Rage simmered within her, boiling her blood and searing her flesh, flushing her skin as red as the rose of her noble house's sigil. The Taengean beauty paced back and forth, wringing her hands in distress. With each indignant stride, the wispy material of her lilac peplos flared out behind her like the wings of a bird in flight. Oh, how she envied that fluttering fabric. How she wished that she could take flight, soaring high into the air and far from her gilded cage. Teangea seemed nothing more to her nowadays than a lavish prison and each luxury a trap. Today had only sealed that belief.

They had spoken so shamelessly, not even bothering to lower their voices as she passed. Why would they? Noble as she was, she was only a woman. It was not her place to interfere with the carnal pleasures of men. Besides, Evanthe was merely her handmaiden. Why should it concern her if they found the lady attractive? Why should she care who they bedded? But she did.

It was bold of them to assume she would not. Her handmaidens were her responsibility and their reputations would therefore reflect upon her own. Besides, as her chief lady, Evanthe was no common whore to be taken to bed before marriage by a man who had no interest in courting her.

She had wanted to confront the guard with his immediate dismissal, but as she had stepped towards him, he had fixed her with such a look that she had stopped in her tracks and stayed her tongue. It was a look of knowing, a look of sly secrecy, a look that warned her to be silent. She had walked away, ordering the carriage immediately and demanding to be taken to be taken here.

Gianna had graciously received her.

And for the past ten minutes she had paced. Paced and ranted while wringing her hands and spewing forth insults, fiercely cursing the name of the one who spoke so disrespectfully of her secret love and fiercely fighting back the tears that constantly pricked like needles at her eyes, threatening to burst forth like a river constrained by a weakening dam. Her brows were knit tightly together, her face deathly pale and her cheeks flushed scarlet in contrast with rage; her emerald eyes were wide as drachma, rimmed red from the private tears she had permitted herself to shed alone in the carriage.

"Curse that man! May Hades take him! May the harpies claw him to shreds! May a Siren lure him to his death!" she cried. She knew all of this must seem terribly dramatic, but that did not stop the pounding of her heart. "You should have heard him, Gianna! Aglaia is only thirteen, yet he spoke of ravishing her. He deemed Aoide 'barely pretty enough to be touched,' but said that she would do...can you believe his nerve?" she flared. As she recalled how he had spoken of her dear one, bile rose like acid in her throat. She swallowed it down and bravely continued. "And then came the worst, he spoke of her. Eva. He says that he doubts she has ever been touched. 'Tis not true, Gianna. I know she has been touched, but..."

Ophelia hesitated briefly, worrying her lower lip. This was not her secret to tell, but she knew that Evanthe would not mind the Princess knowing it, for Gianna would breathe not a word of it to anyone. What had passed between them would never leave this room. Gianna would do as Ophelia had, taking Evanthe's past, locking it deep within a secret compartment of her heart and hiding the key where no man, woman or child could ever find it.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, she approached the velvet sofa upon which her friend reclined so that she could speak more quietly, though she knew that no-one was listening. They were very much alone; this was a private audience.

"...she has been touched before, though not willingly. She came into my service as a girl because she could no longer bear the memories that plagued her in her own home...memories of a trusted guard forcing himself upon her the night before the birthday upon which she was to become eligible for marriage."

She paused again, giving Gianna a moment to take the shocking information in before moving away from the sofa.

"Alcander had the nerve to suggest that she had never been touched before as if it were a bad thing! He said that he intended to school Evanthe in the ways of love and passion, to teach her how to please a man. The other guards were very peculiar. They laughed and told him that they would find her an unwilling subject. They were not wrong, but she has never been unfriendly to them or given them or given them any cause to believe that a proper courtship would not be invited. But he does not wish for a proper courtship! You know Alcander, do you not? You have heard of his reputation? If not, allow me to enlighten you!"

She took a deep breath. Her whole body was shaking, trembling with barely suppressed fury. "He is known for spreading his seed wherever he wishes. He has fathered many bastard children, most of whom I take it upon myself to care for, as well as the mothers, for he makes no provisions for them. He simply lets his seed quicken where it may. Should he lay with Evanthe, if she were, Hera forbid, to fall pregnant, he would do nothing to provide for the child. He is the worst kind of man! And he cares nothing for the reputations of his partners! Does it never occur to him that some of these women can never be married once he has plucked their precious red flower? For some men will only take a virgin bride."

Again, she felt the pricking at the back of her eyes, the pressure building inside her. She knew that she would only be able to contain herself for so long before the tears came, but once more she bid them hold their peace, and once more they obeyed, though she knew they would soon return. Glancing over at Gianna to see how she was reacting to all of this, she noticed that her friend was smiling. Ophelia's lips twisted into a frown of concern. What had said that could have brought joy to Gianna? Had Gianna perhaps thought of a plan to avenge the women Acander had wronged?

"I meant to dismiss him..." Ophelia continued hesitantly. "But when I approached him, he gave me a strange look. It frightened me."
She dared say no more than that. She knew exactly what the look had meant -- I know your secret -- but she could not admit that to Gianna.

'My beautiful Ophelia, perhaps you should ask why does this trouble you so? Why should Evanthe’s private life be a source of such heartbreak in her resplendant mistress?'

Gianna's question caught her by surprise. For a moment she was silent, but just as she was about to reiterate the true gravity of the situation, and the diabolical nature of Evanthe's suitor -- if he could even be called such a thing -- the Princess spoke again.

"You love her."

This was no question, but a statement of fact. Gianna had seen what most had not, astute as she was, and now she was beaming. A knot formed in Ophelia's chest, tightening like a noose around her heart. She had never been so afraid in her life, not even when Acander had smiled at her. This was Gianna, her dearest Gianna. If Gia were to sever the ties of their friendship, she knew not what they would do.

But rather than look upon her with disgust, Ophelia saw only kindness in the youngest Princess's eyes as she rose from the sofa and slowly stepped towards her, each movement as graceful as a swan. Though it was Ophelia's instinct to stare at the ground in shame, she forced herself to meet Gianna's gaze.

'For a long time I have seen the way you look at her, her beautiful face, her exquisite body beneath her clothes. For a long time I have seen you long for her, privately aching on the inside to have her, to know her.'

A stab of pain shot through Ophelia at Gianna's words, spoken with such kind candor, such sweet simplicity. Each syllable uttered was true, and it would be an insult to her beloved to deny it, so she did not. Instead she tried once more to catch her breath, her eyes now firmly fixed on Gianna, who stood before her. Mutely, she bent her head in the smallest of nods, for words seemed an impossible feat.

