"Practice temperance, discernment and good judgement. Do not deny yourself the pleasures of this world, but do not become submerged by them. Give your heart and body to whom you love, provided she be a fellow Sister. Never surrender yourself to wantonnes, vulgarity, nor suffer your womb to be seeded."

Commentary on Founding Axiom 41, Order of the Radiant Path of the Vigilant Maiden: ...[I]t has been a matter of some debate whether "fellow Sister" - uure Svejjsta in the oldest extant versions (Old Ortho, Svevic dialect) - alludes to any female (cf. Axioms 9, 12 and 55) or to members of the Order. In recent times, the former interpretation has been preferred.

- "Religions and Cults of Sigil, a Concise Guide", Article and Commentary on the Radiant Path by S.P. v. Dassau

The Temple of Eilistraee was quiescent. Virginia walked with trepidation, clad in her most formal white and gold dress tunic, with a visibly embarrassed Lily by her side. Although it was self-evidently difficult for the obsidian-skinned dark elf to show physical signs of being ill at ease, there was a certain terse, dry quality to her tone which told Virginia a story of desperation. There was no other word to describe the series of choices Lily had taken in order for her to swallow her pride and finally seek another patron Goddess, far from Lloth, who no longer answered her prayers, but suitably dark elven nonetheless.

Eilistraee, the patron Goddess of reformed Dark Elves - the Silver Dancer - had long been an ally of the Vigilant Maiden, but contacts between their two cults had been kept, to put it mildly, at a polite distance. Thus, it was with some trepidation that Virginia made her way into the great entrance hall and stared at a silvery ceiling that seemed studded with glittering stars. All of the Temple appeared to be shrouded in a perpetual twilight, illuminated only by an exquisitely elegant silver statue of a voluptuous, naked drow maiden, a little more than life-size, which seemed to levitate effortlessly in the air, suspended atop the main altar at the far end of the hall.

Virginia's boots resounded heavily on the polished marble floor - perhaps too heavily. She felt awkward and out of place, almost as much as Lily. There was a rarefied delicacy to all her surroundings - to the fluted columns, the singing fountains of bluish water, the silken tapestries embroidered with entrancing, abstract patterns. Everything was so distinctly elven, yet uniquely so. It was as if those dark elves who had chosen to abandon Lloth for Eilistraee, once more approaching the light of the surface world, had done so in their own way; by building a new aesthetic which nevertheless maintained all of the great creative potential of the drow race. Lily, however, could only stare dismissively in the direction of the altar, her red eyes glowing ever so slightly in the Temple's penumbra. Despite herself, she felt her fists clench almost reflexively. Virginia had insisted that she wear her best spider-silk gown, but Lily had discarded the idea, instead electing to make a statement by presenting herself dressed as neutrally as possible, with only a simple white blouse and black leggings. That choice, in truth, had disappointed Virginia, though the paladin never ceased to be amazed by how Lily's lush curves were complemented effectively with just about anything.

Like the dark elf herself, Lily's body had a dangerous, but heart-stoppingly beautiful allure, so much so that Virginia could not help but delve deeper into her lover with each passing day, both in and outside the bedchamber. So Lily stood impatiently by the altar, her gaze flitting nervously between the glorious statue suspended in mid-air and Virginia. As much as she loathed to admit it, the paladin was Lily's only point of reference and source of support in that strange and ominous place. While training for the priesthood of Lloth in her home city deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Lily remembered Eilistraee - Lloth's rebellious daughter - being spoken of only with the most extreme abhorrence. The very mention of her name was enough to cause some of the more fanatical priestesses to become more sadistic than usual. Now, Lily realised that there was no irony greater than turning up to the temple of a hated foe as a supplicant.

Sensing her lover's unease, Virginia placed a reassuring hand on Lily's shoulder. "We can come back another time if you are not yet ready..." the paladin began, only to be interrupted by Lily's firm rebuttal.

"No! I am Lily and not Lloth's plaything. It is my choice to worship whom I please and if Lloth will not condescend to answer my prayers, I shall be the first to take my devotions elsewhere." The dark elf's shoulder felt tense under Virginia's hand.

"They are drow, like you - surely they would never look down on you..."

"I would never entertain such a thought!" Lily interjected indignantly, imperiously turning her back on Virginia and making her way to the altar. "They shall show me all due respect. But I am troubled nonetheless. My experience with Lloth tells me that when Goddesses demand absolute obedience, they scarcely repay their followers in kind." For the very first time, there was real bitterness when Lily spoke of Lloth. Virginia was struck by the drow woman's determination to shed her past, but more so by such an evident act of blasphemy against a Goddess around whom Lily's life had been built before her arrival in Sigil. But the turning of the Wheel of Fate was stronger still than deities. Lily knew she had to adapt - or perish, just as if she were in any drow city.

"Just because Lloth is not moved by the suffering of her worshippers, does not mean that other deities are equally callous." Virginia protested, hastening to reach Lily's side.

"Like flies in a spiderweb are we to our Goddesses - so that we may be drained clean of our life for their entertainment." Lily muttered. The humiliation of being compelled to seek solace in the Temple of Eilistraee only added to her cynicism.

"My Goddess - the blessed Vigilant Maiden -" Virginia began, her tone measured and comforting, "gave me a new a life when I could no longer stand the suffering of my sisters or madness of my mother. My Goddess asks only for a righteous life and her gifts are great in return."

"You speak of your encounter with your sisters?" Lily mused, she had stopped by an ornate, fluted column, its silvery surface glimmering in the pale light of the empty temple.

"Yes. Had I not found the Vigilant Maiden, perhaps I would have become no better than Isolde. She was always the sensitive, quiet, thoughtful one. Her mind was brilliant - so full of ideas, so that she could recall whole pages in a book she had read only from memory. She..." Virginia smiled, almost nostalgically for the Isolde she had lost, the Isolde who had not been warped into the monster that had tortured Shesayne, "she...always used to win sweets for Astrid and me in bets with the neighbourhood boys. They would challenge her to tell them how many marbles could fit into a box just by looking at it. She got it right every time." The part of the story Virginia was not yet ready to tell was that she and her sisters would then be compelled to consume all the sweets before returning home, lest their mother lock them in the freezing meat storage chamber for the night.

"At least she survived...and prospered." Lily noted dryly. She was still unaccustomed to the notion of three sisters being born simultaneously. Multiple pregnancies amongst the drow normally resulted in one sibling killing the other - or, indeed, others - in the womb.

"Lily!" Virginia scolded, more vigorously than she had intended. "That's quite besides the point. Are you not Shesayne's friend? Are you not outraged at what Isolde has done to her?"

"I think you and I both know that your sister's abduction of Shesayne was a..." Lily paused, her agile mind searching for the appropriate word even as she felt that her mastery of Sigil's lingua franca was near complete, "...stratagem to draw you in. Before you arrival, no harm would have come to her."

"Well..." the paladin conceded. "I suppose it all turned out for the best, but I take no pleasure in opening up old wounds with Isolde."

"Old wounds?" Lily noted, a smile of amused interest creeping across her sensual, violet lips.

"I...think I may well have wronged her." Virginia confessed, her voice falling, quite suddenly, to a guilty whisper. Lily turned briefly to face the paladin and saw Virginia's eyes downcast, her arms crossed defensively under her breasts.

"Oh?" Vengeance and the dynamics of hate and resentment were familiar ground for Lily.

"She trusted me to rescue her and...well, I never quite managed to live up to my promise. When I left to join the Order of the Radiant Path, I told Astrid and Isolde that I would return and set them free from our nightmare. In time, though, I forgot - or grew too busy with matters I considered to be more important...fell too much in love with Marséna to think about anyone else." Virginia bit her lip, her mind wracked by the memories of a past so full of pain, yet brimming with the hope for a better future.

"Fools live mired in the past." Lily said, both to herself and to Virginia. "We are a stronger breed...are we not, Virginia? We shall master the past to forge our own lives...sisters and Goddesses are but obstacles thrown in our path." The dark elf smiled, with such spontaneous amusement that Virginia was touched. Was this a glimpse of the real Lily, slowly breaking free from her self-imposed shell?

It was a gentle, melodic voice that interrupted their conversation. "Apologies for your wait, Mesdames, I fear we have a staff shortage here in Sigil. So many of our adepts are on mission on the Prime Material Plane." The speaker was a serenely beautiful dark elf woman, clad in a satin robe seemingly woven from moonbeams. The garment, which fell tastefully and with restrained sensuality over the priestess' voluptuous form, appeared to emit its own subtle, lunar glow, so that the obsidian skin beneath it was subtly radiant, like a star-filled midnight sky.

"There is no need to apologise," Virginia ventured, offering a stiffly formal bow, "we are grateful for the time you have given us. As I indicated in my letter, I am Lady Virginia of the Order of the Radiant Path and this is Tal..."

"Lily." Lily interrupted firmly, her searing gaze now fixed on the priestess. Never had she seen such a peaceful, contented expression on a drow.

"Of course, Lily, and a pleasure it is to meet you." the priestess nodded, indicating her peaceful intentions with a subtle turn of her hand. Although she was not happy to admit it to herself, Lily was somewhat reassured by the familiar tone of the priestess' voice, musical and lilting like her native tongue, and the use of the complex sign language which punctuated most public conversation between drow. "I am Ziyellea. I understand you wish to discuss Eilistraee with me."

"Your comment is redundant." Lily growled. "Virginia made my intentions clear in her letter."

"Of course, I understand." Came the surprisingly patient reply. "Perhaps you would like to make yourself more comfortable. Do follow me." Ziyellea gestured invitingly as she led the way down the great hall of the temple, past the altar and towards a vestibule separated from the main chamber by an intricate series of silvery curtains which parted magically at the priestess' approach. Lily followed almost glumly, as if she were a prisoner with no other option, but Virginia took her time, lagging behind the two drow women to appreciate the temple's artful beauty. Nothing stirred and in the silence, there was only tranquility and the shimmering of perpetually illuminated metallic stars which, stylised in a typically elven flourish, streaked across the vaulted ceiling of the hall of worship.

