The only thing that held her cover together this long was Marianne's extremely thorough work. Alone with the Janissaries, Étoile could barely keep the glare of contempt out of her eyes. She sniffed unpleasantly as they teased her with their tails, and in one moment she was seized with an almost uncontrollable urge to bite!

But the pain made her meek. Her bindings kept her still. Her embarrassment made it possible to forget her connection to her own powers, and when the Lynx started making lewd faces and noises at her breasts, instead of igniting a fire inside of her it simply put the image of the liaison into her imagination, making her blush horribly, and squeak her feeble protests through that soft and furry gag pressed against her lips. 

When she is saved, it is by the worst possible figure imaginable. But she pounces on the Inquisitor's presence like a desert traveler finding an oasis just the same. 

"P-please!" she begs, "Please, please! Th-this unworthy..! I, I! Help me, please!"

Étoile fights not to gag on the tail hairs now clinging to her tongue. She dares not try and spit them out. Not in front of an Inquisitor. She tries her best, but it's so miserable! And her back screams with pain while her arms and especially her wrists groan subtler complaints underneath. And there's a hand! On her face! And it's squeezing and there's the [i]voice[/i] and it's the same! It's so, so, so like [i]h-her[/i] and! And! And...

It's too much to ask of a poor little slave like her. Fragile flower! Innocent handmaiden! Étoile bursts into hysterical tears, right on cue. She leans into that hand that is both salvation and destruction, and she sobs for everything she's worth. 

"Sh-she took me! The demon! She t-t-took me to this, this pl-pla-place and, and, and sh-she..." Étoile sniffles loudly. Her eyes are cast down in shame, even as her head is lifted up, "It was horrible! She called me a slut and a t-traitor and she hit me! She took the clothes my m-m-most exalted and beloved Lady Tamytha asked me to wear! I thought I would die!"

She sniffles and squeezes her eyes shut at the memory. She is babbling and useless, prattling on and on about the sensation of sinking through floors and some kind of "Hell", locking on the kinds of images Jerioth ab-Ishtar is probably still dwelling on. She quails with fear to mention the threats: the drowning, the theft of her purity, the promise when Ma-Ri-Ann left poor little Étoile to be found that her shamefully uncovered face would lead to further punishments. She can't take another whipping! She can't!

"I beg you, I beg you! Do anything else! Spank me, march me down the street in shame, call me bad girl, bad slave, bad pet! I am, I am, I am! But d-do-don't hurt me, please! I only," she sniffles again, "I only wish to return to my Lady! She needs me! She needs her little star! I, I don't know anything else! The Ma-Ri-Ann only said a, a... revolution was coming! She wouldn't tell me what it meant! Please, please! Bring me back to my Lady! I am, I just want... I wanna go home~"