, now! Bring our packs." Marséna ordered as she began to approach the gleam she had detected in the darkness. Friyya followed breathlessly close behind, her footsteps heavy and sloshing in the waterlogged mud.

 

"What...oh....is that...." Friyya began. It must have been a mirage.

 

"Yes," Marséna said with barely contained satisfaction, "I believe, my sweet Friyya, that to be an inn."

 

They ran towards the light in almost frantic anticipation, approaching a low, warmly lit wooden structure placed just behind a wall of trees so that it was not immediately visible to those off the trail.

 

"Do you reckon we can pay with your money?" Marséna asked, concerned that they may have built up their hopes only to see them frustrated.

 

"Well...gold is gold, right? They can weigh it if they want."

 

"I never thought you could be so useful." Marséna said with a smile she hoped was veiled by the night.

 

Slowing down to a more leisurely jog as they approached the large, simply carved wooden entrance to the inn, Marséna and Friyya thought they had found the realm of the Vigilant Maiden herself as they stepped inside. An enchanted fire that gave no smoke burned in a blazing pit at the centre of a moderately busy dining room, lighting the wooden furnishings and hunting ornaments hung on the wall with a dim, fiery glow.

 

Although neither of the two spoke any of the languages of that particular Prime world, which its natives called Toril, Friyya's eager gesticulation pointing to her coin purse and simulating the motion of one falling to sleep soon got them an appropriately cosy room with a tub of steaming hot water near a pleasantly warm fireplace.

Though the room was spartan, it was well-maintained and beautifully appointed with rich wooden walls and flooring and an overstuffed bed with pristine linen sheets.

 

"Bed's mine." Friyya called in a airy tone as they entered the room. She undressed almost desperately, stripping off her wet cloak, tunic and boots and thrusting her hands into the steaming water of the pewter tub.

 

"What?" Marséna protested, all too eager to pull of her own clothes and cast them aside with visceral relief.

 

"And who, pray tell, is paying for the room?" Friyya taunted.

 

"You would have me sleep on the floor, you heartless bitch?"

 

"The bedrolls are still dry, our packs are waterproof if I'm not mistaken. You can curl up next to the fire like the big, dark cat you are while your mistress takes her well deserved rest." Friyya continued with glee as she climbed directly into the bath. The metal tub clearly possessed some sort of minor enchantment to keep the water warm throughout the night.

 

"Salopa." Marséna growled between gritted teeth as she retrieved the bedroll from her pack and draped a white bathing shawl around her shoulders.

 

"What was that?" Friyya was, in reality, too absorbed in the comforting warmth of the bath to care too much for whatever Marséna had said. If that was the Mareterran's little satisfaction, so be it.

 

Taking a seat on the corner of the bed - and ruefully noting its heavenly, buoyant softness - Marséna waited for Friyya to finish bathing. It was bad enough that she was being effectively treated as the auburn-haired novice's scullery maid, but the indignity of having to use the same bathwater as well was almost inconceivable.

 

"What are you looking at?" Friyya inquired, cocking her head slightly to look at Marséna. The warm glow of the fireplace was flattering on the Mareterran novice's sun-kissed, olive skin, illuminating the wonderful curves of her full, perfectly proportioned breasts, of flared hips that ran directly into firm, athletic thighs.

 

"Don't flatter yourself." Marséna said dismissively. Friyya, however, even in Marséna's sceptical eyes, had good reason to flatter herself: unblemished skin like milk, a perfect, sculptural frame complemented by the firmness granted by the demanding physical training of a novice paladin, and auburn hair which was like a cascade of autumn-golden apples.

 

"Oh, flatter myself?" Friyya began, resuming her taunting tone as she splashed some warm water over her perfectly rounded breasts, "You know, I saw you that time with your hands under the sheets and between your thighs...Goddess knows how many times you did it when I was asleep."

 

Marséna hoped it was dark enough in the room that Friyya could not see her blush, "I don't know what you're talking about." She mumbled hastily.

 

"You know, sometimes it's tiring to have so many lusting after you. They fail to appreciate my other talents."

 

"Like what?" Marséna said sarcastically.

 

"You know...grace, charm, intelligence, good conversation and the rest of it."

 

"Friyya, I hope you realise that when people at the Order think about you, they are normally see themselves on top of you rather than having an intellectual debate with you."

 

"Some are just weak minded." Friyya said rising from the tub, the water falling off her pearly skin like rain. Seizing a bathing shawl by the fireplace, she stepped out of the tub and began to dry her shoulders and hair, "You can use the tub if you want." She added, almost as an afterthought.