"Many drow feel ill at ease when they first come here. I certainly did." the priestess whispered in Drow so that only Lily could hear and understand. "I seek neither to harm nor to condemn you, but to explain that all drow have a choice: that we are not confined to the quandary between Lloth and oblivion."

Lily grimaced. She felt patronised and was irritated that Virginia was so clearly taken by the admittedly impressive front the priesthood of Eilistraee had set up. Nevertheless, there was no point protesting now. She had already chosen to take yet another great leap into the unknown.

"If you would be so kind, Milady Knight," Ziyellea said with the utmost courtesy once they had reached her immaculately furnished study at the far end of the vestibule, "I would ask you to wait outside. We generally prefer to conduct these informal discussions in private and, naturally, in the Drow tongue. Regrettably, your own language lacks the necessary...nuance to communicate some matters of crucial doctrinal importance."

Virginia could not help arching an eyebrow. As good and pure a drow as she may have been, Ziyellea had all the self-assured pomp and vanity of a true dark elf. So the paladin nodded and made her way back trough the billowing silver curtains. The fabric led the path for her, diverting her from other private chambers in the vestibule and clearing the way back towards the main hall of worship.

Meanwhile, inside Ziyellea's study, Lily stood tensely, carefully examining the priestess' every motion, as if expecting some lapse in elegance or protocol which would confirm her worst suspicions about the cult of Eilistraee. No such opportunity arose, for Ziyellea moved with the cool, controlled demeanour which would have been expected from any priestess of Lloth. She was somewhat older than Lily, but her features still bore a lively youthfulness. Most strikingly, Ziyellea's eyes radiated neither hate nor desire, but only reassuring serenity.

"Please, Lily, sit down." the priestess invited, graciously indicating a plush chair by a small, rounded table, where two silver chalices and an elaborately inlaid jug of fragrant fungus wine had been set.

Lily complied tentatively, her eyes never straying from Ziyellea's. The priestess' study could almost have been Lily's own from her training as an initiate of Lloth: a tasteful combination of books, elegant furniture and silken tapestries - the only difference, of course, was that Lloth's spiders had been supplanted by Eilistraee's crescent moon. Before Lily knew it, Ziyellea had filled both chalices with temptingly moss-green fungus wine. Its heavy, ammonia-like aroma filled the air with a pleasant, numbing sting.

"Be at ease." Ziyellea invited as she took a seat by Lily's side.

"Perhaps I shall...in time." Lily countered. Reluctantly, she was forced to admit that the priestess was rather beautiful.

"We all feel vulnerable when first severed from Lloth and this is why I cannot ask you to join our congregation now. You will need time to find yourself at home first. I know that many have spread the rumour that Eilistraee comes as a silver dancer to the dreams of repentant drow and enlightens them, all in the space of a night. Though I have known of such miracles, the path is long for most of us. But you have made startling progress: you have taken a human paladin as a lover and even refuse to be called by your name..."

"I shall not honour the name bestowed by a Matron-Mother incapable of defending her House." Lily snarled.

"Was it her duty to do so?"

"Naturally!" Lily said contemptuously.

"Would you defend Lady Virginia?" Ziyellea ventured, as delicately as possible.

"Of course, and I have done so already." Lily boasted, a haughty smile crossing her lips.

"Would it be worth asking a question that would risk offending you?" the priestess inquired, using a highly formal - and cautiously evasive - Drow interrogative.

"I have no sacrificial knife to plunge in your belly if you do." Lily purred.

"Are you happy with Virginia? Are you happy here, in Sigil?"

Lily paused, cocking her head curiously to one side. "It has been a momentous change, yes, but I have been fascinated more than I ever imagined possible. Virginia is an excellent priestess and I gladly bestow my favours upon her."

"Then you will find that your heart may some day yearn for Eilistraee. She, too, like the Vigilant Maiden, calls the darkened sky Her home - moons and celestial bodies her eyes. Forgive me if I sound effusive, but you have already come so far in such a short period of time..."

"Come from where and towards what?" Lily interjected, even as her eyes seemed drawn to the full curve of Ziyellea's breasts, violet nipples peeking just beneath the diaphanous fabric of her robes. Seeing a drow woman again had filled Lily with longing and more than a little desire. It had been too long since Lily had tasted drow lips, caressed heavy, obsidian breasts. Virginia was a fine lover, to be sure, but there was a part of Lily that longed for the wild peach fragrance of a drow woman's arousal, for the smell of her skin, the metallic richness of her menstrual blood, the musky crease of her bottom, the spicy sweetness of her milk, flowing fresh and creamy from turgid, violet nipples into a waiting mouth...

"Lily..." Ziyellea whispered, gently breaking the other dark elf's pleasant reminiscence.

"Forgive me...I allowed my mind to wander."

"Perhaps our doctrine is best summarised by a single, crucial point: drow can change, too. Here we do not seek to emulate surface elves, nor do we expect you to follow the culture, aesthetics or morals of others. We simply wish for our race to be free from the tyranny of Lloth in order to better understand themselves. Lloth forced us into a mould. Here, under Eilistraee, we seek to break free from it and live according to what our superior intellects tell us is right and good." The priestess took a sip of her wine, well aware of Lily's admiring eye.

"So," Lily probed, "how far have you changed? Do you perhaps defer to males?"

"Under no circumstances." Ziyellea retorted wryly.

"Couple with surface elves?" Lily provoked.

"In confidence, I would rather not."

For the first time since arriving at the Temple of Eilistraee, Lily smiled.

***

Virginia's mind was burdened. The intersection of professional duty and personal life was more convoluted than she had ever expected as a novice. Now, as squad leader, she had been singled out for ever greater responsibility which, in principle, she relished. But after a long day at the Temple of Eilistraee with Lily, followed by fencing drills and armour maintenance, Virginia felt that she deserved a hot bath and some therapeutic lovemaking rather than the onerous task of helping Isobel sort through the Order's official correspondences. At least, close contact with the Vice-Commander would give her the opportunity to discuss the recent incident involving Isolde.

Although all novices - and most paladins - found Isobel's towering, stern presence disconcerting, Virginia tried to keep her unease bottled up as much as possible. Isobel sensed weakness like a vorr hound scented blood. So she stood, bolt upright, in Isobel's spartan living chambers, carefully observing the Vice-Commander scribble a few lines on a piece of parchment. They were in the process of finalising a call for donations of equipment from a metalsmith's guild. As with most religious orders, the Radiant Path subsisted both on lands it held on the Prime Material Plane and donations from wealthy benefactors with similar philosophical outlooks. Bureaucracy and Isobel, however, were not a good combination. The Vice-Commander's room was as spotless as it was empty: a perfectly made bed, clothing chest, desk and chair - all functional, sturdy oak - were all the furnishings Virginia could see. A single magical lamp, suspended from the ceiling by a metal chain provided a little dim illumination.

Isobel herself, even irritated and tired after a long day's work, was an impressive sight. She was tall, slender, yet wiry with athletic muscle. No, Virginia thought, more than wiry: Isobel was hard. There was not a part of the Vice-Commander's body that did not tense and contract with each motion, her wonderfully toned muscles rolling under pale skin. Her visage was striking, with singularly intense, dark blue eyes and a sharp, yet appealing, angularity to it. But most striking of all was her blood-red hair, which was kept short, yet naturally wavy, like the grim war-helmet of a female berserker. Everything about Isobel exuded strength of purpose - a power which all novices knew too well. Isobel was very liberal in the application of physical punishment, sometimes even arbitrarily, just so she could be certain that the novices understood that life was unfair.

"Is there something I may do to assist you, Reverend Sister?" Virginia began tentatively. She had changed back into her informal green and brown exercise tunic while Isobel, never one for excessive formality, was clad only in the white cotton shift the paladins of the Order wore under their armour.

"No." came the curt reply. "But learn. I hope to start delegating this task to you soon enough." Isobel's voice had the power of command. Few dared disobey her once, none twice.

"As you wish, Reverend Sister."

"Your mind is troubled, Virginia." Isobel commented, never once looking up from her writing. "Perhaps you are worried about your dark elf."

"She said that the worship of Eilistraee could, potentially, interest her, but I think old habits are hard to break. She needs more time." Virginia said softly.

"That is none of my concern." Isobel replied dryly. She held her stylus as she held her sword - with violence, so that the parchment became indented with each slash of her handwriting. "Your romantic interests are your own and it is not my duty, nor my right to intrude. Off the record, however, I still heartily recommend Marséna." Tolerance was not a virtue normally associated with Isobel. She had made her contempt for non-human life clear on a number of occasions: elves were shiftless, dwarves soulless, gnomes depraved and so forth.

"Lily really is a very sweet..." Virginia tried to protest, only to be cut short by Isobel's abruptly raised hand.

"Your heart and blood are still those of a girl. You confuse heat with light." At least Isobel had made an effort to search for a euphemism. Virginia remembered standing terrified, riveted to the spot in the exercise yard as an innocent, first year novice while Isobel described, in gruesome detail, all the appalling things that would happen to her if she did not learn how to master the ways of the sword, lance and bow.

"A woman of honour is not ashamed of her mistakes, but is the first to rectify them and proud to have learned from them. That was your first lesson, Reverend Sister." Virginia breathed, a little nervously. Isobel did not believe in the benefits of democracy or debate.

"Yes, Virginia, it was." Isobel said, pausing to set her stylus down. An old scar marred the palm of her left hand where, it was said, a wyvern stung her. Even after magical healing, an arched, white line remained. "But you were always a good one, because you listen and understand. Which is precisely why I appointed you squad leader."

"Thank you, Reverend Sister."

"That should suffice for this evening." Isobel said, carefully placing her letters in a brown leather volume. "Regrettably, I have nothing to offer you. Gallia usually kept a fully stocked pantry, but she prefers to spend time with herself these days..." There was the slightest hint of bitter regret in Isobel's otherwise utterly composed voice.