'I know. You must bring your family honor, you must find a suitable husband, bear his children, fall in line for the rest of your days as his chattel, his acquisition. It is a great tragedy, that the magnificence of women should be reduced to such. I understand...'

And it truly seemed as if she did understand. In that moment, a ray of hope flared within her heart, preparing to do battle with the darkness there. Perhaps it would not be so bad, Gianna knowing her secret. The fashionista seemed to have accepted it without a moment of judgement or hesitation. Now that Gianna knew, she would have somebody to talk to about the struggles of concealing such a great love.

'But, you should never be afraid of who you are, nor who you love. We shall all find husbands, and they will not love us, and never will. They will use us to gain connections, use our bodies as their breeding grounds. It is...unfortunate. So if we are able to find outlets of love and compassion, if we are able to enjoy even fleeting moments with people who genuinely care for us, who would burn the world down a thousand times over on our behalf, why should we not sample that cursory moment where we are made to feel loved? Our bodies may be offered up to the men we are given to, but we do not have to likewise give them our hearts.'

The tears came then, spilling from her eyes like water from a fountain. As they caught the light, they shone like miniature diamonds. She cried not for sorrow, however, but for joy. She had almost managed to talk herself into this way of thinking on many occasions, but never quite managed it. Binds of duty and honour held her back, shackling her to the role of the chaste and proper maiden. Suddenly, however, she felt an invisible cord loosen, her metaphorical shackles release, and heart sing out with freedom.

Princess Gianna had, with a few well-placed words, a kind smile, and unfaltering acceptance, freed her from self-imposed bondage. For that, she would be eternally grateful.

Ophelia stared at her with new eyes, eyes filled with admiration. As Gianna sipped from her golden goblet, she hurriedly dabbed at her cheeks with a delicate hand.
"You will forgive me for crying, I trust. But your words are poetry in syllabic form. You speak with such candor that it moves me. I have never come across one such as yourself, who is so kind, so quick to accept, cherish and love. Your heart is as golden as your hair, my dear."

She took a shaking breath, wringing her hands once more as she found the courage to say what you must. "You have the truth of it, about myself and Evanthe, or rather about myself. I have no reason to suspect that Evanthe feels anything but a sisterly affection towards me. But you are right in what you say. Our husbands are owed our bodies and our duty, but not our love, our minds, our hearts or our souls. Those are ours to with as we see fit."

Her pacing had taken a toll on her appearance. Several strands of hair had come loose from its elaborate style. Gianna brushed several of the dark strands back from her face, her caress as soft as a cloud. Ophelia did not move, her lips curving upward into the slightest of smiles.

'We should not be afraid to be loved, no matter where that love originates from. We should not be ashamed to love. If only Evanthe knew what a magnificently meritorious being held her in secret want in the depths of her heart, she would not hesitate to taste such delectable fruit..."

The Princess's words brought a blush to her cheeks. Momentarily she averted her eyes, though out of a newfound shyness rather than fear. She shook her head, lifting her gaze once more to Gianna's.

"I...I believe that Evanthe looks upon me as a sister. I cannot presume that my feelings are returned, though were they, I admit I would not be displeased," she blinked, horrified at herself for this admission. Were her feelings returned, she would ruin Evanthe's reputation. No, that could never be allowed to happen. "But what of Evanthe's reputation? And my own? If my feelings were returned, and we were to..." her voice trailed off, for she knew not how to politely put a phrase to the images her mind now conjured. Dutifully she banished them, as she always did. "...well, what would become of our names?"

'My sweet, we should never be embarrassed at all, ever, of who we are, or who we love. Our bodies are great temples, gifted to us by the gods, to be worshiped and revered,' came Gianna's response. That did not solve the problem of Evanthe's reputation, nor her own, but it did lift her spirit. Gianna's words gave her a newfound confidence, one she had never felt before. The Princess was right, their bodies were temples. Had the Gods not intended them to enjoy such pleasures, they would have come up with some creative solution to prevent women from copulating with each other. Yet, despite the challenges sharing the same organs presented, Ophelia knew that many women had invented creative solutions, and there were many ways in which a woman might please another, or a man might please a man. She had seen women copulating at the Dionysa on several occasions, fearlessly rolling in the grass knowing that they could do so without consequence. It was all in honour of the God of revelry after all, and there could be no risk of a child.

She had not noticed it before, but Gianna was close now. So close, in fact, that Ophelia could smell without effort the ambrosial aroma that clung to her faintly glowing skin. She drew in a deep breath, finding that from this short distance, Gianna's cocoa pools were surprisingly easy to get lost in.

'You are a luminous temple, chiseled by the gods that every curve and every dip and every swell bears their blood, sweat and tears. Any would be among the utmost privileged to pay homage at such a temple, including a princess of Tangea.'

At these words, her breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted on a silent gasp, not of disgust but surprise, and she found herself unintentionally reaching towards the royal to run a tentative hand down her cheek.

"I know not what to say to that," she confessed, her voice emerging as a choked whisper. "I...I am so confused. I know not how you came to discover my feelings for Evanthe, nor how it is that you are so accepting of them...but..." the paused momentarily, realizing only then that she had been subconsciously caressing Gianna's cheek. It was soft, smooth and subtly scented, the kind of cheek that invited such caresses. Tentatively, Ophelia stepped closer, regarding Gianna thoughtfully. Now that she could see without the blinders of shame, what she saw was a beautiful, intelligent woman, a woman who seemed to be making a rather strange, improper yet enticing offer.

"Gianna," she breathed the name with all the reverence of a sinner addressing a saint. "Even if I wished to take you up on such an offer, I could not possibly be of any use to you. My red flower has not been plucked. I do not know how to give pleasure in that way to others," her cheeks flushed at the admission, yet she found that she could not move her hand from the Princess's face. Gianna's soft skin was too much of an enticement. "And though I love you dearly, I wonder at why you would offer yourself to me. I will admit, I find you find beautiful, enticing...I have sometimes wished that I could touch you, and then scolded myself for such thoughts. But why would one such as you wish to spend time in that way with me? You must surely know how inexperienced I am."

"'Tis not true, Gianna! I know she has been touched, but..." Ophelia cut herself off, daring go no further in her discourse. The tears were threatening again, but she held them back with steely determination. Daring a glance at her friend, she noticed that the Princess's gaze was soft, her expression mildly troubled. Ophelia ceased in her pacing momentarily to take in Gianna's countenance and hear her counsel.