 

Marséna swallowed a curse so vile she surprised even herself. Muttering angrily to herself, she tentatively knelt by the side of the bathtub and tested the water. Friyya finished drying herself off and sat by the side of the bed, a contraband portable mirror in hand as she began to clean her teeth with a detergent pick. She settled for nothing less than a perfect, pearlescent smile. In the corner of her eye, though, she spied the harmonious, feminine curves of Marséna's sublime bottom as the Mareterran girl knelt by the tub.

 

"Why are we always quarrelling, Marséna?" Friyya asked suddenly, still concentrating on her handheld mirror.

 

"Good question." Came the cool reply as Marséna finally decided to step into the tub for at least a quick soak.

 

"I mean, who started it? It seems to me that we've worked each other into a vicious circle." Satisfied with her handiwork, Friyya put away the detergent stick and retrieved her hairbrush.

 

"I think you did when you insisted on bringing up my...emotional response to being away from home the first few nights in the dormitory." Although Friyya had enjoyed it first, the warm water was indisputably relaxing.

 

"But that was just teasing..."

 

"And when you claimed that I wet the bed."

 

"Yes, alright, but each time you sent me to the infirmary during practice...and what about the time you said that Isobel hated me because I slept with her lover?" Friyya replied indignantly.

 

"Yeah, I may have gone overboard sometimes, but you know I have something of a temper." Marséna said, the bath was putting her in a better mood.

 

"But it's not just that." Friyya said, her tone more conciliatory, "I also think about those times you were kind to me, despite everything, so kind, in fact, that you made me feel terrible."

 

"Don't mention it."

 

"I remember that time, not too long ago when my cycle hurt so much I thought it was going to kill me. It was late at night and you must have seen that I wasn't in my bed, so you found me doubled over in the bathing chamber. I begged you not to tell anyone, because I hated myself then...I didn't want to appear weak, because, you know, that's what they say behind my back - that I am weakling. Then and there, I thought you were going to mock me, but you took me in your arms and brought me to the kitchen and I told you we would get in trouble if they caught us there after curfew. But you didn't care and you made me that tisane of yours to drink...to soothe my womb." Friyya had set aside her mirror to look Marséna straight in the eye.

 

"I guess even the daughter of peasants can be of use." Marséna said with irony, even though she was smiling.

 

"You don't think this is cheating, though," Friyya said, suddenly changing the subject, "I mean, staying at an inn when we should be engaged in a survival exercise."

 

"In my part of the Multiverse we have a saying that if the eye doesn't see, the heart isn't troubled." Marséna preferred to leave the doctrinaire interpretations of the Vigilant Maiden's ethos to Syf and Virginia, she was, first and foremost, a pragmatist and Friyya...well, Friyya was just Friyya, for better and for worse.

 

"If you want, Marséna, we can share the bed, we shared a room for so long, it really doesn't matter." Friyya conceded, almost despite herself.

 

"How generous of you." Marséna said wryly.

 

"No, it's a pleasure. Now come here and let me dry your hair." Friyya invited.

 

Somewhat surprised at the novice's change in mood, Marséna made herself comfortable by Friyya's side as the auburn-haired girl positioned herself behind and began massaging the Mareterran's scalp and long, coal-black tresses with the bathing shawl.

 

"You know, Marséna," Friyya said as she admired the iodine-tan hue of her friend's skin, "I was actually flattered, in a sense, that you thought of me in that way...you know, that night when I saw you..."

 

"Yes, yes," Marséna interjected quickly, "but most of the dormitory must have at one stage or another."

 

"But it's special that you find me beautiful. Because, and I think I'll only say this once, I admire you...you're like Syf in so many ways." Friyya paused briefly, setting aside the bathing shawl and placing her slender hands on Marséna's shoulders.

 

"Thanks, I don't think I could ever imagine our little foursome without you anyway."

 

"Marséna," Friyya began softly, her heartbeat accelerating a notch, "I think I'm about to do something I may regret..."

 

"Kiss me."

 

"The romantic thing, for future reference," Friyya said as Marséna tilted her head to one side to greet the auburn-haired novice's sensual, moist lips with her own, "is to wait for me to finish."

 

Friyya kissed passionately, seeking fulfilment in the sensual, sultry warmth of Marséna's lips. The Mareterran girl was soon upon her, thrusting Friyya down onto the bed and renewing the kiss with burning fervour, exploring the that mouth she had so longed to consume. Friyya's hands instinctively gripped Marséna's bottom, slender, white fingers running down the bronzed curves, gliding over the tight valley between the perfect, feminine buttocks.