"I...I'm sorry, Reverend Sister, I'm certain her affection for you is undiminished..."

"Just as I do not interfere with the private lives of my subordinates," Isobel interrupted coldly, "I expect them to mind their own business when it comes to mine."

"Apologies, Reverend Sister," Virginia whispered, lowering her gaze to avoid the glowering intensity of Isobel's irritation, "I...it was clumsy of me."

Never flinching, Isobel contemplated Virginia. The young paladin had genuine compassion in her. Perhaps, Isobel thought, only the finest of women could ever truly believe that loving a dark elf was possible. "Never mind." Isobel relented. "You are a fine paladin, Virginia and I think I should take this occasion to commend you for your leadership regarding that incident with Civic Security. Although, officially, I am compelled to frown upon your actions, the fact that I have received no formal protest from the relevant authorities so far tells me that your hunch about there being suspicious activities in that organisation was correct. In future, however, never act without notifying me first."

"May I notify you now, Reverend Sister?" Virginia inquired with grim determination. Her spirits were buoyed by having Isobel on her side.

"Naturally. And I shall tell you to act on your discretion, because, and maybe I will live to regret having said this, I trust you. Be forewarned, however, that you will forever be held responsible for the consequences of your actions. You are no longer a novice and what we do is neither a game, nor a fencing drill. But if Civic Security find it acceptable to kidnap, torture and plot against us with impunity, I expect you to prove them wrong."

"Understood, Reverend Sister." Virginia said, a thin smile creeping across her lips.

"Very good." Isobel nodded. "But it grows late. I have an early morning fencing drill tomorrow and yes, before you ask Virginia, I too require sleep."

"I never doubted that, Reverend Sister." Virginia smiled, openly this time, her emerald green eyes finally meeting Isobel's.

"I take it you have a long day tomorrow as well."

"Yes, but I would not go to bed just yet."

"Oh?" Isobel mused, her long fingers running absentmindedly over the smooth surface of her desk.

"Would it be bold of me to say that if you would like to talk...with a fellow sister, just for the sake of talking, I would be honoured..."

"Would you, now?" Isobel said, allowing herself the faintest of smiles. Her eyes trailed over Virginia's svelte, athletic frame. The blonde paladin was effortlessly elegant. Perhaps not as battle-hungry as Syf or Marséna, but endowed with a natural grace when handling a sword or a lance.

"Of course, Reverend Sister, if you would agree to speak to someone of such limited expertise as myself..."

"Virginia," Isobel said, in the softest tone the blonde paladin had ever heard from her, "that is very good of you, but I am woman of action, not words."

"As am I." Virginia whispered as she tentatively trailed her hand on the polished surface of the desk next to Isobel's.

Isobel looked up and saw sincerity in Virginia's gaze. With military precision, the Vice-Commander rose to her feet. There was a severe, restrained beauty in the way her thighs and arms tensed and relaxed with each movement. Everything was taut, controlled and in perfect condition, just as Isobel's gaze, turquoise-blue and unyieldingly severe as usual, gazed down at the shorter Virginia. Her eyes trailed over the blonde girl's slightly embarrassed countenance, her youthful, yet strangely timeless maternal beauty, the delicate curve of her small breasts and svelte hips. As if in a dream, Virginia felt a strong, but comfortably warm hand press against her shoulder, long fingers caressing her skin and the muscles underneath.

"You were small when you first came to the Order, now I can feel your sword arm and I am finally satisfied with its strength." Isobel said, her voice now less commanding and more informal.

"When..." Virginia began, before pausing to swallow the knot of confused tension in her throat, "when you told me you would accept me as a novice, even without my mother's consent, I tried to embrace you, but you would not let me..."

"It would have been inappropriate." Isobel interrupted firmly. Her strong, reassuring hand trailed from Virginia's shoulder up to her neck, before gently clasping the blonde paladin's cheek. The older woman's touch was possessive, but affectionate at the same time - like a teacher admiring her favourite pupil.

"And now? Would it still be inappropriate for me to embrace you?" Virginia's gaze was fixed on Isobel's. It was unreal, but she felt the slightest caress of her Vice-Commander's fingers carefully gliding over the sensitive skin of her ear. Then it happened. Before she knew it Virginia felt the air move around her and irresistibly strong arms thrust her against the wall, an iron-hard grip around her wrists. There was a brutal, almost merciless expression on Isobel's features as she pinned the hapless paladin against the stony wall, her gaze searing into the very depths of Virginia's soul.

"Reverend Sister..." Virginia panted desperately. Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Was violence the only thing Isobel knew? The only way she could cleave through ambiguity?

"Are you teasing me?" Isobel growled. Her long fingers dug into Virginia's wrists. The blood-haired woman's breath was close to Virginia's cheek, so close that it felt warm, moist and redolent of steel, sharp soap and leather, just like the rest of the Vice-Commander body.

"No!" Virginia protested indignantly. Her throat felt swollen and ragged. "I - I just wanted to tell you how grateful I was...and I'm sorry because I'm making a fool out of myself and I should just leave." Virginia took a deep breath and blinked back a stray tear. It was not like her to feel such welling emotion, but Isobel had hurt her. Surely no one could be so cynical as to believe that Virginia, of all people, would toy with Isobel's emotions. Virginia simply did not consider herself that type of person and she felt both angry and frustrated that her much-admired Vice-Commander could even have entertained the thought.

Virginia felt Isobel's fingers loosen around her wrists. "I suppose this is why Gallia cannot bear to share her bed with me any longer." Isobel noted ruefully, a bittersweet smile on her lips. "The only love I am destined for is that of my Goddess and of my sword."

"Then change!" Virginia challenged, briefly overcoming her nerves to defy Isobel for the very first time in her life. "The finest of warriors knows when to lay down her sword and, even if only for a few moments become a..." the blonde paladin trailed off, biting her lip to prevent herself from saying something truly stupid.

"A what?" Isobel insisted, leaning in closer to Virginia.

"A...woman..." Virginia breathed, almost inaudibly. "A woman who realises that life is not all blood and steel."

"Is that so?" Isobel snarled, roughly thrusting Virginia away from the wall and casting her on the floor with such violence that even the usually nimble paladin fell helplessly against the cold, hard surface. The moment Virginia tried to recover from her prone position, she was met with a slap of such force that she tasted something dull and metallic in the side of her cheek. There was no pain because the left side of her face was numb. "So," the fierce Vice-Commander sneered contemptuously, "you expect to instruct me on this matter? As far as I am concerned, it was only yesterday that you were scrambling in the dirt, trying to hide your weeping after being hit by a wooden mock-sword. Learn your place, girl."

"I know my place," Virginia continued defiantly as she rose unsteadily to her feet, "my place is by my Sister's side, whether she likes it or not." Then the die was cast: Virginia advanced, very demurely, on a decidedly surprised Isobel and, driven by her heart rather than her reason, plaintively wrapped her arms around her Vice-Commander's waist. That was the moment Virginia realised that blood did indeed flow through Isobel's veins, because she felt a heart beat, faster than the blonde paladin had imagined, under soft, compact breasts, so different from the iron-hard flanks she now cradled in her arms.

Isobel tensed, ever ready to react with yet more force. But then there was Virginia nestled insistently at her breast. Something welled in the Vice-Commander's soul; that odd mingling of need, pride and admiration which she sometimes felt with her most promising novices. It was an uncomfortable feeling, for it always caught Isobel unprepared. She was used to mastering herself, knowing herself in the most linear, disciplined and clear-cut manner possible. Perhaps that was what had frustrated Gallia - perhaps this is why she slept alone.

"I'm sorry I hit you..." Isobel began. Virginia lunged, standing on tiptoe to meet her Vice-Commander's lips with her own. There was heat, moisture and softness there, even if Isobel's outward appearance exhibited nothing of the sort. The kiss was like fire and it sent Virginia's blood pounding through her veins. She felt her stern Vice-Commander's tongue, vigorous and demanding, but no less loving because of it, explore her mouth; she felt strong, expert hands run down the fabric of her tunic, graze over the curve of her bottom before running, with surprising delicacy, over her bared thigh.

"I'm sorry I hit you." Isobel repeated as she interrupted her kiss, firmly drawing away Virginia's yielding lips. Her hands cupped the blonde paladin's cheeks with an almost maternal tenderness. "My only regret is that I lack the eloquence to tell you how proud I am of you. But this is not right."

"I...I apologise, Reverend Sister..." Virginia murmured, "I just needed to show you what I felt...what I always felt. I realise it would hardly be fair to Gallia and I beg your forgiveness if I took liberties..."

"Hush!" Isobel interjected, a thin smile on her lips. "First, you will soon learn that a superior is always responsible for her subordinates. Whatever your squad does is your responsibility, just as whatever you do is mine. That is the price of leadership - never forget that. Second, I think, considering the situation, it may be more appropriate for you to call me Isobel."

"With pleasure...Isobel." Virginia nodded.

"Good, now since you have been standing all this time, please make yourself comfortable on the bed." Isobel said, half-way between an order and an invitation. Still a little confused, Virginia complied, carefully setting herself down on the stiff, starched sheet. In the meanwhile, the tall Vice-Commander undressed, quite nonchalantly, with almost mechanical precision. She tugged her shift off, folded it on the desk, before pouring a pitcher full of glistening, icy-cold water into a simple washing basin.

Virginia watched with rapt attention. Isobel was as starkly beautiful as a Fury: her taut muscles stood out in relief, her abdomen hard, flat and chiselled like a dragon-turtle's shell, her thighs long and smooth, like a runner's and, at their juncture, a thatch of dark red curls. The blonde paladin could not help but wonder what it would have been like to make love to Isobel. Would the nectar of her sex taste like steel and leather? Would her burgundy nipples harden like arrowheads under Virginia's lips? No, the younger paladin decided, there was, doubtless, more to Isobel than fencing and corporal punishment.

