"This is why you're hard to read," said Titanomachia thoughtfully. "On the grass you're so strong, but here..." her fingers gripped Madeleine's toes, pressing the last of her devil substance into the soles of her feet. "Yes, I do like them. But not at the expense of your ear mobility - though maybe that's the point?" she touched a gleaming wet finger to her lips thoughtlessly as she thought. "Maybe something could be done with - mm. Mmm!" She tried to brush her elixir off her lips without wiping her hands first. Then she laughed, bit her lip, and went over to the basin to wash her hands.

"Silly - itchy, right?" she gave another futile brush of her lips with clean hands. "I forgot how sensory this stuff is. Normally it's drowned out by the injury, but if you put it onto healthy skin - oh, that's another idea - another time. Okay. Well, this still works to my agenda."

Blackness. The blindfold was soft, silken, wrapping gently and firmly without the smallest wrinkle or crease. Then the wrists, pulled into a silky bond - absolutely impossible to shift despite feeling soft and relaxed on skin. Then - the push.

A gentle, guided push, pitching face-forwards in the dark - caught by something/nothing. The levitator. A surreal feeling - gravity still applied, down was still down, hair spilling down around your face until Machia smoothed it all over to one side. But there was simply no desire to fall beyond a certain point. It wasn't a cushion of air, it wasn't being lifted and held, it was that all the potential energy of your fall was -

Not all. You were still falling, just very, very slowly. Your hair and tail, lighter strands, could fall faster as they had less kinetic energy to drain. But for the rest of you it was an unreal feeling; the freedom to move and thrash and kick and spin and continue moving through an eternal, windless skydive.

At least until she grabbed your ankles and bound your feet. Then it was just...

The earphones weren't on. You could hear Machia humming, hear her absently rubbing her sensitive lips, hear her pulling the lid off a marker. "We haven't started yet," she said, taking your ears in her hand, feeling the holes of the piercings. "I need to be very precise for the next part, so I'm going to trace my work first. Try to hold still -"

The cold, wet tip of the marker touched your spine, right between your shoulder blades. Dot. Another point, a centimeter down. Dot. Another. Dot. Dot. Dot. Dot. Down to the base of your spine.

Circle.

To the left. Dot. Dot. Dot. Going up. Dot dot dot. To your shoulder - star. Under your arm. Circle. Across the top of your arm, dots all the way down to your elbow, another circle, dots to your wrist, star. Down each finger, then back, then a circle in your palm. Then back up your arm, the patten repeating, stars on each shoulder and a circle on the base of your neck, before descending down the other arm. 

Then she turned you over. It was so easy for her, in your weightless ever-fall, your hair tumbling in slow motion and racing ahead of you. Dots up the arms, broken by circles at sensitive points. A star on your navel, then dots up along your body. Dots and circles run around and across your breasts in a figure-eight. Finally the pattern concludes with a star on your throat.

Calm. Methodical. Timeless. Soft. You could imagine your body, the pattern of circles and stars wrapping around you like a dress. Machia hadn't spoken while she was working, other than the occasional soft sound of her biting her sensitive lips. Only at the end, as she clicked her marker back into its lid, did she say, "Are you ready?"