'I am so sorry, Lia,' her friend's words were as soft as a cloud, yet each syllable was clear to her. 'Alcander, and those of his ilk, must seek sources on which to levy their inadequacies, my sweet. Of course he chooses easy and soft targets, children like Aglaia and Aoide, believing they are inferior and that he is entitled to take what he wishes, as if they should be so lucky to experience his prowess, lacking as it is. His type harbor intense false securities. What hidden scorn lies within their hearts, for themselves, for their manhood, that the only women they can lay with are those they force to or buy, like unresisting beasts,'

Bile rose in the throat of the Condos Rose at the very idea of Alcander having his way with the sweet Aglaia, forcing his body upon her and tearing from her what was most precious. Gianna was right, after all, Aglaia was only a child and Aoide barely a woman. To take them in such a manner would be unthinkable -- to take anyone if they were less than agreeable would be unthinkable -- yet she knew such vile deeds were committed every day. Her mind flashed back to Evanthe, to the injustice she had been forced to suffer, and an involuntary shudder wracked her fertile form.


'The best way to protect the innocence of those girls is to advise them of the darkness in many men’s hearts, a fostered belief that theirs is the right to anything they desire. You have brothers. Did they teach you any form of self defense? Any form of hand-to-hand combat? Anything that you could pass on to Aglaia and Aoide should Alcander decide to advance his unsolicited and lecherous proclivities?'

Gianna was right, as usual. The best she could do for them was warn them to take heed. The girls would take her words to heart, as they always did. She almost smiled, but then Gianna's next words reached her ears. She fell into thoughtfulness, considering her options. She herself had not been trained in self-defense, though she was exceptionally good with a bow. However...

"The males in my family never thought to train me in self-defense, though they never objected to my love of archery, and I believe you know that I am more than proficient with a bow. But, and please let this stay between us, Evanthe could train them. She knows things. She has taken great care to study self-defense. Her father is a lot more open than mine on such matters. She knows many means by which a woman could defend herself -- she could train them, and I know she would were I to ask it of her. I should probably warn her about Alcander too, come to think of it, for she seems to be his main objective."

And then she told all. How could she not, when Gianna's face was so open with warmth and understanding? She told Gianna why Evanthe had learned to protect herself -- because of what her own guard had done to her the very night before her fourteenth birthday. She told Gianna how, unbearable as it was for the poor girl to live in her once cherished house with the memories of her violation, she had accepted Olivia's offer of a job as Ophelia's primary handmaiden. And then she had gone on to describe Alcander further, for it was not enough that Gianna know his interest in bedding Evanthe. Ophelia needed her to know why it would be such a tragedy, and so she poured out with an aching heart all that she knew of the lecher and his former conquests, praying her friend would understand why Evanthe must be saved. In her mind's eye, she saw her most dear one swollen with child, ostracized by society, cast out of the Condos house by a shamed and angry Olivia. The image chilled her to the very core.

Gianna sipped her wine, her attention never once straying elsewhere. Ophelia was eternally grateful for that, for she knew that these words, difficult as they were to speak, would not be easy for one like Gianna to hear. Gianna was a creature of light and joy, unaccustomed to darkness and dismay.
'My lovely friend, I lament that you are suffering, that the welfare of your ladies may teeter precariously on edge, and that Alcander frightens you. He does not frighten me though, and I should very much like to find myself alone with him.'
Ophelia's eyes widened at her words, for she understood the implications immediately. Gianna was offering assistance. A moment later, the Princess confirmed her theory, stating that should Ophelia be so good as to arrange such a meeting, she would see to it that Alcander would not perish, but no lady should ever find cause to fear him again. Ophelia blinked at her in awed astonishment. For a moment, her tongue lay numb within her and her brain could scramble together only incoherent nonsense. Eventually she spoke, voice quiet with reverence.
"Gianna, I would not wish to see you harmed...and yet I cannot deny that you would be doing us all a great service were you to succeed in your endeavour. If you are certain you wish to proceed in this, I shall arrange such an audience, though I warn you, he is a most unpleasant man."

She was crying now. She was crying, and she had tried so hard not to cry. Yet the tears came unbidden, and there was nothing she could do but let them fall. With a gentle hand, Gianna reached over to wipe them away. Ophelia stilled at her touch, her heart thrumming in her chest. She felt as though she were trapped in a labyrinth, spinning this way and that. The deeper she wandered, the more confused she became, yet with each step she took she felt as though she was drawing closer to some inevitable conclusion.

Gianna knew. She had sensed the truth Ophelia had tried so long to hide, and yet she raised no cry of alarm, summoned no guard to dismiss her, nor even moved away. Her eyes were filled with the same warmth as before, her smile was still in place, even more radiant than it had previously been if that at all was possible.
'No apology is necessary...'
Ophelia's emerald eyes widened at these words, for they were words she had never thought to hear. Again the tears came, but they were tears of mingled joy and relief. For over ten years she had kept her secret, locked away her shame. Acceptance was oddly freeing. Confusing and terrifying, for she felt unworthy of these words, that smile, the glimmer that shone in Gianna's eyes, but the wave of relief that overwhelmed her was enough to crush her uncertainty into a fine powder.
'We are friends, ‘Lia, and I hope you know how I adore you.'
She did. Deep down in her heart, she knew that Gianna adored her and the sentiment was returned. Had she truly believed that anything could ever change that? Possibly, but now she saw that she had been wrong, and discovering that brought her the greatest joy imaginable.
'There is never a need to apologize or hesitate to come to me. I am your friend, and will burn the world down for you if I have to.'
It was a bold statement, but Ophelia knew it to be true. After all, she would gladly do the same without a moment's hesitation. That was what true friendship was. She ought to have known that Gianna would never have judged her. Now, in the light of glorious acceptance, she felt almost foolish for keeping this secret from her friend for so many years.
"As would I," the beauteous brunette whispered in return, placing one hand to her heart. "I would burn the world ten times over for you; I would give up everything I own, I would travel from here to Lands Afar to see you see safe and happy, for you are dearer to me than words could ever express, and your acceptance and continued friendship is everything, my most beloved Gia."

But there was a problem. Though Gianna accepted her, that did not mean Evanthe would. There was no guarantee that Eva would welcome her love. In a tremulous murmur, she stated so, informing Gianna that she believed Evanthe's affection to be merely that of a sister. She dared not presume that her feelings were returned, though to learn that they were would bring her great joy. Still, there was the matter of Eva's reputation to consider. What if someone were to discover their affection for each other and begin a rumour? Make Evanthe the subject of some great scandal? That could never be allowed. Ophelia would not permit Evanthe to suffer on her account. She looked to the Princess, awaiting her wise counsel. She knew that Gianna was no maiden; Gia shared her bed with whomever she pleased, accounting for this to no-one. She considered pleasure her right,and perhaps it was. At least, unlike most who thought in this way, Gianna was selective when it came to her partners, taking only those who were worthy of her golden presence as her lovers. But as she had done this, it did mean that she was well positioned to advise Ophelia on the matter of reputation and premarital relations.