"I am glad that you admire me." Isobel noted with a certain degree of irony. She splashed her face with the freezing water. The sensation was pleasantly jarring. "It means that dark elf of yours has not entirely corrupted your good taste. I suspect she has her charms, but she strikes me as soft, like a decadent aristocrat."

"In her society it is unbecoming of women to exercise as we do." Virginia replied, warming to Isobel's slightly less formal banter.

"Then she should have stayed in her spider-infested hole." Isobel sneered, before beginning to scrub her teeth quite vigorously with a mineral-tasting cleansing stick.

"But...Isobel, she has chosen a new path. I took her to the Temple of Eilistraee myself and..."

"Smoke and mirrors." Isobel growled. "All elves are a waste of time." She rinsed her mouth with the freezing water and turned to face Virginia.

"You could say they have their charm." Virginia ventured, her admiring gaze still fixed on Isobel's imposing presence.

"They are soft." Isobel thundered. "I have little tolerance for weakness..."

"Why?" Virginia whispered, fully expecting a sharp reprimand for interrupting.

"Do you know why I insisted the Order take you as a novice, even though you had no parental consent?" the Vice-Commander inquired. In two strides she had reached the bed.

"In truth, no." Virginia answered modestly, even if she liked to think that it was because Isobel had detected in her a truly vast reservoir of raw talent.

Isobel sat on the bed by Virginia's side and turned to face the younger girl, her severe blue eyes laden with a distant sorrow that seemed to come straight from the furthest recesses of the Vice-Commander's soul. "I, too, was a child once. In those days, I was happy when my father ignored me, because when he decided to pay attention, he usually gave me a black eye. I called the street my home and sometimes slept in a grain warehouse to escape my father's drunken rages. So it went, until one day, my father looked up between tankards of ale, and realised his daughter was...growing. That night, he tore off my nightgown and told me to bend over my bed."

"Isobel." Virginia said gently, very tentatively placing a comforting hand on the older woman's thigh. "If you don't wish to speak of..."

Seemingly unmoved by the surge of memories, Isobel continued, "It was long, it was humiliating and it hurt. Unfortunately for him, it never crossed his mind that a butcher's daughter could make the very simple leap from dismembering a cow to dismembering a man. The very next day, after my mother had changed my bedsheets - stained with blood and the Goddess knows what else - without ever uttering a word, I waited for my father to get drunk, retrieved a cleaver and a filleting knife from the shop front and set to work. Once you get past the screams, it really is like butchering a cow." Even if Virginia truly sympathised with Isobel, there was something of an unhealthy enthusiasm on the Vice-Commander's face as she told the story.

"Let us say," Isobel continued with relish, "that, as far as he was concerned, it, too, was long, humiliating and, most definitely, hurt. Within a strike of the Bell Tower, I was hauled in front of the Law Courts to be sentenced. It was there that a paladin of the Order saw me, heard my story and, in an instant, agreed to pay my weregild - my blood money - so that I would not be imprisoned. That paladin, who, I am pleased to say, is now the Abbess of this temple, took me in as a novice even though I was a murderer, had no parental consent and was not a virgin. It was then that I resolved to pass on that kindness."

Isobel paused, only to find Virginia so silent the older woman could not even hear her breathe. There was a connection between them - in that very moment, it was as if they gazed into each other's souls and found a shard of their past suffering and their present affection. Virginia's throat felt dry, her heart pulsed nervously in her chest. The more she knew, the more she realised that, in the vast expanse of the Multiverse, nothing happened by chance. Every event was linked to another in the great chain of being.

"Isobel..." Virginia whispered, feeling faint as she contemplated the vulnerability of all mortals before the workings of Fate.

"I never once regretted defending your application, Virginia." said Isobel. Much to Virginia's surprise, she felt the Vice-Commander's arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. "But listen carefully: if you love your dark elf, then I wish you all the best. But remember Marséna. You are still young and do not know it now - last year you were but a novice. I, however, have seen ten classes of novices Consecrated since I became a paladin. What I never did see in that time, though, were two novices look at each other in the same way as you and Marséna. Love her now, lest you one day regret not having her to love anymore." It took a conscious effort on Isobel's part to put the point diplomatically to Virginia, but, in her experience, she knew it was something that had to be said. Being a paladin was dangerous and, no matter how many times she drew her novices' attention to this fact, they only truly discovered it in the line of duty.

"I understand." Virginia sighed, allowing herself to lean in to Isobel's embrace. The Vice-Commander's arms were slender, but hard as rods of steel. Now that her nerves had been soothed, Virginia could simply not imagine being in a safer place.

"No, you don't." Isobel noted with regret. "One never does until the moment itself. During my second year as a novice in the Order, I met my heroine by chance in the garden. Her name was Hrist and she had just been Consecrated. She was faultless: graceful, cultured, an excellent and elegant fighter and a brilliant scholar. She took me to her room and made me discover that there was true joy and, perhaps, even love to be found in the pleasures of the flesh. The very next day, I was the proudest novice in the Order until someone told me that Hrist was like a bee, stopping to drink from each and every flower that caught her fancy. That, I could not accept, so I rushed up to the library, found Hrist and kissed her with such passion that I surprised myself - in front of all her room-mates. I then asked her when we were going to see each other that evening..."

"You...?" Virginia suppressed a soft laugh.

"Naturally, Virginia, if another living soul hears of this, I shall flay you with my cane." Isobel purred, her tone trapped uncomfortably between a jest and a genuine threat. "Anyway, that was the beginning of the happiest time of my life. We became inseparable, and she showed me such joy that I decided that I would never live a moment of my life away from her. After my Consecration as a paladin, I was by her side on the battlefields of the Prime Material Plane - from desert sands to ice-bound glaciers. But she never lay with another while we were together, even when the doe-eyed houris of Zakhara plied us with pomegranate wine and sweetmeats amidst towers made of brass and marble. It was there, on that cursed world, that we met the wyvern who almost claimed my hand and the damned warlord, Ahriman, who claimed Hrist's life."

"I...I'm..."

"You're sorry. I know. But after I had mourned her with every fibre of my being, I realised that I certainly was not sorry. Hrist had gone to meet the Maiden after serving Her and I, her mortal love, was grateful that I had spent every conceivable waking hour by her side. I had no regrets. We had already spoken of our love countless times and vowed to meet each other again at the Maiden's Pool when our mortal bodies finally failed us. That vow I hold to this day. Remember this, Virginia, for you and Marséna are much like Hrist and me. There are some souls that are bound together by a destiny written at the very birth of the Multiverse."

Isobel fell silent as Virginia gazed at the stony floor, her eyes downcast, as if she were seeking answers in the shadows that danced with the flickering light. In the distance, the Bell Tower tolled. "I'm happy you told me this." Virginia whispered reverently, breaking the silence as delicately as possible.

"Good." Isobel noted with no perceptible emotion. "So next time be less brash and think before you speak. What I just told you came from Isobel the woman and not Isobel the Vice-Commander. The two share the same body, but I know the right time for each one. I am harsh because I want to make you strong and, you will soon find, the Multiverse is much harder than I have ever been. The woman in me would tell Syf how much she reminds me of myself, would tell Friyya that, in spite of everything, she will make a fine paladin, but these are luxuries I cannot afford and, at times, I confess that I suffer because of it."

In that instant, Virginia could not help but wonder whether she, too, would one day become like Isobel - so deeply saddened by the suffering around her that all emotions and affections had to be muted for fear of being made to suffer more. Whenever she had imagined herself as an instructor, Virginia always saw herself behaving with compassion towards her novices, but that was no doubt insufficient. Isobel knew that the only way to spare her charges the pain of loss and to make them take stock of the bloody madness of battle was to forge them from steel as novices, so that they would never bend as paladins.

"It grows late." Virginia said softly as she, almost absentmindedly, patted Isobel's hard, wiry thigh. "I think it's time I called you Reverend Sister again."

"Agreed." Isobel nodded and rose to her feet to open the door for Virginia.

"If this brash novice could offer just a humble piece of advice from her limited experience..."

"She may." Isobel conceded magnanimously.

"It will be a cold night tonight and Gallia will certainly be lonely in the library, and I think she would like nothing better than for someone to take her down to the mess hall for a mug of hot tea. She is a priestess, not a paladin...so she may like to see more of Isobel the woman..."

"You are incorrigible." Isobel sighed. "As much as I try to beat sentimentality out of my novices, I never quite succeed." Once again, Isobel's tone toed the fine line between irony and a reprimand.

"Just a thought, Reverend Sister. I wish you good night." With that, Virginia bowed respectfully and left, only to pause in the darkened corridor when she heard the door to Isobel's chamber slam shut. A cool breeze wafted through the stony hallway as Virginia paused, with baited breath. It was only when she heard the unmistakable sound of Isobel throwing open her clothes chest to get dressed again that she set out for her chambers, a satisfied smile on her lips.

What Isobel had said, however, burned vividly in Virginia's mind. Lily had succeeded in making her forget about Marséna for a little while, but after rescuing Shesayne, doubts had begun to creep back. She missed Marséna's affection, her irreverence, her simple, honest banter. Most of all, Virginia lived with the guilt of spurning Marséna's profession of eternal devotion. Virginia had always stood by her conviction that she and Marséna were simply too young to decide that they were definitely made for one another, but was Isobel right in saying that there were some loves that were simply ordained by higher forces? Maybe one soul could really share two bodies.

As she walked, Virginia reminisced. Her mind wandered back to another night, just as cold and dark, but rooted deep in a past she had yet to fully untangle.

"Go...away, vátén!" Marséna snapped, careful to swallow first so Virginia would, hopefully, not notice her weeping. She was still embarrassed to speak, the words of Sigil's language flowed off her tongue like lead. They were hard on her palate - so stiff and different from the musical tones of her mother tongue.

"Coxámar." the Mareterran girl corrected. "Here, feel." She guided Virginia's hand under the pillow and against something cold and metallic.

"Viter...uh...mirror." Marséna explained. The sensation of Virginia's breath, warm and moist against her skin was oddly pleasant - so pleasant, in fact, that she felt her blood quicken just a touch.