 

"You like it, don't you." Marséna teased between kisses as she ran her hands under Friyya's breasts, feeling their firm softness before grazing the taut, cherry-red peaks of the girl's nipples.

 

Friyya moaned softly, only to be suffocated once more in the smouldering, lusty embrace of Marséna's full lips, "You're beautiful, all of you is." Were the only words she could let slip as her hands continued to travel aimlessly between the taut musculature of Marséna's thighs and the delicious, inviting swell of her bottom.

 

"Don't worry, you'll get to know it much better." Marséna said huskily, her kisses trailing down lower. The Mareterran girl ran her tongue up the gentle curve of Friyya's breasts before taking a stiff, achingly hot nipple between her lips and applying a lovingly gentle, sucking pressure. Friyya squirmed, Marséna appeared to her as raw sensuality; tanned skin glowing in the firelight, full breasts swaying with each movement, their cafe-au-lait nipples hard and eager under her fingers. Friyya drew in her breath as Marséna moved down, her long raven-black tresses trailing down, almost tickling the auburn-haired girl's pale skin. By the time Marséna lay poised between her thighs, breath hot on the dark blonde curls atop her sex, Friyya cared for nothing but complete surrender to the expert, playful tongue she knew would soon part the lips of her sex to find the treasures nestled within.

 

"Marséna..." Friyya sighed, eyes closed, bucking her hips upwards a little to invite the novice's attentions. There was no response. "Marséna?" Friyya looked up to see the Mareterran girl looking down at her with deep, sad, brown eyes.

 

"I...simply don't know."

 

"Marséna, what's wrong? We can do it any way you like it," Friyya said, concerned that she may have been too demanding or abrupt, "if you prefer it like this..."

 

"No." Marséna interjected, grabbing hold of Friyya's shoulder as the auburn-haired girl tried to roll over onto her belly, "I won't be your plaything."

 

"Marséna, sweetest, please, it's just a peace offering now that we have some time to ourselves."

 

"You forget Syf and Virg and so it's just as I thought, you will always think of yourself as the axis around which the Multiverse has to spin. You think you can have your fun far from your responsibilities, forget about it and revert naturally back to being a bitch tomorrow morning?" Marséna said softly, dismounting from the bed.

 

"Oh..." If she had to be perfectly honest with herself, the thought had slipped from her mind for the briefest instant. It was not that she was in love with or even infatuated with Marséna - to be sure, she felt deep affection for her, but her attempts at intimacy had been based on pure curiosity. Upon more rational analysis, that was the problem.

 

"Nevermind, it would be best if we went to sleep. We started something stupid and now we should just forget about it" With that Marséna unfurled her bedroll on the floor and slipped under its rough covers. It was, she reflected, always better than staying outside. At least they had shelter and the fire was invitingly warm.

 

"No, it's my fault...but please, don't be silly, come to bed."

 

"You wanted it, you have it." Came the cold reply. Marséna, too, was somewhat disappointed with herself, but at least she had kept the bulk of her desire in. Friyya had objectively offered her the culmination of her guilty little fantasy, but it would have been something she would have hated herself for, especially when she returned to Virginia. Now her only imperative was to sleep and forget the evening had ever happened.

 

There was silence in the room for long, almost agonising moments. As the last hours of the night approached, the fire was dimmed from some central source, so that the hearth now framed only glowing embers, whose radiating heat kept the room more than comfortable. Marséna could only stare into their deep redness and try to read rhyme and reason in their glow, in the tiny sparks which occasionally sprung from their surface. She curled into the bedroll, almost defensively, trying to understand whether there was any sense at all in sentiment or desire, or whether they were just cruel contrivances inflicted by divinities to torment mortals.

 

Suddenly, the bedroll stirred behind Marséna and she felt warmth and breath behind her.

 

"What are you doing here? I already said no."

 

"That's not the only thing we can do." Friyya said softly, her voice trembling.

 

"Go to bed."

 

"I'm not moving." Friyya said resolutely, draping an arm around Marséna's waist, taking her time to feel the gentle rising and falling of the Mareterran girl's firm belly in rhythm with her breathing. Marséna could only nod wordlessly - very much touched by the gesture -  and clutch Friyya's hand in hers.

 

"I wish...I wish you had done this sooner. I always wanted to be liked by you." Marséna confessed, feeling Friyya's warm, naked body press against her back, the girl's breath soothing on her hair and shoulders.

 

"You always were." Friyya only hoped that Marséna did not see her tears of regret that she had ruined the evening and missed so many opportunities to show her friend how she really felt.

 

"You do know that tomorrow, we'll be at each other's throats again, right?" Marséna warned, half-jokingly.

 

"One step at the time, Marséna, one step at the time."