[b]Giriel![/b]

“[i]What[/i] other way?” She drags the hilt of her sword down her brass arm, scraping, discordant. A hell-sound, slavering and vicious. But underneath…

There’s something there. Something that Kalaya can’t help but reach for. She hasn’t lashed out yet; she hasn’t called for demons contracted to her will, or swung her sword at your head. She’s still making up her mind, even as she paces, gauges your guard, considers you— and what you stand for.

There is always another way, Giriel Bruinstead. The warlock is lost, committed to a path that she’s already spent much pursuing. If she gives up now, she’ll spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for the debt to come due. But you can help her stop.

This is your magic, Giriel. And of everyone in the Flower Kingdoms, you’re the person that she needs right now. The one who can show her that there [i]is[/i] another way.

There’s a shift in the wind. The smell of the rain is cleaner. The seasons are close to changing.

[hr]

[b]Kalaya![/b]

Half-hug nothing. Sagacious Crane pulls you in and clings to you. She’s not a particularly good hugger— all stiff and awkward— but she definitely needs it. Isn’t this what it means to be a knight, after all? This isn’t the usual sort of distress, but you’re still being helpful. Of use. Her hero.

“Yes, yes, that’s— yes, I know just the place where we could beseech the Sapphire Mother for her aid and advice! I’d, I didn’t want to go back to her after the failure of my… well, that’s not important right now. What [i]is[/i] is helping you, brave knight!”

With some remaining sniffles, she takes you by the arm and leads you down the river. It’s not the worst walk in the world, despite the rain, the borrowed umbrella from the dumpling stand, and the exhaustion you yourself are facing. And the way that the priestess is clinging to your arm and laughing a little too much at what you say. You might have an admirer, Kayala.

But the sacred place she’s bringing you to? It seems that it’s already occupied— by a great, hulking mud-monster facing down a defenseless woman with an umbrella. One you’ve definitely never met before. Isn’t this the sort of thing a knight’s supposed to get involved in?

[hr]

[b]Fengye![/b]

You have an audience yet again. Coming down a nearby dirt path are a priestess clinging to the arm of a knight, neither of whom look like they’re having a particularly good month.

“Come and claim her,” the Rootwash mumbles, in a pathetic attempt at subtlety. No doubt it hopes you will sink your hands into the mud, looking for the Maid, and then it may force any concession out of you it pleases. But the invocation of rights was correct, and you have this under control— so long as the knight and the priestess don’t interfere.

[hr]

[b]Lotus![/b]

Han is a [i]hero.[/i]

That’s why your heart is racing, isn’t it? Feeling her strong, steady fingers remove layer after layer, unwrapping you, freeing your voice, somehow even more enticing than being gagged in the first place? How gentle she’s being with you, even as she winces whenever she raises her arm too high? How she growls, in a way that sends shivers down your spine, that she’s going to protect you? You wanted to be saved by a dashing hero, and that is [i]exactly[/i] what you have gotten. It’s difficult to even try and find your voice.

But you have to. Because only a selfish girl would indulge in her own pleasure without caring about the needs of her hero.

“Han,” you say, and your voice is a fluttering bird in the cage of your heart, beating against the bars. “You’re [i]hurt.[/i] Please, let me just… may I?” Your fingers brush against her sleeve, slowly rolling it back, even as you look Han in the eyes. She’s tired, and she’s trying so, so hard not to show it. “Please. You got hurt trying to protect me. It’s… it’s the least I can do.” It’s the only thing you can do. You’re not a swordfighter like the two children of dragons who fought over you, like a treasure they both desired. Your tongue touches your dry lips (surely just because of the gag!).

You lower your veil, and scoot down, kneeling beside her— which is a mistake, because now it’s just a little too high up to kiss, and also you’re kneeling next to her like a N’yari slave-girl waiting for permission to serve, but you can’t get back up. Your legs won’t obey you, because you’re staring up at your [i]hero[/i] and you can’t decide whether you want her to let you kiss her wounds better and cradle her head in your arms or to pull your face up to hers with those rough, gentle hands and kiss your unveiled mouth, and you shouldn’t be thinking about that, but your lips are parted anyway and you can’t pull your eyes away from her mouth, even as you rub her arm and wait for…

For permission. To be [i]allowed.[/i] Even as the daughter of a goddess, you are familiar with this. A good girl asks for permission before she acts. A good girl considers the feelings of others before her own. A good girl respects that Han only sees her as something to be protected, not as… as [i]more.[/i]

“I don’t want you hurt,” you say. “I want…”

[i]I want to kiss you. I want you to hold me and make me feel safe. I want you to tie me tighter and toss me over your shoulder in a daring escape as i breathlessly squeal into every one of those gags. I want you to think I’m pretty. Do you think I’m pretty? The way you looked at me…[/i]

“I want you…”

And you should say something to finish the thought, but it just hangs in the air, and you are completely at your hero’s mercy as you kneel there, in the most gorgeous dress you’ve ever worn, staring up at her through your golden spectacles, heart in your throat, lips parted, goosebumps under your fingers.