- She never did. - Virginia thought as she opened the door to her communal apartment and closed it behind her as gently as possible, so as not to wake any of her roommates. - It is I who turned her down -.

The neat little social area that lay at the centre of the apartment was lit by a single, thick candle, now covered in long fingers of wax. Marséna lay glumly in her nightgown on the battered couch, staring at the ceiling, her fingers idly picking at the crumbly remains of the walnut loaf Virginia had baked that morning. In that moment, the blonde paladin realised just how well she knew Marséna. The Mareterran was worried, because she was still awake; and probably had an emotional quarrel, because she was over-indulging.

"Virg..." Marséna greeted her friend with a listless wave. "Have a nice time with Isobel?"

"She is actually better conversation than you would think." Virginia smiled and joined Marséna on the couch. The Mareterran paladin instinctively shifted to rest her head in Virginia's lap. Her corvine tresses fell like a black silken curtain, soft and perfumed against Virginia's pale skin. "She said we have her support in tracking Isolde down and," she added, in an attempt to lift Marséna's spirits, "she was very complimentary with regards to you."

"Hmm..." Marséna mused wryly, pleased to feel the familiar sensation of Virginia's fingers gently trailing through her hair. "She always did have that hungry look on her face whenever she stared at me..."

"Sometimes, you really do think you're the centre of the Multiverse," Virginia chided, giving Marséna's glorious bottom a playful slap, "anyway, Isobel and I had a very pleasant chat. She is rather nice when she drops the Vice-Commander mask."

"Tell Friyya that." Marséna chortled with perverse pleasure.

"I see you've finished my walnut loaf. Did something happen with Lenneth?" Virginia inquired, finally resolving to pass on to more delicate matters.

"Yeah," the Mareterran girl confessed darkly, "we decided we weren't right for each other, so," here Marséna changed the pitch of her voice to a sharp parody of Lenneth's cultured, collected tone, "we should part amicably and not draw out our frustration any further."

"Did that hurt you?"

"No," Marséna growled, "but what gets to me is people who don't have the liver to tell me: 'Marséna I love the way you fuck, but I don't like you' to my face. Because that is exactly what she meant."

"Would you get angry if I said that I told you so?" Virginia scolded gently, leaning down to place a sisterly kiss on Marséna's cheek.

"Even if I said yes, you would say it anyway." came the resigned answer.

"Marséna, ever since Shesayne left, you have turned up for breakfast with four different girls. Gallia would hang draw and quarter you if she found out, or at the very least remind you of the 'temperance' part of our vows."

"I am flesh and blood after all." Marséna protested. "And four? Are you sure..."

"Inge, Min, Greta and Lenneth."

"Oh...yeah, Greta, she was sweet..."

"Marséna, have you been drinking?"

"Maybe a little."

"You have to stop this, now." Virginia sighed as Marséna looked blankly into space. "This is not the behaviour of a paladin of the Order of the Radiant Path. We aren't novices anymore and our personal integrity should reflect the virtues of the Maiden." It pained Virginia to lecture Marséna, but it was her duty as squad leader - that and it was better to nip any proclivities in the bud before they came to the attention of less sympathetic senior paladins or priestesses.

"Sure," Marséna retorted savagely, "like sleeping with dark elves." With that, she rose brusquely from the couch and stormed off towards her chamber. "How dare you tell me who to fuck when I swore I'd give myself to you and you alone, body and soul and you told me to go hang? Well, fuck you Virg, you've always had it easy: am I the only one who thinks it strange that you're Lady 'Model Paladin' by day and lick dark elf pussy by night?" Virginia bit her lip so hard it almost went white. Marséna's temper was infamous, but it had never - not once, been directed at Virginia. Now, however, under the weight of disappointment and uncertainty, all those frustrations which Marséna had kept bottled up since Lily arrived were unleashed.

Marséna stormed off, angrily slammed her bedroom door behind her as Virginia stood crestfallen by the couch, dully staring at the remains of her walnut loaf. To her side, the door to Friyya and Syf's room opened with a slight creaking of its hinges. Tall, statuesque Syf stepped out with a sympathetic nod, "Do you want me to go talk to her? Before you came in, she got angry at Friyya, too. I sense she is in much pain."

"Thanks." Virginia said with a wan smile. "But I think I better go myself."

"She didn't mean what she said..."

"You don't have to tell me that. I already know. Go back to Friyya and I will see you in the morning."

Syf smiled knowingly and returned to her bedchamber. If there was something she trusted, it was Virginia's good judgement. But, in her own mind, Syf could not help but agree with Marséna. Everything had become very strange indeed ever since Lily came: the very fabric of their lives appeared to have frayed at its edges and now, with the Isolde incident, it seemed as thought Fate herself were conspiring against them.

Syf smiled knowingly and returned to her bedchamber. If there was something she trusted, it was Virginia's good judgement. But, in her own mind, Syf could not help but agree with Marséna. Everything had become very strange indeed ever since Lily came: the very fabric of their lives appeared to have frayed at its edges and now, with the Isolde incident, it seemed as thought Fate herself were conspiring against them.

Drawing a deep breath, Virginia braced herself and walked right into Marséna's bedchamber, without knocking. To her surprise, the Mareterran girl did not object to the intrusion. Instead, she just stood miserably by the small window opposite her bed, arms crossed as she stared out onto the deserted courtyard below. A blast of freezing air suddenly rushed through the chamber. Marséna shivered under her nightgown, but made no effort to close the window.

"Marséna...child, what's wrong?" Virginia asked plaintively, feeling rather foolish. She knew exactly what was wrong, but needed to at least start the conversation.

"It hurts when I'm not with you." Marséna's voice was a soft breath that drifted like fine mist in the cold night air. "Shesayne is a wonderful girl and so is Min, but they aren't you. Call me picky, but that's all I have decided I will settle for."

"Sometimes, I don't quite know what it is that makes you love me so much." Virginia whispered as she approached Marséna and laid a hand on the darker woman's shoulder. They both knew that there was no explanation, no logic. Just a sensation of peace in the cosmos when they were with one another.

"To be perfectly honest, Virg," Marséna said, her voice trembling as she turned to face Virginia, "I don't either."

Virginia trailed her hand up Marséna's shoulder to caress the Mareterran's cheek. "You're lovely, just like the first night." Later, Virginia would tell herself that something moved her, impelled her forward so that, before her mind understood the moment, her lips were against Marséna's. This was no experimental kiss, but something raw, savage and needy. Marséna's tongue was aflame as she devoured Virginia's mouth and the blonde paladin fought back, her hands scrambling against the Mareterran's nightgown. An urge filled Virginia's mind as her blood quickened in her veins, faster than it had ever been, so fast the she felt light-headed. It was an urge to strip Marséna, feel those soft, full breasts, taut muscles and silky black hair, to kiss and fuck until she could take no more. Such violence - Virginia thought as Marséna's lips, locked in a sweet embrace, wetly devoured her own - Lily would be proud.

"Promise..." Marséna gasped as she drew apart from Virginia for breath. The blonde paladin's hands clutched her hips, fingers digging into her gorgeous bottom. "Promise me that you won't leave this room before daybreak."

"On my honour..." Virginia growled and renewed her kiss with such ferocity that Marséna bit down on her lip, drawing blood. Spurred by her passion, by the mounting liquid need in her loins, Virginia roughly hiked up Marséna's nightgown and felt the divine curve of her lover's sublime bottom: the perfect fusion of athleticism and femininity. Her fingers clasped the firm flesh while the Mareterran girl moaned, her tongue still fencing desperately against Virginia's. They stumbled together, locked in their embrace, Marséna guiding Virginia inexorably towards her bed. There they collapsed onto the sheets, bodies writhing in passionate unison. Virginia burned with almost adolescent fire as she finally succeeded in stripping off Marséna's nightgown to reveal the Mareterran's soft, firm breasts, capped with plump, stiff cafe-au-lait nipples that just begged to be suckled. Virginia let her hands wander, trailing down her lover's firm abdomen to the soft thatch of coal-black curls and to the velvety sex beneath. Marséna was sodden - Virginia's fingers felt warm and sticky with just one caress.

Marséna fumbled with the buttons of Virginia's tunic, before deciding that the more natural course of action was just to force the offending garment off. Virginia heard the fabric tear a little before Marséna succeeded in pulling the tunic over her head. Finally Marséna could revel in the breathtaking elegance of her blonde lover's body. Virginia's small, but beautifully proportioned breasts felt delicious under her touch, her fingertips trailing over the sensitive, fevered skin to trace the contours of tumescent, vividly pink nipples. Marséna felt her heart pound between her temples as she jostled with Virginia, before finally pinning the blonde girl down to devour those soft, rosy lips. Then, she trailed her adoring kisses downwards, her tongue leaving warm, wet trails on Virginia's throat as she licked downwards.

Virginia whimpered, her mind clouded with such passion that she felt it to be uncontrollable. Marséna's lips were soft and moist against the pale skin of her breasts, but they were maddening against the blonde paladin's painfully stiff nipples. Marséna suckled with burning her hunger, her teeth clamped just enough to hurt on the rubbery little peaks, for she wanted to savour Virginia's high-pitched little gasps while her tongue flicked mercilessly against lust-engorged flesh. Virginia trailed her fingers roughly through Marséna's hair, drawing the Mareterran girl further down, so that her tongue could dance down the taut, flat expanse of her blonde lover's abdomen before finally reaching a downy nest of golden hair. Marséna swallowed in anticipation as she inhaled the familiar, delicious musk of Virginia's arousal. After so much frustration, the blonde paladin's pussy was an image of beauty: velvety pink, its petals glistening with the dew of passion.

"Goddess, Virg, you really needed this." Marséna whispered reverently as she parted Virginia's slim, athletic thighs and gently ran her thumbs down the crease of her lover's sex.

"We'll talk later," Virginia mewled weakly, "for now, just lick me." She blushed at her own wantonness as she arched her back, presenting her needy sex to Marséna's lusty gaze.

