The sudden change in power does, yes, leave poor Rosepetal somewhat stunned. Here she was, being so elegant and careful, artful and teasing and, beneath it all, [i]sincere,[/i] doing her best to convey her meaning without breaking character or implying she was in a position of power, and now here she is, mouth stuffed, ordered to shut up, and incredibly self-conscious over how hot she finds it. She’s not a silly ditz; she’s just so preoccupied, overthinking, and not paying attention to where she’s walking. The poor dear needs her Chen to guide her by the wrist, leading her stumbling and blushing to the shop. Her eyes are darting, her fingers are clenched against Chen’s hand, and she’s trying to cover all of herself with one hand. (And it’s pretty obvious that she only got bashful right after she was silenced. She’s walking on the edge of a precipice, heart pounding, each step so careful, too afraid to glance down.)

Then Chen whips out the scarf, and pulls it so deliciously firm over her cheeks, over her pouting lips, cinching it behind her head, and that’s what shoves her over the precipice with a helpful pat and a command. Now this isn’t just an embarrassing punishment that’s got her flustered and self-conscious and squirming: now it’s something that her [i]Princess[/i] gave her. She half-closes her eyes. No, that’s not the right way to say it: a filmy snake eyelid snaps down for a moment, and her brilliant golden eyes are hidden as if behind a gauzy veil.

She reaches up and rubs her fingers over that scarf, staring at her Chen, and even when the eyelid rolls back up, her eyes, usually so keen, are unfocused and relaxed. Then she makes a noise through the handkerchief and the scarf.

It is [i]toe-curling.[/i]

It is also deliriously happy, the sound of bashfulness and excess thoughts melting away into that long, deep, [i]delighted[/i] moan.

When Rosepetal stands back up, it’s with a sudden elegance, the elegance of Rose of the Sky Castle, a body that knows what it’s meant to do without that pesky brain getting in the way of things. When she sashays into the racks, swaying like a snake-charmer’s pet, she’s already up on the balls of her feet. If you whispered words of command into a willow-tree and had your true love step out, eager to make your every wish come true, the result might look something like Rosepetal picking out her outfit, humming, blinking slowly and contentedly with that snake-lid, moving with unnecessary spins and hops and not caring who sees what.

(And you can see, Chen, if you sneak a look. You can see everything. And when she catches you, peeking from around the aisle, she [i]stretches,[/i] hands above her head, thighs taut and strong enough to crumble stone, soft chest rising and falling with her breath. And then? She [i]bounces[/i] on the balls of her feet. Just for you.)

When she emerges, it’s hard not to stare, isn’t it? So [i]much[/i] of her outfit is marching the scarf her Chen gifted her with: diaphanous white pulled snugly over her rich, dark skin. Her sleeveless top all caught up at her elaborate lace-over-leather collar (with a ribbon leash tucked neatly inside, waiting to be rugged out), the buttons down the front seemingly almost ready to pop, so sheer that it’s easy to make out the voluminous (and still straining) lace underneath: the deep, rich purple of the Northern Wind. Her gloves, extending snugly up past her elbows, and her stockings, racing up past her knees. The apron, which exists in shadow, with only a cute snake and snow leopard tail entwined in embroidery to distinguish it. But not the skirt, scandalously short, hiking up whenever she bends over (and, yes, it’s the same purple lace, Chen, [i]your[/i] purple, feel free to stare), leaving a zone of Absolute Princess-Destroying Territory between her stockings and the skirt’s lace trim. And not the proper white headpiece, flanked on either side by thick ponytails: barely constrained with three ribbons on either side, heavy enough to kill a man if she spins on her gleaming white heels, pushing her legs up to their most presentable. And not the leather-and-lace cuffs around her elbows and wrists, ankles and knees, an odd but frilly decoration unless you recognize the design worked into the leather. Push them together, and they’re not coming apart no matter how Rose tugs— but only for her.

Oh, how she matches her Chen! She curtseys with that teeny skirt, unable to help herself from flashing hints of that rich purple on either side, and she lets her Princess twirl her around like a doll, pose, show off her outfit (just as daring, in its own way, as her precious short-lived outfit that Chen will undoubtedly replace). But between Chen doing her best maid poses, smiling like the sun peeking through the mountain peaks, and Chen leading their mistress through the city? Well, we can’t forget Rose squatting down, thighs not so much as trembling, pigtails brushing against the ground, to take her Chen’s perfect, round, shining face, and press her gagged lips to her girlfriend’s own, again and again, smothering her in gagged kisses, fluttering her lashes and humming [i]I love you[/i], and when she pulls away, she leaves her girlfriend breathless. Freedom from shame! Chen gets to look forward to those often. [i]Much[/i] more often.

As for cleaning up Ys— well, Rosepetal isn’t doing a lot of thinking! That’s for people who haven’t been told to shut up, for people who aren’t wearing an outfit to make everyone jealous of both the Pyre and the Twin Shard Princess, and for people who aren’t giddy with delight, all but dancing through the streets, wringing their tiny skirt in their hands and trying to remember not to put their wrists anywhere near each other, so— Chen! Cheeeeeeeeeen!! She did it agaiiiiiin! And here she comes, prancing back to Chen, with a demon tossed over her shoulder and another three writhing in a sack, holding her wrists out with a begging whine, and giving her another thank you kiss before running nimbly off to toss demons back before the Pyre! Anyone might think she’s doing it on purpose, but the truth is simpler: Rosepetal doesn’t have to worry, because her Princess gagged her and is here to take care of her and here she is dancing through Ys, solving an invasion without a sword, just her muscles and her willingness to obey while looking like a knockout, and she never dreamed she would really get to [i]do[/i] this! Not in a hundred years! Free and owned, shameless and flaunted, able to trust like she’s never been able before.

…until Chen leaves her in the claws of the Pyre of Meaning, who apparently finds it very funny to listen to Rosepetal’s flustered little huffs and moans, legs like columns, arms the same, as the promise of those cuffs is realized. And with her arms pulled back like that, well, when Chen comes out, it’ll be hard [i]not[/i] to stare at the lace in her face, and the giddy whimpers of her Rosepetal being arbitrarily punished by her owner. Not that Chen knows it, necessarily, but she’s watching Rosepetal fall hard and fast knowing that her Chen is there to catch her.

Knowing that even if she’s helpless, her Chen would [i]never[/i] let someone hurt her little Rosepetal. That she’ll keep coming back. And that she’ll tease her helpless, wiggling sillyhead of a girlfriend before pulling her limbs apart again, strong in a way that Rose is denying herself.

(It’s okay, Chen. Rosepetal is nodding when you catch her eye, and she’s awfully forward in her squirming, and she picked out that top for a reason. Go ahead. Show her how much you appreciate her, now that your hands are free. Threaten to snap those buttons. Get a nice handful and weigh her thoughtfully. Put on a show for the crowd and the demons and your mistress and make your Rosepetal feel like she’s the heroine of this [i]very special[/i] story.)