'The person you should be having this conversation with is not I, my sweet. It is Evanthe,' Gianna said. Ophelia bit her lower lip, having feared that she would say something along those lines. Still, she listened attentively. 'The answer is always ‘no’ to a question that is never asked. You love her. Love is a magnificent experience. It is uplifting, joyous, sets us to feel as if we can fly to the heavens, yet also terrifies us, forces us to face our insecurities, to share vulnerability with someone else.'
She was right about that. Each time she gazed into Evanthe's opalescent eyes, her heart took wing, only to be shot down with an arrow when she felt another's eyes upon her and was forced to look away. It was never safe to admire Eva out in the open where scrutiny might follow and whispers carry on the wind, spreading like a wildfire until the her reputation was in ruin and the Condos Rose stripped of it all its petals.
'It is a wondrous thing, love. You deserve to be loved. So does Evanthe. Should that be with each other, only the two of you could reach such a conclusion. Perhaps you should offer her the chance to accept or decline before so readily dismissing any possibility. And…”
Perhaps she was right, though. What if Evanthe did return her feelings? If she never asked, she would never know. She could marry well to protect her reputation, some great Lord who would shield her from suspicion. Perhaps she could marry Zacharias. True, he disdained the idea of marriage, but who could blame him with a gaggle of Leventi's flocking to win his hand? She was at the very least a tolerable companion. Or of not him, an older man who bring security and defend her honour should anyone try to taint it with scandal. She and Evanthe would be safe. They could be together as long as they took the proper precautions, if indeed that was her handmaid's wish.
'..of course, any time we share beds with those other than the mainstream of expectation, or at all, it is best to be discreet. It is our freedom to enjoy our bodies, and those of our lovers, but it is also prudent to do so quietly.'

A warning, and a wise one. Having taken all of this in and concluded as to what she would do, Ophelia gave a shaky nod, an uncertain smile creeping across her rosebud lips.
"I have decided that I will speak to Eva," her voice was barely above a whisper and lacking its usual confidence. The conviction lay in her heart. She would confess all to Evanthe, even if it altered things between them in a negative way. Evanthe had a right to know, and Ophelia had the same right to unburden herself of her secret. "Though I confess I am afraid."

And she was afraid, but she felt more alive than she ever had in her entire life, despite the shame that tried to wrap like a vine around her heart once more. Each time it made its attempt, joy would slice through it with golden sheers, and the vine would wither and die.

All she could do was stare at Gianna in a mixture of awe, confusion and awakened lust as the Princess put forth her proposition. She had often admired her friend's beauty in secret, but that was as far as it had gone. Sometimes, she had wished that Gianna was not so very visible, so that it would be easier for her to banish thoughts of caressing the creamy flesh so carelessly put on display. Now, though, she was being invited to do just that. Gianna was not Evanthe, but perhaps if she accustomed herself to the feel of a woman's body, she would not stiffen when first she touched Evanthe. Evanthe would not see the shame in her eyes, or sense the hesitation in her touch.

Gianna would cure her shame.
Gianna would teach her how not to be afraid.

Offering her a sip of wine, Gianna bestowed an endearing smile upon the Condos Rose. Ophelia took the goblet gratefully, allowing the sweet liquid to run down her throat before handing the goblet back to her. 'I do not wish to confuse you, 'Lia, you mean the world to me,' she said softly, grasping her hand and lightly tracing her fingers with her lips. Ophelia's body trembled, her eyes lightly fluttering closed. As the Princess addressed her once more, her lashes lifted.
'You discredit yourself. You are a masterpiece, and any should be lucky to have you. I envy Evanthe this.'
A soft blush crept across the face of the Taengean noble, and a soft giggle slipped from her rosebud lips, mingling with that of the Princess to create a sweet harmony.
"You are too kind," she murmured in response, making no move to take her hand away.

'Let us do this instead. Pretend I am Evanthe. What would you say to me. What would you tell me. You can practice this here, if you like, so that should you summon the courage to confront the blessed object of your affections, you are gathered in thoughts and words.'
Ophelia listened intently, studying the Princess with a thoughtful expression. Their golden hair was nearly identical, their complexions both of alabaster. It would not be such a great feat to envision her in the role of Evanthe.
'Pretend I am she. What divine secrets would you whisper to me, what confessions would you make, for my ears only, that the warmth of your breath should be upon my neck as you did so.'
Ophelia allowed her eyes to drift closed, picturing the face of she who was dearest to her. When they opened once more, it truly was as if Eva was standing before her. She smiled a little, reaching for Gianna's other hand and meeting her brown eyes with a soft gaze that invited intimacy.

"Eva," she breathed the name as if it were a sacred thing, the name of a Saint or a Goddess. She was careful to use the nickname, that which was only reserved for intimate moments, not the lady's full name. "I would speak with you on a matter of dear urgency. Nothing is wrong, you need not fear, and nothing will be wrong should you dislike what I have to say, for I will think no less of you for it..." she moved slightly closer to Gianna, gently brushing a few stray wisps of gold behind a delicate ear. "...but the simple truth is, and I think you have known this for quite some time, that you are my everything, my core reason for existence. In my eyes, you shone brighter than the sun and the moon combined. No jewel or gown can match your beauty. And so, my dearest love -- for that is what you are, and always will be -- if you are able to willingly return my affections, I pray you give me some sign that I may hope."

Everything was different now: permenantly altered, never to be the same again. She had spoken the words that had she vowed never to say, done the thing she had sworn never to do. Not directly, not with Evanthe, but she may as well have. She felt as if she had. In her mind's eye, it was Eva standing before her, just as Gianna promised it would be. Her heart had transformed itself from an organ into a wild creature that sought immediate release and hammered its gossamer wings frantically against the confines of her ribcage. She had to force her breaths into a pattern of regularity, lest they fall into her heart's unsteady rhythm.

Everything was upside down. Everything was twisted. The world as she new it was eternally changed, and yet she would not turn back, could not turn back. She had passed the point of no return and she was glad of it. At long last, she had broken free of her invisible shackles, shed her shame like a garment that no longer fit, and stood both glorious and vulnerable in her metaphorical nakedness. She would bare her soul to the true Evanthe when the time was right. She could only hope that her beloved Eva would be as kind, receptive and understanding as her dear Gianna.