Marséna was only too happy to obey, plunging forward to lose herself in the juicing, subtly salty paradise of Virginia's sex. Her tongue quickly set to work, devouring the passion-slick inner lips of her lover's pussy. She could not get enough of that essence of Virginia, that thick, pearly fluid that coated her lips and cloyed her lapping tongue with the taste of pure womanhood. Virginia cried out, her back tense, thighs taut as she thrust herself against Marséna's questing tongue. The Mareterran girl's technique was as flawless as she was passionate, her tongue traced the sweet inner petals upwards until she reached the tiny bud of Virginia's clit, stiff as it protruded angrily from its hood. A single, probing lick elicited a whimpering gasp from Virginia, spurring Marséna on. Her tongue flew over the engorged surface of her blonde lover's clit while Virginia writhed, spreading her legs wider, only to be rewarded by two tensed fingers slipped hard, in one firm stroke, into the wet recesses of her sex. She felt Marséna inside her, the pads of the darker girl's fingers caressing the sensitive inner walls of her canal while the Mareterran's tongue worked passionately against her clit.

Virginia could only coo Marséna's name and surrender herself to the progressive tightening sensation in her sex. A knot was forming deep in her belly, spurred on by the swollen wetness she felt between her thighs. The blonde girl's nectar was copious, flowing in thin, musky rivulets down the inside of her thigh, so that when Marséna pressed a thumb against the puckered rosebud of Virginia's bottom, there was virtually no resistance until the stretched muscle finally clamped down, spasmodically, around the second knuckle. Virginia gasped at the sensation, she felt filled and, most importantly, she felt Marséna's fingers work deep inside her, occasionally pinching with malicious playfulness through the thin membrane that separated them from her thumb. Marséna thought she could lose herself in Virginia forever, but it was not long before she felt the first, timid contractions of her lover's climax deep in the sodden canal of the blonde girl's sex. Virginia's cries rose with each flick of Marséna's tongue and each thrust of her fingers. Undulating, almost as if she were in a trance, against Marséna, Virginia came in a ragged, moaning release of breath and tension. Virginia's loins felt feather light as they voided all their tension, releasing an ebbing tide of pleasure that loosened her limbs.

But that was not sufficient, for the moment Virginia saw her sun-kissed, raven-haired lover rise from her licking, lips coated in the fragrant residue of passion, she felt her raging desire rekindled. So she lunged, her lips melding once again with Marséna's pliant mouth, so she could taste her own passion on the Mareterran girl's tongue. Easing Marséna back against the wall, Virginia straddled her lover, her kisses wet and burning on the raven-haired girl's cheek. Marséna's tanned skin was slick with sweat, her sensual lips parted as she moaned with each wet, erotic lick that trailed from her down her throat.

"I want you..." Marséna sighed as Virginia worshipped the full swell of her breasts with eager kisses, "I want you inside of me."

Virginia nodded, her heart swelling with the desire to pleasure Marséna, to hear her name cried out. Marséna lay back, her thighs spread, so that her sex, deep pink and dew-coated like a hothouse flower, bloomed before Virginia's eyes. The blonde paladin swiftly retrieved an ampoule of fragrant oil from Marséna's bedside table and poured a liberal amount of the cool, slightly rosy liquid onto the lust-inflamed lips of her lover's pussy. Marséna groaned at the sensation, her hips bucking, thighs tensed in anticipation. Oil mingled with musky nectar trickled onto the sheets and between the crease of Marséna's perfect bottom. Her toes curled against the sheets, her calves taut. Virginia drew a deep breath and coated her right hand with an ample dose of oil, before setting aside the ampoule and kneeling between her lover's spread thighs.

Very delicately at first, Virginia probed the moist entrance to Marséna's channel. The Mareterran girl's pussy was searing: a rich and welcoming silky flower. Marséna groaned, throwing her head backwards, her long, corvine hair falling like a midnight shower around her shoulders as she thrust her hips forward, spurring Virginia on. The first thrust brought three of the blonde paladin's fingers effortlessly into Marséna's velvety canal. She was both wet and relaxed, so yielding that Virginia found the sensation of filling her lover irresistible. Leaning forward, she smothered Marséna's full breasts with kisses as she carefully began to work her thumb into the depths of her lover's channel. It was only a matter of time before Marséna's pliant channel yielded and Virginia felt her whole hand begin to slip in. Marséna moaned hoarsely as she felt her sex thrust apart and mastered by Virginia's hand. Despite her passion, Virginia's thrusts were deliberate and exceedingly delicate, slipping deeper into Marséna's stretched pussy fractions of an inch at the time until she lay atop her sweating, panting lover, her fist buried all the way up to the wrist in the velvety recesses of the Mareterran girl's sex.

Then Virginia gave her hand a little twist, her fingertips striking that secret, painfully sensitive spot deep in Marséna's sex. The darker girl whimpered, her sex tensing as she hips thrust forward, drawing Virginia in deeper. Marséna's body was rigid in anticipation, her clit felt as hard as a jewel. She sensed the impending wave of her climax sweep closer, fill her loins with liquid fire as Virginia's breaths came, hot and moist, against her breasts. The wait was agonising, but when the final touch came, Marséna felt all her pain, all her frustration released in a torrent of sensation. Marséna's sex clenched spasmodically around Virginia's invading hand as she cried out her release, eyes half-lidded, with her blonde lover - lips full of kisses - nestled between her breasts. She had become one with Virginia again: the two lovers writhed together, their skin streaked with sweat, breasts and hard nipples sliding against one another - a wild and lusty fusion of bodies and souls. Marséna moaned her passion, nestling her face in Virginia's short, blonde hair, as her stretched channel contracted spasmodically against her lover's invading hand.

Virginia slumped forwards against Marséna, tenderly withdrawing her hand from her lover's sated sex. She could feel the comforting, post-coital beat of the raven-haired girl's heart, the delectable stiffness of light brown nipples against her sensitive skin. Marséna panted; her sex felt spread and wonderfully vulnerable in the frigid air.

"Remember, Virg, on Mareterra, when we lay under the tree in front of my farmstead and..."

"Your little sister asked who would wear the wedding dress, of course." Virginia chuckled softly, planting a loving kiss on Marséna's breast as she snuggled closer to her lover.

"Make me yours. Just say the word and it will be like this forever and even when we die, we will be made anew, always together, at the Maiden's side."

"Always such a romantic..." Virginia teased, taking a moment to look upwards and catch a glimpse of Marséna's soulful, chocolate brown eyes.

"Make me yours." Marséna repeated, holding Virginia close. "Please don't make me wait forever."

"What about Lily?"

"Fuck, Virg," Marséna sighed in frustration, "can't you just let this be about us for once?"

"So I must choose between you and Lily?" Virginia challenged.

"No. Like I said, Virg, you're lucky. You could enjoy Lily all you like and I would still wait for you. You know that...the Goddess knows even my sister knew that just by looking at us."

"All right." Virginia said, rising to her knees to meet Marséna's gaze. "But before I say anything else, allow me to apologise. When I told you that night in the baths, when we were still novices, that I needed more time and to know myself better, I hurt you and cut a wound in your soul which, in turn, has also hurt Shesayne. You have both suffered because of my foolish arrogance and youthful inexperience. But making love to you tonight was every bit as beautiful as I feared. I simply cannot deny my own nature anymore."

"In this world and the next, will you be by my side?" Marséna dared to breathe. Virginia was always transparent - there was nothing but vivid sincerity in her emerald-green eyes.

"I would have it no other way."

Then there was no more talking, for they embraced again, this time with more passion and urgent need than ever before. Virginia did not even try to rationalise her decision, since it was not a choice of reason. In the instant when Marséna's soft, sensual lips once again pressed against hers, Virginia simply resolved to be unquestioningly faithful to her own soul. So they made love with fire; neither bothered to shut the window, but sought heat and comfort from their bodies. Marséna, for her part, did not feel triumphant, so much as relieved. It was so reassuring to feel Virginia's raw passion again - to feel sweat bead, and course down her breasts, to taste Virginia's nectar on her lips, to be fucked by Virginia's graceful hand, to feel the moisture of Virginia's kisses drying slowly on the inside of her thigh and the tight valley of her bottom. Lost in their trance, neither Marséna nor Virginia caught a glimpse of two, accusing red eyes that glowed dimly in the darkness where the door had been left ajar.

***

Isolde stood nervously in front of Dassau's desk. The arcanaloth, however, paid her no mind, preferring to swirl a large crystal goblet of garnet-red wine, before inserting his elongated muzzle into the chalice. A grim silence followed as Dassau inhaled, contemplated and inhaled again, his hateful, demonic eyes staring intently at the chromatic consistency of the wine's edges as he tilted the glass. Isolde swallowed, sought to control her tension and let her eyes wander briefly to Dassau's desk. At least two dozen volumes of facsimiles and rubbings of elven erotic art covered its surface, so that no hint of the wood was visible from where Isolde was standing. Dassau was preparing an article he called "seminal" and "provocative" on the distinction between man-hood and boy-hood in the hunter-gatherer Sylvan Elf - or Kagonesti - culture of the world of Krynn viewed through the lens of "socially constructed normativisation and conformity". His allegedly ground-breaking theory, Isolde had discovered, was that erotic relationships between archers who had reached manhood and younger boys were more rigid than the female equivalent as a result of the distinctive gender-role requirements of a semi-nomadic, subsistence-level society.

"Sir..." Isolde began, trying very hard not to betray the trembling in her throat. She did not quite know how Dassau would take to her failure.

"This bottle, Isolde, is actually rather good. After twenty-five years, Sembian Samso reds are normally past their peak, but I detect a very compact, fruit-cake nose, hints of thyme, dried spices and furniture varnish. Exceptionally interesting, Isolde, though by no means a great wine. It lacks consistency and that elusive of dimension of character that distinguishes the excellent from the pedestrian." Dassau snarled. That no longer bothered Isolde: she had learned to distinguish the demon's snarl of displeasure from his parodic attempts at a smile.

