[b]Chen![/b]

You are unwrapped.

Rose from the River takes her time with her work, but only so that she can linger over the power in this moment. Do you feel it too, Chen? The electric moment when her fingers are hooked in your top and she’s tugged just enough to make you feel it, and in that moment you know that she could pull it off, she almost certainly is going to, but she hasn’t yet, so all you can do is squirm there in anticipation, and she looks up at you and you can see the thrill of that moment running through her, too, and that moment she stretches out for long enough for you to say no, if you were to be frightened of that moment, if you were to change your mind, if you were to find the power and thrill and helplessness of the moment too much or too fast or too anything— then you could. Even after you said yes.

Because Rose from the River wants you, Chen. Make no mistake, she is doing this because she wants to. Why else would she look at you like that with her golden eyes, two fingers on one hand fidgeting as she drags her gaze over your skin, the faint hairs on your arms, the curve of your neck meeting your shoulders, the place where your stomach meets your skirt— and there she teases her fingers along your belly, too, light and graceful.

She touches you as if you were the hilt of a sword and she had you mid-flourish, you lucky girl. And she looks at you like a woman no stranger to intense obsession. Even only half unwrapped, that gaze is intense, as if she is trying to memorize your particulars, the things that make you you. An uncharitable mind would call it a built-in reflex, a shapeshifter’s mania; a charitable one would note how much attention she is paying to you, how she is trying to see [i]you,[/i] not just as a canvas for a makeover but as a new girlfriend, someone who wants her loyalty and attention and prowess, maybe even someone who will not see her as a weapon, just as Keron has refused to do.

And when you let her finish, should you choose at every step to allow her to do so— oh, how she will look at you then, all of you, standing you up and raising your hands to your head, palm cradling your jaw, foot pushing your heels apart, looking at you in a way that any princess would yearn to be looked at.

She is a very old thing, Chen of the Northern Wind, and at the same time she is a very new thing; she has deep wells of experience, and at the same time, yearns for experiences she has been denied. The fact that you allow her to play this game with you means the world to her— she is not just entertaining a princess she met on the road, not this time. She is leaving herself vulnerable to you and your judgment by inviting you to share this story with her so thoroughly, by looking at you with such intensity in her eyes, by stepping into the role of [i]antagonist to princesses[/i] she finds so comfortable and safe.

And even now she takes the power in the scene and uses it to pamper you because she can reassure herself that her interest in this story isn’t some hardcoded weakness meant to lure her into a trap, and because it lets her feel useful and desired and unselfish all at once, and because she wants you to understand the feeling in her heart when she first saw herself at that dance so long ago— and all those things are true at once, Chen.

You are the true power in this story, bright princess. The more you validate her devotion, the happier she will be, and the more likely she will be to be gentle (or clinging); the more you threaten revenge (if you can get it out, if your mouth isn’t already useless before she gets there), the more likely you can make her fingers skip a beat, can send an envious and needy thrill through this amazon, and the more you will signal you don’t want her to pull any of her punches. So what will it be, Chen? Will you melt into being the adoring and adored girlfriend, or will you try to play the part of the captured and enchanted princess?

***

[b]Yue![/b]

“A change of clothes, you say?” Rose from the River smiles a little wolfishly herself. “[i]Very[/i] well. I’ll see if we have anything suitable for your [i]idiom,[/i] ma’am. Daisies and flannel, perhaps.” Be careful what you wish for, Sun Farmer! She might even find some boots to go along with it.

“Less kibble,” she adds, smoothly (worryingly, not [i]no[/i] kibble), “Go board, pillows, honey. And a CD player. If it is in my power, Yue the Sun Farmer, you will have what you want.”

She sets down the tray, turns to leave— and then stops! Oh, that teasing maid! The Countess definitely has her hands full with that one (in more ways than one).

“I feel… pretty,” Rose from the River concedes. “I have been statuesque, alluring, handsome, magnificent, but this?” She does a little spin, skirt floofing out, Mary Janes click-a-clacking on the floor. “This is [i]pretty.[/i] And I think I quite like it, even though
[i]Beauty is fleeting, a petal falling to earth;
only a bite of the heavenly peach may restore it.
Better then is the virtuous heart,
gold which will not tarnish with age.[/i]
How fortunate, then, to have both!”

And from the look she gives Yue, she’s not boasting about herself. It’s both fond and impudent, self-aware enough to know Yue will be flustered, graceful enough to not imply anything too untoward.

***

[b]Hyra![/b]

Off on one side of the throne is a recessed alcove for the handmaidens. It’s full of soft lounging pillows and smoky-glazed lanterns, and packed to the gills with handmaids peeking out from behind the curtains. The sort of place where a decadent countess could lounge with a handful of handmaiden in either hand and watch a private show. (Not that Keron necessarily would, but the implication is important.)

In the middle of that alcove, Rose from the River sits, surrounded by her weaknesses: a skimpy outfit, shiny ropes, and girls. Her fingers flutter uselessly at her own shoulders as a multitude of hands play with her: rubbing her powerful thighs, her taut stomach, the cups of her lacy top, tilting her face up for veiled kisses, stroking the petals in her hair. Pink and white: Rose from the River’s own flowers are blossoming in the seasonal colors.

What a pretty shrine maiden she is today! How lovely she looks in lace, the cherry blossoms caught swirling on her chest, and how bright the rose-pink gold of her collar and bracers, her earrings and necklace! How demure her cherry-pink veil! And how the ropes hold her fast, framing her like a cherry-viewing lunchbox just waiting to be opened!

A handmaiden turns Rose’s face to look over at you; another leans in close to whisper in Rose’s ear. You don’t need to be close enough to hear Rose’s helpless, needy whimpers as she breathes through several thick layers of fragrant scarves; the glazed look in her eyes is enough to tell you that the Thorn Pilgrim has been effectively neutralized, and that’s before fingers start tugging on ropes and making her squirm and shuffle on her knees, trying to find some respite from the delightful torment. 

And [i]that’s[/i] before the handmaiden who whispered in her ear, making sure Chen’s glancing over, pulls Rose’s top up just long enough for both girlfriends to die blushing. Squirming from side to side like that over a simple wardrobe malfunction is a little theatrical, though, don’t you think?