And in the meantime, she could lose herself in dreams.

The recipient of her romantic confession smiled lovingly in return, causing Ophelia's heart to skip a beat. That smile was so beautiful, her teeth shining like a string of pearls in the candlelight. Ophelia watched with a mixture of hope and anxiety as the voluptuous blonde set down her auran chalice, their gazes locking once more.

'Oh beat of my heart, I thought you would never ask,' the other woman responded, almost bringing Ophelia's heart to a stop as she envisioned those words escaping Evanthe's sweet lips. Slowly and deliberately, her beautiful illusion slid the very real peplos from her shoulders, causing the fabric to fall away in a pool of silk at her feet. Her naked body was revealed in all its feminine glory. Ophelia had only ever seen naked women at the Dionysa, or depicted in art. Never before had she been alone with one. Her breath caught in her throat as she drank in every sensuous curve, her lips parting on a sigh of ecstasy.

And then the girl was upon her, encircling her waist with slender arms. At first, she felt only a whisper of breath upon her neck, then the lightest of pressures. She drew in a shuddering breath, her eyelids fluttering closed once again. The pressure increased as the kisses moved upward, until eventually she felt her earlobe taken gently between full, eager lips.

Her eyes fluttered open as she felt a gentle hand caress her cheek. The touch was light as a feather, just as she imagined Evanthe's would be. She smiled softly, reaching up to tuck a few more stray strands behind her lover's ear and allowing her hand to linger there. As she did so, the other closed the distance between them, bringing their lips together. Ophelia was surprised at first. The feel of another's lips upon hers was a foreign sensation, but not at all an unpleasant one. At first, their movements were tentative, and Ophelia suspected that this was for her sake, so that she might acclimate herself to the sensation. But soon she did. She learned the rhythm the lips made when they moved together. At first her friend led the exchange, but then things became more equal between them. Ophelia buried her hands in the golden tresses of her dear one, drawing her closer as their passion grew.

When they drew apart, both gazes were filled with lust. Ophelia placed one hand on the Princess's shoulder and laced the other through her hair, softly stroking the aureus strands.


'Your Evanthe is yours to take, as she has waited for this moment over the long years of her service. This body is yours to enjoy,' whispered the one who so convincingly embodied her beloved.
"I should have told you before," she murmured in response, having momentarily forgotten that Gianan was not Evanthe. It mattered not, however, because for the purpose of this night, she was.
This time, it was Ophelia who drew the other woman close, her hands lightly tracing her delicate curves. She placed the lightest of kisses on the golden forehead of her companion, before moving to whisper "I love you," in her ear. On impulse, she placed the lightest of kisses on her earlobe, one hand moving to caress her left breast while the other held her in a light, unobtrusive embrace.

The only time Ophelia had ever felt a breast was when she washed her own. Though she was washed by servants, she insisted that she be permitted to wash her own private areas. As such, she knew what they felt like. But this was different. Touching another was different. As her hand caressed the silken skin of her partner, she felt a foreign feeling stir somewhere deep within her, one she could not identify. A strange wetness gathered on her intimate area, but the feeling was not unwelcome. She wondered what the Princess was feeling, whether this was pleasant for her. Tentatively, she circled the other woman's nipple with two fingers, wondering what might happen if she dared to touch that particular area. She had only briefly brushed over her own nipples with the cloth while washing and it had caused them to tingle. Would Gianna's nipples tingle if she were to touch them? The sensation had not been unpleasant when the cloth had brushed her nipples. What might a finger feel like? Would Gianna enjoy it? Would Evanthe? With slight trepidation, Ophelia took one of Gianna's nipples between two fingers, lightly caressing the raised bump. What would Evanthe make of these actions? Would she find them pleasurable? Would they hurt her? She hoped it would be the former.

Gianna. Evanthe. Was there a difference now? There seemed not to be as both girls' faces swam before her, a vision of ethereal beauty almost blinding her, exhilaration heightening her senses so that every sound and scent was amplified. Am ambrosial aroma clung to her surrogate, further stirring her arousal, and the warmth of her smile invited intimacy.

'Yes, you should have,' the words that were spoken came from the divine lips of a Princess, but in her mind they were those of her beloved, for Gianna spoke them with such sweet sincerity. She played her part to perfection, and Ophelia would be forever grateful to her for that. She was giving Ophelia a most unique opportunity, one that she had not realized she was in need of until now. In the sanctity of these palatial rooms, she could fully explore without judgement who she was and wished to be, and in doing so, find the confidence needed to approach the true Evanthe. When she did, her fears would be but a shadow of what they once were, her shame a thing of the past, all thanks to Gianna, and with no shame to hold her back she would be able to speak freely to her dear one of her feelings. Gianna would teach her the ways in which a woman could be pleased, sighs of ecstasy drawn from a female partner's lips, and should Evanthe wish it, she would draw those sighs from her. lover, mentor, friend; tonight the Princess would play all these roles, and Ophelia would never forget her kindness.

'So many nights we could have been sharing all this time...so many nights to adore you in the sacred moonlight as it spilled through your windows and across your bed. So many opportunities missed,' murmured the Princess, speaking the words the beauteous noble had so long wished to hear from the lips of her beauteous Evanthe. So vivid was the image the royal had conjured that she could see it in her mind's eye. She was easily able to envision the silver rays bathing her bedchamber in a luminous glow as, concealed behind the privacy of silken curtains, she and Evanthe whispered words of love while lying tangled together on her four-poster bed; her fingers buried in the handmaid's blonde hair, the beauty of Vasilidon running deft and nimble fingers through her own.
"We shall never miss another," Ophelia countered in a whisper, ghosting her lips against the silken cheek of her lover.

Gianna gently retrieved Ophelia's hand, lifting it to her tender lips. Their eyes met as the Princess gently sucked upon her fingers, dampening the tender skin of each slender digit. Ophelia let out a soft sigh of contentment as once more her hand was placed upon the woman's left lipple, and in the sweet tone Evanthe might use, she swore to show her all that they had missed.

The Condos Rose made no objection as Gianna laced the fingers of their right hands together. A slight knot of nervousness twisted in her stomach, but that was only natural. She was a maiden, after all, untouched until this night. She knew what this foreplay portended, and though having gladly consented, nerves still wriggled like worms within her. Should she displease Gianna, she would never forgive herself. If she proved a bad lover, Evanthe would have no reason to risk humiliation for her. She glanced uncertainty over at her companion, the sight of her tender smile putting her once more at ease.Gianna would know what to do. Gianna would not allow her to falter; her dear friend would see to it that by the time she approached her sun and stars, she would be able to please her.