"With regards..."

"Isolde," Dassau interrupted, raising a long, gloved finger to silence his secretary, "I thought you far more subtle. When I mentioned the word 'pedestrian' I was naturally preparing myself to lead into a detailed disquisition on your performance."

"There were...isssues and we were caught unaware..."

"I know." Dassau chortled - his laugh sounded like something drowning in a vat of boiling pitch. "But do not equate 'pedestrian' with 'unsatisfactory'. Indeed, you handled your role rather well."

"But...but they managed to raid the building and free that ridiculous half-elf."

"Precisely. But mathematically adept individuals such as yourself ought to be able to discern the broader canvas upon which events are painted." Dassau took a sip of the wine and let it flow down his muzzle. His sharp fangs were tinged with dark red. Had Isolde not known that it was the wine, she could well have deduced that Dassau had just ripped someone's throat out.

"Forgive me, sir, but I am confused."

"In Dragon Chess," Dassau began in his low, refined drone that reminded Isolde of a supremely boring and patronising professor, "it is often advantageous to sacrifice pieces in an untenable position in order to gain a better strategic deployment. Many inexpert players, however, find it difficult to accept that a material loss with no immediate payout can lead to a long-term gain. In this situation, we have sacrificed an isolated White Dragon to take their Tiamat piece. Had too much become of your little confrontation with the Radiant Path, questions would have been asked, not least with regards to that slip of a half-elf and what exactly she was doing in your custody. Now, however, and just as I suspected, the Radiant Path prepares to exact its vengeance on you. In this respect, there shall be no confusion: the Radiant Path will attack us, quite illegally I may add, and, in this climate of insecurity generated by Anarchist and Revolutionary League riots, the Hall of Speakers will be hard-pressed to begrudge a most vigorous response on our part."

"Sir..." Isolde protested feebly. The thought of being forced to defend against a war-band of angry paladins was not especially appealing to her.

"Naturally, we do not want the situation to even suggest that it was set up. As a consequence, I have already made provisions for a fortuitous event that should facilitate our plans. Although you neglected to mention it in your report, it has come to my attention that Virginia manifested during your encounter. Virginia, of course, in case you clung on to the feeble illusion that you could hide anything from me, referring to one of your twin sisters, the other being Astrid."

Isolde's blood froze. She knew that Dassau knew, but there was something distinctly unpleasant and menacing in the way he divulged information. "As I was saying," Dassau continued, unfazed by Isolde's unease, "the manifestation she exhibited is something of an aberration - a remnant of a project based on a dream as old as intelligent life itself."

"I knew it!" Isolde interrupted, her voice hovering between terror and trepidation. "I have always felt something inside of me and..."

"I know you better than you know yourself." Dassau said, carefully setting down his wine glass. His eyes burned - beyond those infernal orbs was a vision of oblivion itself. "I have known you since your very conception. For now, however, that is of scarce importance. Suffice it to say that I have factored in the possibility of any future confrontation becoming problematic. Thus, I have set a fox amongst the hens, so to speak. You shall find aid from the unlikeliest of sources at a most convenient time."

"Aid, sir?" Isolde felt faint. She had always prided herself in being intellectually far superior to her playmates as a child, to her sisters, to her fellow students, but Dassau could gather more thought in an instant that she could muster in a lifetime.

"Do you know what an Inevitable Form is?" Dassau inquired. Socratic questions ranked high amongst his favourite rhetorical devices.

"No, sir." Isolde replied nervously.

"They are concentrated energies in the Multiverse - causes that take form. In other words, when something or someone upsets the natural order of the Multiverse, the Inevitable generates other causes that rectify the errant effect. Hence, they are, metaphorically, the brooms of Fate. They sweep away the hubris of mortals. Naturally, their power is great - perhaps almost as vast as my own. This fact, in itself, has led some degenerates to seek to master the Inevitable's control of the primal causal energies of the Multiverse for their own gain. But, as they would say on a world of the Prime Material Plane, there is no such thing as a free lunch. The power of the Inevitables consumes and corrupts, thereby setting right the abomination of a mortal tampering with the instruments of elder divinities."

"But how does this help me, sir?"

"A little patience Isolde," Dassau reprimanded, taking a sip of his wine, "what you had once only seen through a dark glass will soon be revealed to the cold light of day." The demon in him very much enjoyed paraphrasing the writings of his former enemies.

Isolde realised she was trapped. She had, in a cosmic sense, signed an infernal contract with Dassau when she acquiesced to his game. Now, like a puppet on strings, she had to dance for his entertainment. "I...I have every confidence in your ability to plan ahead, sir."

"Of course you do." Dassau snarled, so wickedly that even Isolde was taken aback. "Unlike Virginia, I suspect that I shall not disappoint you."

***

Aerylle sat pensively at her desk in the Library of Sensation. Closing time drew near, but she almost wished she could stay. The past few days had been a nightmare of fears and insecurities. Min had promised that she would think about Aerylle's proposal, but there was something in the fickle tiefling that unsettled the librarian. Even if Min promised, Aerylle thought, would she ever take a commitment seriously? More pressingly, even in a best case scenario, the very thought of introducing Min to her mother made Aerylle cringe. Her over-active mind had already played out the imagined scene countless times and each time, the finale always left her blushing in vicarious embarrassment. But that was a best case scenario. Aerylle could not help but think it preposterous that Min, of all people, would settle down with a bookish elven librarian. Maybe, Aerylle admitted ruefully to herself, her mother was right - she should have submitted to a few years of courtship with Yssinel the enchantress back in the grey elven city of Imej, and, eventually settled down with her for a comfortable, uneventful life.

In spite of herself, Aerylle found herself wondering what Yssinel was doing in that very moment. She and the enchantress had been childhood friends, though Aerylle always felt a slight tinge of jealousy since she always privately considered Yssinel to be marginally prettier than she was. To be sure, they had gone off to different academies - Aerylle preferred the Divination school of magic while Yssinel, predictably, had opted for that of Enchantment - but there had always been a lingering, mutual attraction and a firm bond of friendship. They had written to one another constantly throughout their academy days and occasionally included magically preserved flowers in their correspondence – specifically Faleieein Lilies – which in the complex symbolic language of the grey elves, denoted a subtle middle ground between friendship and romance.

The more she thought of the uncertainty of her future with Min, the more Aerylle regretted coyly refusing the rather intimate kiss Yssinel had offered that time they had taken a day trip to watch migrating Snow Cranes near a glacial lake. That was the difference between Yssinel and Min - a single touch of the tiefling's sultry lips and Aerylle's inhibitions flew out of the window.

"Aerylle?" A sweet, measured voice interrupted the elven maiden's mediations.

"Oh, hello, Inge, how was your research today? Apologies I did not greet you on your way in, but I was re-shelving books." Aerylle looked up to see the graceful, fine-featured novice priestess standing over her desk, clad in her habitual plain white robe. Inge was small, so much so that her physique was almost elven - certainly her skin was just as pale and unblemished, her grey eyes deep and beautifully expressive, though they seemed perpetually sad.

"It went very well, thank you." Inge replied with a light nod of her head. "I think I should soon have some very substantial results." Inge's mind raced at the possibilities of the power she had uncovered. Every day, she had received anonymous tip-offs, all rendered in impeccable handwriting and with breathtaking eloquence, on slips of neatly cut parchment. These indicated the exact volume, page number and incantation to harness the power of Inevitables. Inge was confident that, in no time at all, she would show the Order of the Radiant Path just how advanced their promising novice priestess had become.

"Allow me to compliment you on your new style." Aerylle said, more for conversational purposes than genuine appreciation. Inge had cut her previously long hair to a more manageable shoulder length, though she had kept it dyed an intriguing shade of light blue.

"Oh, you like it?" came the incredulous reply. Changing her appearance had been part and parcel of Inge's plans. She had grown to loathe the terms 'cute' and 'sweet' with all her heart. They denoted the sort of patronising, meaningless affection that she received in liberal quantities from virtually everyone else at the Order. In sum, she was a woman and heartily sick of being treated like a girl.

"It is very becoming on you." Aerylle smiled. Inge had a certain waifish prettiness the elven librarian had rarely, if ever, seen in a human.

"Many thanks, there was just one matter which I would discuss if you would allow me to trouble you for just a moment." Merely because she had chosen to take her destiny into her own hands did not mean that Inge attached any less importance to politeness.

"With pleasure." Aerylle beamed, rising to her feet. At least it would be an excuse to get her mind off Min.

"I had a perplexity about a book I was consulting and...well, perhaps it would be easier to show you."

"Very well, though we are closing soon."

"Just a moment, I promise." Inge led the way with surprising familiarity through the labyrinthine bookshelves and neat rows of empty desks. The initiate priestess had been a regular visitor, so much so that Aerylle had grown quite fond of her. They often took tea together in the early evening, something that Aerylle had begun to very much look forward to. Inge had a natural grace and courtesy which was rather difficult to find in the smoky chaos that seemed to dominate much of Sigil.

When they reached Inge's desk, Aerylle was pleasantly surprised to find it fastidiously well-maintained, with books divided thematically and arranged in order of sequence number. A small leather-bound notebook lay open on the desk, filled with impeccable, almost artistic handwriting. "What wonderful calligraphy." Aerylle noted effusively. Good handwriting, she felt, was an art that had been forgotten, even by many of her elven friends.

"Oh," Inge giggled, blushing a rather endearing shade of pink, "...I do try to take pride in what I do. But there was just something here in the Annals of Carid about planar travel that seemed unclear." The priestess carefully opened the book in question and drew Aerylle's attention to a rather convoluted chart that appeared to be a graphical representation of the alignment and relative rotation of Planes of Existence over time periods.

"Apologies, but I am no expert," Aerylle began modestly as she leaned down on the desk to take a closer look, "what exactly did you want clarified?"

