[b]Han![/b]

Lotus touches your neck.

Not impulsively. Not aggressively. She looks you in the eye, silently asking you the entire time if she is allowed, and the answer (to everyone’s surprise) is… yes.

Her fingers are incredibly soft. She traces the welt, and makes a soft noise of distress and pity. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, and it’s actually a question. “I can help,” she adds. She’s searching your face, looking desperately for permission, and the way she’s touching you is…

Her lips are so very red, painted in Agata’s color. You could drown in those lips. Maybe that’s why she’s supposed to hide them all the time. Because they’re so dangerous. And you can’t let yourself think about them too much, because otherwise you might get all overbearing and demanding like that wilting, rotten Cathak. She’s saying something and you’re just watching her mouth, and trying desperately not to do something about it.

Do you let her help you? You’ll clear a condition, but both she and Emli will take a String on you. Or do you do something about that tempting mouth? You’ll take two Strings on her right now if you kiss her, veil her, put a hand over her mouth, do [i]something[/i] about the prettiest lips in the whole world, but you’ll give Emli [i]two[/i] whole Strings on [i]both[/i] of you.

It’s your choice, insofar as you can choose anything while drowning.

***

[b]Giriel![/b]

One evening, you find two prayer slips secreted inside of your nightrobe, pleas for spiritual aid from two beings even more lowly than your current station. It is your duty as a witch to provide aid where you can, both to the varied spirits of the world and to the mortals who try to live around them.

The first, written in an elegant hand, is simply: [i]I am in love. My beloved has plucked me from the walled garden of my innocence, but I fear I am simply a novelty to her. That One ignores me, so I offer Her no prayers. Please, help me be hers.[/i]

The second, written clumsily, eschewing complex adult characters in favor of a child’s writing choice: [i]I don’t like being little. Make me big, please. Give it back to me, please. Why did you have to make me so afraid? Why did you make me want to be ———[/i]

It is impossible to tell what the last word was meant to be, because ink has been overlayered on ink over and over again, a sodden mess that made the paper sag.

It is your duty to address these pleas. By asking for your aid, they have rendered themselves vulnerable to your judgment, both socially and spiritually. What do you make of these requests, Giriel?

***

[b]Kalaya![/b]

The noise is what hits you. The stamp of feet, the chime of bells, the raucous shrieking laughter. It’s like what some of your peers thought peasant festivals were like. The silk above your head is threadbare, yellowed, fringed with green light. You’ve been here before. But you were on Agata’s ship, weren’t you? Thinking through your plan to sneak in to see Uusha. And now you’re back. Back in Hell.

A figure cuts off your view. Their face is covered by a yellow veil; unlike that of a priestess, it hides her entire face from hair to chin. Beneath it, they wear a heavy, ornate collar, a gold chain leash snaking away out of sight, and rotting finery, the kind you’d find in a palace abandoned to the jungle. They place strong hands on your wrists, pin you down, loom over you. The chaos outside, just on the other side of the mouldering curtains, makes your head spin and throb.

Their voice is a crash of waves, a chorus in song, hoarsely whispered; if it was yelled, it would deafen you. And they say: [i]Kalaya. Where are you? My snakes can’t find you, where did the knight take you?[/i] It’s impossible to tell where they are looking. Their grip is firm. The air smells like sweat and dying flowers.

You’re dreaming, aren’t you?

[i]Did she hurt you, you idiot? I’ll kill her![/i]