As she looked to her surrogate Evanthe, the woman reached forth and delicately proceeded to unclasp the silver dragonflies that held her peplos in place. Again, Ophelia made no move to prevent this, though when her peplos began to fall away she momentarily clutched at it, terror gripping her heart. What if her lover found her wanting? What if Eva found her so?
"You will find me lacking, I fear, dear Eva..." she whispered her fear aloud, exhaling on a shaky breath as she released the silken fabric and allowed it to pool at her feet.


She was far from lacking in physical beauty: her hips were fertile, her stomach flat, her bosom small but firm. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight and soft as a kitten's fur. She stood there for a moment, watching as Evanthe's double climbed upon the raised dais and settled herself atop the sheets. With a comfort and ease that enticed Ophelia, the Princess ran a hand over her own voluptuous breast, whispering to her once more in the voice of her treasured one: 'What can your Evanthe do but indulge her lover, her mouth as eager as her mistress’. She begs to lavish in the ambrosial petals of the Condos Rose.'

It was an invitation, a summons to euphoria. All the pleasures that would await her with Eva lay upon that bed, beckoning her with a delicate hand. With a mixture of fascination and trepidation, the Taengean beauty climbed the dais, and unable to resist the words that poured like honey from the mouth of a Goddess on earth, fell beside her and encircled her bare waist.

"I will confess to you, dear Eva, that I know not how this is done; I am a maid, untouched and unskilled in the ways of love, for I thought that you would never have me. But we are here now, we are together, so I beg your indulgence. Be patient with your dear one, and show me how this is to be done?" She laughed lightly, hoping that mocking her own inexperience would put Evanthe at ease. That is what she would have done were Evanthe the one beside her, and so that is what she did. The two had always laughed together about things they knew nothing about, and if one knew more than the other on a subject, that person would take the lead, never once judging the other for their inability. And if neither knew anything on a subject, they would learn together. But in this fantasy, Evanthe was far more skilled in the art of lovemaking than Ophelia, and Evanthe would take the lead, just like that day when she had taught Ophelia how to cook the meat that she hunted, or the time she had taught Ophelia to prepare a herbal remedy that dulled the pain of her monthly bleeding.

"Nobody will come upon us?" the fear struck her suddenly and she thought it wise to ask. "Should we lock the doors, perhaps? I cannot recall if we have already."

'Ophelia, there is nothing about you that is lacking,' the voice that addressed her with gentle, and filled with a sobriety that made the Condos Rose take note. The eyes that met hers were filled with warmth, inviting her to look into them. Silken fingers gently stroked her chin, tipping it upward so that she met those eyes. Her desire was not to look away, but to let them claim her, to lose herself in their depths until all thoughts were a blur. 'You look down to no one,' the words were gentle but firm, an odd contrast but one she did not question, for that voice invited no questions. It was like a warm blanket. One did not ask why a blanket was being offered, they simply snuggled into it, delighting in its comfort.

Blinking over at her surrogate, the brunette Taengean waited anxiously to see what would happen next. Cast in the faint glow of candlelight, Gianna looked like an earthbound Goddess. Ophelia could not help but wonder how she must look to Gianna, uncertain and maidenly as she was. The girl beside her, however, seemed to behold a creature that pleased her, for she smiled and looked upon her with a gentle gaze, drinking in her every feature. Ophelia remained very still, permitting her to do this. If something was amiss, surely her friend would tell her? And then she could put it to right. But Gianna made no negative comment on her appearance, and she soon found herself relaxing into the encounter once more.

Instead, the girl who claimed with golden intentions to be her Evanthe leaned towards her, brushing her forehead with a tender kiss. Ophelia shivered involuntarily, her body singing with pleasure.
'It shall be my pleasure, as I have dreamed of this countless times,” murmured her beautiful illusion, causing her heart to burst with joy. It all felt so real, and if things truly went with Evanthe as this night with Gianna, she knew that she would never find a cause for sadness again.

She made no objections as she was gently laid on a surface as soft as a cloud, though a terrible thought suddenly occurred to her, and fearing for their modesty she voiced it to the angel who held her.
"No one will come, it is only us," she heard whispered in the voice of Evanthe. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to these words, and fully to her desires. It was only them, only her and her wildest dream, only her and a girl with a heart of gold.

Her lashes fluttered once again as she felt a pair of silken lips close over her earlobe, then over her lips. Expecting it this time, the White Rose reciprocated in kid, joining her own lips with that of her lover. So many times she had been forced to stiffen her muscles as Evanthe braided her hair, closing her eyes and praying to Hera for tne strength to ignore the feel of those nimble fingers working through her hair. Now, she relaxed her muscles completely, allowing her senses to awaken. Having suppressed these urges for years, they came spilling forth like water from a burst dam. The slightest touch aroused her, and as her auran-haired companion deftly stroked her own silken locks, her body began to tremble. Only slightly, but it most definitely would not have gone unnoticed by the other.
Quite without thought she wrapped one arm around her partner's waist, drawing her close. On instinct, her fingers sought the tender flesh of Gianna's creamy thighs, and she found that they were trailing tiny hearts. She had no recollection of deciding to do this, but somehow it felt right, so she continued to dot the symbols of love across the bare skin of the Princess, while the passion of their kiss intensified. Her lips parted on a sigh of ecstasy, giving her companion the opportunity to explore her mouth with her tongue. It was a foreign feeling, but not at all an unwelcome one. Tentatively, she slid her own tongue to meet Gianna's, lightly brushing the strange and sensuous object.

With her eyes closed, it was more than easy to picture Evanthe hovering above her, those hands that could so deftly throw a knife now buried so lovingly in her hair, those lips that had whispered in her ear so many times at court events now hungrily devouring hers. She could have spent an eternity in this fashion, but the kiss eventually reached its natural conclusion, her dear one pulling back. The kisses moved downwards, eventually pausing at her neck, while a second hand glided effortlessly across her body before settling on her breast. A quiet moan tore from her throat, for never had her breasts been handled by anyone but her, and only then to wash. The spot on her neck Gianna had chosen to kiss was one of great sensitivity; pleasure flooded her the moment her lips touched the auricomous beauty's lips made contact with her skin, and in response a light laugh escaped her.

