The timing's uncanny; the live musical performance has changed from the moving Hybrasilian ballad [i]Among the Reeds, Unseen[/i] to a modernized performance of the traditional Terenian folk song [i]Rotten Red Fruit[/i], with a pre-programmed light show casting shadows of old gods and demons on the walls. Jade lets them through. (It's not that she's micromanaging the entire electronics system here, it's more that she's added herself to the great big complex system, another layer of projection and audio, Ksharta thinks.) The whine of the guitar, the thump-thump-thump of the drum (like all their hearts), the lyrics of defiance in the face of the two-faced coin of oppression and desire, they're all for this, all for now, for

Angela, whirling, catching the Empress of Zaldar behind her ankle and swinging her down into a dip, so she can whirl her back up and send her spinning into her rival, so she can spread her arms and laugh, so she can have the Empress shoved back into her, the impact sending shivering sparks across her front, the impact enough to rock her back on her heels, but those nails are digging into her shoulders as she's clutched possessively

Dolly, pulled into a red-lamped room, pinned against the wall, as Valynia thumbs the faint shape on her shoulder where her fur hasn't fully grown back in yet, the same shape Dolly insisted on only having partially filled in, the same shape Dolly's found herself occasionally touching, and the way Valynia rubs up against her and smiles sends shivering sparks across her front, and she takes a deep breath

Jade, many-eyed, but the security cameras weren't cleared for this performance, and the shadows shivering across the walls remind her too much of the underworld, and Dolly's [i]delight[/i] is the same as Angela's [i]delight[/i] and they're both things that she can't give, not really, the impact and the softness, the violence and the scent, but she does her best, doesn't she, and her jealousy claws and bites against the growing realization that she can feel it, too, she can smell it, too, she can feel fierce and small at the same time, if she closes her eyes she can feel the blood pumping hard under Angela's skin and she can smell Valynia Bander's intoxicating perfume

Ksharta hiding behind the buffet table, tail curling and twitching, aware that literally everyone else in this harem/polycule/channel/situation is horny as fuck right now

Angela, one wrist twisted behind her back as she's sandwiched between two possessive dragon girls, using her other hand to tilt up an imperial jaw, teeth bared in a grin, feeling the excited shiver as she pushes herself back against the other, dimly aware that she's the axis on which an entire species' intrigue turns tonight, wishing that there was something similar for the kittens, imagine if there were two goddesses fighting over her

Dolly, feeling Valynia's fangs on her neck, tugging, tongue dragging on her fur, mewling into her, but with enough devotion to her goddess to try and give as good as she's getting, cupping Valynia's toned butt and lifting it into a biscuit, wishing that the wall behind her was Jade feeling her up, and it would be bad if she was kidnapped from the party, wouldn't it, it would be a security disaster, so there's reasons to hope that doesn't happen, beyond the tangled-up feelings of what that would do to Jade

Jade, running into someone, no, through someone, passing through them like a ghost, wishing she was able to tear herself apart and be everywhere at once, glorying in Angela's physicality the way that Dolly does, helping Valynia turn her priestess into a shivering mess, running a reassuring hand through the fur on the back of Ksharta's head, and

"You know we can feel it, too," Ksharta whispers.

The desire is a loop, the want that is tying the four of them together, one hand clutched together, the other reaching out. There's more bleed the more it gets; palms over mouths, hands on wrists, eyes drinking it in, and the yawning need to meet those desires, to be a good girl, to make them sing like [i]Whispered Promise[/i] can.

Jade stops. She doesn't know what room she's in. The song is reaching a crescendo. Black and white war on the shining walls, each one containing the next figure. She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, seated on the air, and she opens up her heart, unfolding like the flower, and in that moment of vulnerability her harem can feel her helplessness on the strings of Whispered Promise, her need to keep Dolly safe, her hunger to be [i]good for them[/i] and to deserve them.

And her hands are on Angela's wrists, guiding, squeezing, a halo of jade fire around her head, an encouragement to give as good as she can get, to make her goddess proud, to teach them not to underestimate Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, to show the goddess what this kind of fight is like and how to glory in having a body, how to enjoy the throb of pain, and she'll guide you to the victory you want

And her hands are under Dolly's corset, under Valynia's dress, digging in, working in circles, the hot breath on Valynia's neck, and [i]if you want her you must have me too[/i], the sting of the brand on Dolly's shoulder replaying on Valynia's skin, and hands between them offering [i]materials[/i] with which to [i]shut her up[/i], this is how [i]we[/i] play, Valynia Bander, with magic and trust and the glory of a goddess, and what you do to her you share with the harem

And her hands are running slow trails through Ksharta's fur, relaxing, comforting, reassuring, you are part of us but you are not [i]required[/i] to lose yourself in the decadence, [i]my heart is a stone temple and there is unquenchable fire there which gives off no smoke but there is also water, cool on the tongue, soothing, and in this space it is your choice to walk into the fire, and you are my good girl, Ksharta Talonna, I am proud of you, your cooking and your hunting, and your courage to wear me tonight, now tap my hand if you need more attention because Dolly you are a bad, bad girl, seduce her MORE, use your BODY, show her why I CHOSE YOU, I LOVE YOU--[/i]

And guests gawk at the figure of the goddess, eyes closed, handless arms unfolding behind her like the petals of the flower, the water of the Fishers dripping from her mask, an art installation, another performance, they say that she's actually the mecha that Seven Quetzal pilots, you weren't here when she pulled herself free from it, she's actually a hologram and a Hybrasilian psyop because of the Empresses being here tonight, you can pass right through her, what in the world is she doing?

Smokeless Jade Fires doesn't care. She can't. Her world is three women, and what she can be for them. That is enough.