"Just that." Inge said, leaning into the desk by Aerylle's side. With such delicacy that her touch felt feather-light, the priestess took Aerylle's hand and guided it to the axis of revolution of Gehenna with the Outlands. "I am fairly certain that denotes a quarter-aeon period with four precession intervals."

Aerylle smiled and gazed carefully at the graph. She had never been especially good at mathematics, but, if she had to guess, "I would say three precession intervals, though we could always consult some secondary literature if you want to be certain."

"I can take your word for it." Inge whispered. Aerylle noticed that the young priestess' hand was still on hers. "You seem like a woman who does not do or say anything without being certain."

"I...I only wish that were the case." Aerylle chuckled, a little nervously; Inge's skin was flawlessly smooth.

"I suspect you will always be your own greatest critic." Inge mused. In her eyes, Aerylle had a sublime, cultured beauty, so different from the steely hardness of the paladins of the Order. Aerylle was slim, soft and refined while Ithunn - odious, treacherous Ithunn - was hard and tautly muscled.

"Well, the more I know and the more I realise I don't know much at all. Working in a library can be humbling."

"I like that." Inge said sotto voce, her big, grey eyes gazing expectantly at Aerylle.

"Hmm?"

"I like an intellectual woman, who is also modest, well spoken, well mannered..." Inge trailed off, her fingers now lightly caressing the back of Aerylle's hand.

"If I could make a confession," Aerylle breathed, gently turning to face Inge, "so do I."

Smiling beatifically as she recalled Marséna's lessons, Inge drew closer to Aerylle until her lips were within inches of the elven girl's mouth. Aerylle paused, her hand clasped Inge's, but she remained unsure. As tempting as the priestess was, Aerylle was a woman of principles and she could hardly say she was disappointed with Min for being unfaithful with a straight face when there she was being tempted to engage in a casual tryst. But Inge was tempting with her creamy, flawless skin and elegantly coy demeanour. Her sensuality had subtlety, and was never brash or invasive.

"Is something wrong?" Inge whispered, gracing Aerylle's lips with a tentative kiss.

"We should probably just go home." Aerylle replied, a little sheepishly since she had, in fairness, showed more than a little interest.

"Of course, how silly of me," Inge said dejectedly, longingly stroking Aerylle's cheek, "I am just a crude human girl and of no aesthetic interest for a lovely elven lady such as yourself." She blinked, almost as if she were trying to hold back a stray tear from those sad, but hypnotically beautiful grey eyes.

Aerylle sighed, "This is something to do with me, not with you." she said with firm kindness. "My emotional life has been difficult and, whenever I have fallen in love with someone, only sadness has followed. Sometimes, I fear I may be cursed." The elven librarian allowed herself a wan, ironic smile.

"No, just unfortunate. I, too, have been disappointed by someone I thought I loved."

"Inge, my dear, I am certain you will have no trouble finding someone who will make you happy."

"Would it be too audacious for me to say that I have already found her?"

"Oh..." Aerylle cooed, despite herself, "that is very charming and romantic of you, but..."

"Quiet in the library." Inge purred and her lips met Aerylle's once more.

Aerylle shivered, for Inge's lips were so soft and yielding, her tongue eager and demure as it brushed enticingly against the elven maiden's pink lips. Inge carefully wrapped her arms around Aerylle's narrow waist, steadying the elven girl while she kissed with greater insistence. Just as Inge expected, Aerylle relented and slowly parted her lips, their tongues joining in a soft, moist, understated dance. In Aerylle's deep blue eyes, Inge saw sadness as well as desire. But that did not matter in the heat of the moment. All Inge wanted was to prove herself, so she shifted her weight slightly against Aerylle, sinking into the kiss, her quick fingers carefully running up the elven librarian's hips and upwards, to cup soft, conical breasts beneath the unflattering brown fabric.

Sighing in guilty pleasure, Aerylle arched her back, pressing her breasts forward against Inge's questing hands. The priestess' mouth was so warm and tender to be reassuring, as was her touch - more affectionate than erotic, but, in an odd way, very elven indeed. Inge's lips caressed Aerylle's cheeks with almost reverent lightness as they trailed upwards, to trace the fine contours of the elven girl's face, before trailing ever closer to her pointed ears. Aerylle exhaled with delicious anticipation. Inge knew what she was doing and Aerylle was all too happy to light the way for her, coyly pulling back her long, golden blonde hair with its intricate fusion of thin braids and free-flowing tresses, to reveal her sensitive ears to Inge's inquisitive mouth.

Lost in the sheer beauty of Aerylle's spontaneous sensuality, Inge let the mounting heat in her loins guide her mouth as she placed a long, wet lick on the delicious sensitive surface of the elven maiden's ear. Aerylle whimpered, her toes curling in agonised pleasure. The sensation was, put simply, like a sparkling jolt, sharper and more jarring than the refined pinpricks of excitement that had begun to build in her stiffening nipples as Inge's fingers caressed her small breasts. Inge continued to lick at Aerylle's ear as she began to pull down the librarian's robe, trailing the fabric down alabaster-white skin and over snowy white breasts, each capped by a light pink nipple, firm yet pliant under the young priestess' hands.

"Oh!" Aerylle gave a gasp of surprise as Inge, unexpectedly, pressed her forward against the desk and eased her into a sitting position on the polished wood. She had not anticipated that the normally demure priestess could be so forward. Inge, however, continued to explore Aerylle's body in earnest. Her lips now trailed down Aerylle's throat as gentle but insistent fingers pulled the robe down further, until it pooled at the elven maiden's waist. Aerylle shuddered as Inge's kisses, wet and insistent, flowed down her neck and between her breasts, before lavishing a tumescent nipple with a lascivious lick. She felt hot tension building in her loins and just a little uncomfortably moist in her undergarments. The elven girl whimpered, winding her fingers through Inge's soft, light blue hair, instinctively guiding her lower down.

"Would you not like me to suckle at your breast?" Inge asked innocently with the kind of subtle elven understatement that sent Aerylle's heart racing.

"No! I mean, yes, please..." and before Aerylle knew it, Inge's eager lips had wrapped around the delightfully engorged nipple, her tongue hot and sensually wet against the swollen peak. Aerylle could only admire the human priestess' rapt expression as she suckled, eyes closed, with the utmost delicacy. Inge lowered herself to one knee for better balance and it was then that Aerylle felt loving hands slide under the hem of her robe and trail delicately up her thighs until they reached the white satin of her undergarments. The priestess' fingers then pressed further, trailing under the soft fabric to discover smooth wetness. Aerylle drew a sharp breath as she ran her fingers through Inge's hair. Instinctively, she parted her thighs and was rewarded by a single finger parting the inner lips of her sex. Inge explored, sliding a nectar-drenched finger through the soft pale pink lips of Aerylle's pussy down to the crease of the elven woman's firm, tight bottom. Aerylle was just as perfect as Inge had dreamed – that is, when her dreams did not become nightmares of a massive, black and tan dog staring at her in a darkened room.

"Is it true the nectar of an elven woman's arousal is sweet?" Inge asked in wonder as she released Aerylle's nipple, now glistening in the suffused light of the library, from her lips.

"Yes, but only a little. We are not bees, you know..." Aerylle paused all of a sudden before rising, a little awkwardly, to her feet.

"Oh, Aerylle! I am so very sorry, did I do or say something wrong..." Inge protested as Aerylle, blushing furiously, tidied up her robe and adjusted her undergarments. "Please, forgive my callow lack of expertise, but..."

"No, Inge...it you who must forgive me. I, too, should have known better, but my naïveté has already caused too much suffering." Aerylle said dejectedly.

"At least give me an explanation." Inge whispered as she rose to seize Aerylle's hand.

"Once, I professed my love to a woman who asked exactly the same question you did...a question I answered with the same, foolish quip. When I told her she was the woman of my life, I meant it and before she tells me that my love is unrequited, I will be faithful to her, even if she neither requires nor reciprocates that devotion."

"If only," Inge lamented as she loosened her grip on Aerylle's hand - she knew the battle had been lost, "if only someone had loved me with the same passion."

"The blessings of Hanali be upon you." Aerylle whispered, planting a conciliatory kiss on Inge's hand. "You deserve it more than any. Be at peace, and if you so wish, tomorrow we can still be the best of friends." With that, Aerylle hastened to make her way out of the library, her mind assailed by a single, powerful memory, now seared into her soul.

That memory was of Min, radiantly beautiful in the dim glow of the late evening as she lay between Aerylle's thighs, lavishing the elven girl's sex with lazy, wanton licks.

"Y'know, princess," Min had said with her usual playful irreverence, "sometimes I've got to ask myself where grey elf pussy has been all my life."

"Oh, Min, really!"

"No, I mean it...you're a little sweet, like flowers..."

"Grey elven women are not bees, you know."

"You're right," Min had said, with that sensuous, enigmatic smile of hers, "I'm the bee. But sometimes, a bee is lucky and finds just the right flower."

***

Marséna stirred on her bed, almost in protest at the light that now came cascading, bright and painful, through her window. The sheets beneath her were still damp, redolent with sweat and sex and aromatic oil. Her thighs and back felt sore, her sex stretched, but, all in all, despite the glare of day, it was the best morning she had seen in a long while. Everything seemed right with the world, from the fresh morning air, to the scent of Virginia so close to her that she almost felt like she was a novice again, snuggling close to her lover in her tiny bunk, trying to snatch a few more hours of sleep before the morning bell drew them out for first prayers.

"Marséna, rise and shine!" she heard Virginia call. Marséna squinted in the light and saw Virginia, still naked, by the window, looking out into the distance.

"Just a few more moments." Marséna yawned and turned over, covering her face with a pillow to block out the light.

"We'll be late for the drill and then for patrol duty."

"Please, Virg, just a little more." Marséna implored and buried her head further into the pillow.

Virginia smiled and made her way to Marséna's bedside. "Hey," the blonde paladin murmured, running a loving hand down Marséna's side, "sleeping beauty, a new day greets us."

"Hmm?"

"Today is all ours. Today, you and I start again."