"Eva, I think I may be going mad. The ceiling is blurry," she giggled, a hazy smile settling across her lovely face. She shuddered once more as Gianna circled the hardened skin of her nipple with a singular finger, bringing forth a slight wetness between her legs. The circling continued, this time in the other direction. Then, quite unexpectedly, she felt a tugging motion. She gasped, torn between pleasure and pain, the former winning out, and the latter vanishing completely when she grew accustomed to the feeling. It did not take long, three or four tugs at most, and ecstasy was hers again. Gianna was relentless in her efforts, and though Ophelia tried to remain silent, her joy could not be contained. Her arm instinctively tightened around the surrogate's waist, and low, erotic moans escaped her as the caresses intensified.

Then the kisses moved lower, each peck scorching her skin. The fire was delectable however; the rose would have gladly burned in these flames forever, allowing them to scorch away all of her petals. Seemingly having reached her target, the Princess's tongue flicked out to lap at the now tender skin of the hardened nipple. Ophelia's response was an exclamation of euphoria, and yet more shuddering as her lover proceeded to blow on the swollen mound of skin. More licking proceeded this. Ophelia closed her eyes, falling easily back into her reverie. The wetness continued to gather between her legs as, in her mind's eye, Evanthe hovered over her, performing these ministrations with such skill and ardor that her love could never be in doubt.

And then Evanthe's mouth was encircling the tender mound of skin, taking it between her fair lips. Well, it was Gianna, but with closed eyes it was more than easy to imagine otherwise. Her lips were warm and inviting, just as her smiles were, just as her words were. She even gave Ophelia a moment to acclimate herself to the feeling, for which the other was extremely grateful -- for pleasant as the sensation was, it was still a strange one. Again her body wracked with pleasure. It was as though this suction were a purging. With each passing moment, she could feel any vestiges of shame, trepidation and anxiety abandoning her as they gave way to a pleasure she had never known before.

May they never return. No, they shan't return. I won't let them, she swore. As if to prove this to herself, she buried one hand in her lover's golden hair and whispered the name of her true love to the wind.

"Eva..."

Is this what ecstasy felt like? Is this why people came together as they did? Surely not every copulation could be so blissful, so meaningful, so paradisiacal. On this night, The White Rose truly felt as though Aphrodite were smiling down upon her, blessing this encounter, emberwing it with a sanctity that elevated it far above the melding of two bodies and more towards the first step on a destined road. The Gods had not stirred to intervene in their coupling, so she could only draw from that the meaning that they approved of it. If not, then at the very least they did not scorn her. And since Gianna was acting the surrogate for Evanthe, she felt safe in drawing the further conclusion that they found Eva to be a suitable partner for her.

And all this while she had feared the wrath of the Gods. Had she been foolish to do so? It seemed so, but she also thought it wise that she reach out to Aphrodite as soon as possible and request a sign of affirmation.

When her left nipple was red and raw, throbbing and aching with a blissful combination of pleasure and pain, Gianna withdrew her lips. The cold was instantaneous, and she found herself missing the warmth of the Princess's lips. She had not long to wait though, for her surrogate sought out her right bud, blowing gently upon it before beginning toe now familiar suction that portended intense satisfaction. A whisper of pleasure passed her lips as the Princess intensified her efforts, her tongue gliding across the hardened skin, her velvety hands sliding up and down the previously untouched body of her virgin lover.

Ophelia breathed a sigh, her own hands extending to explore the fine curves of her lover as she breathed the name of the one she would hold eternally in her heart. As Eva's name slipped from her lips, she slid a delicate hand down Gianna's slender waist, pausing to lightly massage her hip. Her beautiful illusion looked up at her and Ophelia met her gaze with half-lidded eyes, her emerald pools swimming with love and arousal.

'Yes, my love?'
"Love, that is just it..." she murmured softly, a sweet smile gracing her rosebud lips as her dear one ghosted her luscious lips once more across her nipple. "You teach the sun to shine, the stars to glimmer. How the muses have yet to inspire artists and poets alike to sing your praises is beyond my comprehension. You are more precious to me than every jewel I possess, for you outshine them all in beauty and brilliance."

She could feel those silken hands gliding down her thighs. Her body gave another involuntary shudder, a gentle exhale escaping her parted lips.
'How exquisite you are….that my lips should be the one to savor the fruit of heaven,' her dear one whispered. Ophelia lowered her eyes in a mixture of awe, curiosity and slight trepidation as the bright angel moved lower down the bed, positioning herself between her legs. With the utmost gentleness, she nudged them apart. Ophelia opened her mouth to respond, but the words died on her tongue. In truth, she knew not what she would have said. She could not have protested, for she wanted this, but would it hurt? Would there be blood, as she had sometimes heard there was? Would the blood frighten her companion? Had the this Goddess on Earth ever lain with a virgin before?

One glance at the warm smile of her companion cast all her doubts aside, and she found herself once more floating on a cloud of euphoria.

'The gods themselves envy me this moment,' the aurean beauty breathed as she turned onto her stomach. Ophelia bit her lower lip. She was not so certain about that, but did not dare to contradict such a glorious compliment. The words were meant well, and secretly, she did like to think that perhaps one or two of the Gods might be looking down with envy. After all, what girl would not fantasize about being the object of a Gods' affection, even if their own heart lay elsewhere?
"I believe it is me that they envy, dearest Eva, for I have acquired the most precious jewel in all the world," she murmured in return. "And never shall I part with her."

It started off gently, the lightest touch of air. Ophelia smiled softly, enjoying the cool sensation. Then her lover's tongue flicked out towards her sacred area and immediately she tensed. It was not for lack of enjoyment, but that she had always been taught to preserve that part of her well, to guard it with her very life -- for it belonged not to her, but to her husband. But then she remembered Gianna's previous words, recalling how much sense the Princess had made when she had stated that theor bodies were theirs, as were their lives. As long as she did her duty and gave her husband an heir, why should she not take some pleasure for herself? Why should she live in shame and conceal forever what she was? Why should she deny herself the joys of the flesh, when it was perfectly acceptable for a man to openly flaunt his mistress in front of his wife? She would not flaunt Evanthe, for Evanthe deserved much better than that, but should Evanthe return her feelings, she would have her. She would bear children to whomever she married and she would run his household efficiently, but she would never allow him to deny her a chance at love, nor would she allow her family's words to ruin this most precious of moments.

Decided on her course of action, she untensed her muscles and smined invitingly at her lover, assuring her wordlessly that she had her full consent to proceed. And so she did. A velveteen hand caressed her flat stomach as a tongue well-versed in the ways of the bedroom probed gently at her intimate area, lapping at the juices of her lust as it delved deeper inside her, her maidenhood now a thing of the past. The penetration caused her to cry out, but not in pain. This was a feeling unlike any she had ever experienced. Her whole body tingled, alive with amour. Her lips parted slightly, but the only sounds she could make were inintelligible squeals.

