Through A Glass, Darkly (mature)

[Philomel]

Apparently Amari did not wear underwear.

Neither did Philomel, but she had an excuse. She was a faun and being a faun meant you had natural protection down there. Namely, in the way of often matted fur that kept your nether regions toasty warm even in the coldest expanses of Berevar. Personally, Philomel kept the very inner parts shaven, but that served a particular use. For her first profession she had needed it for the more instinctive of customers, who always asked, "Are you hairy everywhere?" Then she could part her legs and -

Also, her mother had taught her it was good practise to keep your womanly flower clean. And less hair meant that was easier to do.

Amari, however, was a plain old human. Or at least human in body. Philomel had seen the image in that book - one that was very old by all accounts. It had shown Amari, or someone remarkably like her at least, still the same age roughly yet hundreds of years earlier. Which meant that whatever she had done to Shinsou, showing him those pained images, was not natural. Was in fact likely connected to the other part of her ... but still. Her form was human. And that meant her underside had to get cold in a place like Salvar.

But apparently that was not the case. For hardly sooner had Amari fallen than Shinsou was down there, face implanted like a lapping dog. Rolling her eyes Philomel looked away for a moment, sighing to herself and admitting that the two of them in that room were sort of made for each other. One a mysterious girl in subjugation to Lichensith Ulroke, the other a man from another world. Both lost in time and place, both confused but making themselves a new home. Philomel on the other hand ... why she was a Althanasian, born and bred. Raised first in an abusive household, then in a brothel by a whore mother, who had faced the hatred and prejudices of life and risen above them. In one way she was lost - for after all she had never been to the faun homeland of Paradisia, tucked away in the Jagged Mountains. But in other ways she was satisfied. She had her past - her own dealings with the Crimson Hand as a lowly assassin and the brothels - and she had her future - that which pitted her against other world leaders. More than them, she knew her family, she knew her brother and cousin. She knew her race.

And she had Veridian. Like a cat he curled up on her lap, leaning his warm body against her belly. You will always have me, He told her.

But these two, they knew so little about who they were.

Looking back, Philomel now saw that Shinsou had Amari pressed against the wall. Her eyebrows rose as she pressed her own faces against the glass. He was happy, that was clear for she caught a glimpse of his pride and joy. As he ground against the red-haired girl, Philomel found herself making a face as her critical mind began to work over time.

"Oh gods, Shinsou," she cussed, but in a whispering, tiny voice, "You don't nibble skin like that, that is how an trained ass would do it for a penny in a back alley." She screwed up her nose, "He has no elegance what so ever."

"Please," Amari moaned, muted through the window. Certainly loudly, enough for others to hear surely. "Please fuck me."

"Oh come on," Philomel rolled her eyes, "He is not exactly using his full potential."

Trust you to be demeaning, Veridian murmured, his eyes slipping closed.

She looked down at him, "Darling, I know he could be better. He has the agility and the spirit. What have I always said, 'warriors-'"

'Warriors make good lovers,' Veridian finished for her.

"Exactly," Philomel nodded, rubbing more snow away that had just fallen. Really, her view was quite upset by the frostbite that the glass seemed to have accepted into its sand-made veins. She pressed her nose back to its chilling surface, just in time to see Shinsou's hand move and the familiar sparkle of his ice magic spiral into existence. Just where he was using it, the faun could not see but she had an idea.

Again, she sighed. "Using ice magic in a country of ice? How unoriginal."