I am no longer a virgin...

Realizing this, she tangled her nimble fingers in her lover's hair, blinking up at the canopy in a mixture of awe, shock and acceptance.

'Divine...' her lover breathed quietly, eliciting yet another cry as she swept her tongue once more against a particularly sensitive area of the Lady's nether region.
"Yes...yes you are."

What was virginity in Taengea? Ophelia had heard this question asked once in jest by a rather bawdy nobleman, who had then gone on to claim that a maiden on her wedding night was a rarer thing than a blessing from the Gods. Ophelia had been outraged then, and had turned to face him with that look of certainty that could only come from possession of a heart as pure as gold, and a soul as pure as snow.
‘I am a maiden,’ she had declared. ‘And shall be so on my wedding night. And I shall the Gods, most ignoble Lord, that my maidenhead will not be surrendered to you.’

She had been so certain then, so proud and pious, as she had tilted up her chin and gazed upon him with as one might an insect they wished to crush. If he could see her now, he would laugh. She could almost imagine those thin, worm-like lips of his twisting into a cruel smirk, his eyes dancing with mirth and malice.
‘I told you,’ he would say. ‘No woman can resist temptation.’

No woman can resist temptation, this sentiment haunted her as, one by one, the Olympian Goddesses made their presence known in her mind. An imagining, yes, but still she felt their call. Hera’s eyes were filled with disapproval, but Aphrodite beamed down upon her, and released into the air a cloud of twenty doves. Artemis beamed also, and she was reminded then of whisperings she had heard about the virgin huntress. As a child she had assumed the patron of women to be an eternal maiden, but as she had grown she had heard murmurs that Artemis was in fact a lover to those of her sex, and that her virginity was merely symbolic, for never had a man ever touched her. Hestia’s expression was unreadable, but Athena’s looked kind. Slowly, the images faded away, and Gianna’s words of moments prior returned in a clear echo: ‘My sweet, we should never be embarrassed at all, ever, of who we are, or who we love. Our bodies are great temples, gifted to us by the gods, to be worshiped and revered.’
She was right, of course -- Gianna was always right, for she possessed a wisdom far beyond her years. And it was as she said, they would do their womanly duties: they would marry and bear children. Their husbands would own their bodies, but they would never own their hearts. Her heart belonged to Evanthe, her dearest and most cherished love, and she refused to be ashamed of that.

Once she had been a maiden.
Once she had possessed foolish ideals about saving herself for a man who would never love her, never cherish her, never look at her in the manner that Gianna had looked at her tonight. The Princess’s gaze was almost scorching, her brown eyes searing her skin and burning through to her soul, leaving her raw and vulnerable, yet happily so. Her soul was laid bare to Gianna, so that that penetrating gaze might easily read each word writ upon it. Ophelia’s eyes were the doorway, and Gianna’s kisses the key to her deepest secrets.

Ophelia knew nothing of the sacred art of lovemaking, nor what passed between two partners when the silken curtains of a canopy bed were drawn. And so, not understanding what a climax was, her eyes widened and she clawed helplessly at the bedsheets as her body began to spasm violently, the movements entirely out of her control. The more she attempted to wrestle control of her muscles back from this strange phenomena that had gripped them, the less she seemed to possess. Her senses heightened gradually, so that every smell, sight and sound was intensified by ten.

She could feel the urgent flick of a tongue, the gentle press of lips against her most sacred and intimate area, her feminine juices sucked and swallowed by her beautiful, marvellous surrogate. She could sense a tightening in her chest and a soft, sweet ache between her legs. Some sort of pressure was building near her thighs, but she could not explain it, for the sensation was utterly foreign to her. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but a confusing one, and one she wished she understood. Once again, she cursed her ignorance. As she opened her mouth to enquire what it meant, that tantalizing tongue brushed against the sweetest spot of all, eliciting from her a low, desperate moan. She quickly gripped one of the bedposts to bind herself in place, for her fertile, feminine form had begun to tremble so violently that she feared the Princess would be toppled. Her breaths came in short, irregular gasps, and a scream of ecstasy finally tore from her throat as a hot, sticky substance poured from within her. She knew not what it was, nor what it meant, nor why she she was screaming, but when the shuddering eventually subsided, she blinked up at her beautiful illusion, hesitantly releasing her grip on the bedpost.

“What...what just happened?” she managed to choke out, her eyes fixed on Gianna with a mixture of awe and curiosity. “Is that supposed to happen?”

Gianna was looking up at her, examining her face. The Princess’s eyes seemed to be glowing with excitement, and so Ophelia was not particularly worried about what had just passed between them. After all, if what had just occurred was unnatural, Gia would be worried. So this must be what happened, then? When she took Evanthe in her arms, this would happen to Eva? If she did things right, that was. She made a note of it, committing every detail to memory. She would have to remember to hold Evanthe close, and to keep her away from any hard surfaces lest she bang her head. Evanthe might have the strength to knock her over, but she wasn’t sure. Still, even if that did happen, Ophelia wouldn’t mind. She would suffer a thousand accidental bruises for her dear one.

Gianna’s mouth moved then, gently sealing around the engorged hood of her clitoris. A soft gasp escaped her as her head threw itself involuntarily to one side, her long cocoa-coloured locks tumbling like a waterfall over her left shoulder, gently kissing her pale, exposed breast. Her nippes were still as hard as rocks, throbbing and tender from Gianna’s attentions. Her whole body ached with a need she had never known, but would not soon forget. Slowly, her dear one unhooked her arm from the back of her thigh, bringing it down to her entrance. Ophelia traced its path with her emerald hues, her breath catching in her throat.

This was it.
There was no going back from this.
Penetration would mean the certain death of her maidenhood.
No, no, that was the wrong way to view it.
It would not mean a death, but a birth; the birth of her womanhood. Not the death of The White Rose, but the birth of the red.
After tonight, she would know the secrets of love.
The only thing that would die tonight was shame, and in its place would form a confidence that would allow her to speak as she had always dreamed to Evanthe.

She made no move to stop that finger on its path, merely observed its progress. At first it merely circled her sex, then slowly delved into the thin, wet tunnel. Her intimate area throbbed with pleasure at this new stimulation, closing around the finger as if to protect it, as if it were the most precious of treasures. All the while, her surrogate worked tirelessly on the bud of her clitoris, nipping, licking and sucking, drawing gasps and whimpers from the beauteous brunette as her head writhed from side to side on the pillow and she fought without success to keep her body still.