#open bottom girdle

[girlskissgroup26]

You can feel her legs slowly wrapping around yours.

The spare magazine jin is ready and the safety device - starts to turn off. CONTINUE...

[hooksbooks]

This is the first of two books I bound for @renegadeguild's Tiny Books Bang.

The story is (don't) take this the wrong way by @delimeful and was typeset by @little-cat-press for the Tiny Books Bang. It's a mermaid AU of Sanders Sides (Web Series), which I had never actually heard of before. But when I saw that it was a merperson AU, this idea popped into my head and I knew I had to try it, especially after I read the story and really enjoyed it.

The inspiration is medieval girdle books, which are books whose covering material (typically leather) extended past the book to a knot that was both used as a handle when reading the book and could be tucked into the girdle when the book was not in use, thus the name.

Where my book is much smaller (it's a sextodecimo, about 2.25" by 2.75") it isn't designed to tuck into a belt/girdle, but rather is attached to a bracelet and dangles from the wrist when not in use.

When I think of mermaids, some things that come to mind are fish, treasure, and tridents, and I wanted to incorporate all three in the design. The book is covered in blue bookcloth, and then covered again in crocheted netting that was meant to bring to mind fishnets. I crocheted the netting from cotton-poly sewing thread doubled up. I incorporated a trident into the filet crochet, which is repeated on both the front and back covers. I blocked it on a piece of blotting...board? paper? It's soft and thick and meant to absorb moisture and came with my book press that started life as a flower press.

I then sewed the netting to the bookcloth covering the boards with teeny tiny stitches. It probably took twice as long to crochet the netting as it did to the rest of the binding combined, but I really like how it turned out.

The bracelet I picked to attach the netting to is gold-colored to invoke the idea of sunken treasure. Rather than attaching the netting from one end to the other, I folded both ends to the middle and attached it like that so when you have the book open it lays more nicely.

The design of the endpapers looks like looped thread, and also reminds me of netting. I secured the bookmark to the bottom of the text block and let it hang from the top, which works better when the book is hanging from the wrist and doesn't get caught in the netting. I also sewed a little starfish charm to the end of the bookmark.

Technical details:

Sewn-on endpapers

Rounded but not backed

No headbands (I think I intended to, but forgot and then decided it didn't matter enough to try to pull the cover back off)

Things I liked about this bind:

I really like the girdle-book-on-a-bracelet design, it came out almost exactly how I had envisioned it.

Things I'd like to change/improve for next time:

I wasn't 100% pleased with how trimming went on these. It wasn't terrible, but I probably need to come up with a different solution than just a utility knife and a straight edge.

Crocheting the netting really did take so long. I'm not even done with the netting that's going on my copy yet, which is why all the pics are from the typesetter's copy. Probably would not want to do netting for anything larger than this one was.

Overall feels: Loved it! I enjoyed the story, the design came out pretty much exactly how I envisioned it, overall I'm well pleased.

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says…

Malleus + complicated + coparenting (modern!au, ~1000 words)

You never thought you’d stoop to this level- the dignified manager of a strip mall Spellphora reduced to this. Crying your eyes out to a telenovela with bad subtitles and an even worse plot. Totally freaking alone on valentines day. It’s your own fault, really. Maybe it’s all the karmic debt you’ve accumulated for working in a chain, or, maybe you need to manifest Malleus Draconia getting hit by a hoverboard harder! Bring on the subliminals, baby!!

That scandalously pretty (and formal in the same way a middle schooler with a briefcase is) Wand Topic goth held your teenage servicing heart and crushed it between his glossy acrylics.

You’re taking it back,, The hangouts, the free samples, and active use of your fucking email for anything but work! It’s all going in your flippy top Kuromi trash can (curtesy of he who shall not be named), and out of your stupid head!

Your notes app is full of amateur poetry and movie recommendations that you would never watch by yourself, because they’re all dumb and you hate it. You hate the whole five pages! But he made them good in the moment. With his cheating fairy makeup magic and inappropriately expensive earrings- he could make anything sound good. Why are all your situationships so profoundly dramatic and sad? Has no one heard of the casual fling to fifty year marriage pipeline??

At this point you wish he hexed you, then your insurance would fund some old fashioned retail therapy, but on your fourth Valentine’s Day alone it hits you. Maybe your shitty ex wasn’t that shitty. God, maybe he was right! All those burnt vapes gave him the clairvoyance to yell a prophecy at your kiosk before he stormed off with a barely safe amount of clearance lipgloss-

“You’re the problem”. (Subtracting the colourful language, obvi) And the only respite for your five month celibacy streak is the freezer burnt ice cream you’re shoving down your sorry gullet,, It’s not like it matters! If you get your way, he’ll never show his face again. As anyone in your position would, you sigh melodramatically into your teeny-tiny living room.

it feels so good that you dare doing it again, despite your uppity next door neighbours.

And the third one (which was going to be the best!) is cut off by a clunky knock at your storm door- it’s way too rainy to get mugged by the knee knocking cartel, but you open it anyways on the off chance Amazon has a gift for you. You cross your fingers for a hunky delivery man, ready to whisk you away from Netflix and mope!

But it’s not, because it just so happens goths are historically terrible at not moping- You look the soaking wet, insufferably sexy Malleus Draconia top to bottom in feigned judgement. From the tip of his embroidered Nurse Martens to the peak of his ebony horns catching rain like a Soda bottle to condensation, and back down to his hands cradling a travel crate like his life depends on it.

Damn, you’d still let him hit no matter what Cater says about his “Victorian girdle”..

“If I may join your evening to share it’s warmth with Gao-Gao, he would be quite grateful.”

And because you’re an aching hearted freak for wittle wizards (totally not to resolve your aching loins) (or the satisfaction of putting that self Defense baseball bat in action), you welcome the guys in with hospitality that would make Snow White weep

“Uh.. Duh! Sure, whatever. I have fresh towels. You probably still know where they are, haha..”

He gives you a grateful nod when you step aside, and the way he unfurls to full height after hunching over his precious cargo is always monstrously hot. You send yourself scrambling for the space heater (still very much vibrating from the inside, with a little ice cream crusted on your lip), no matter how embarrassed you are, Gao-Gao does not deserve to die from the cold! Malleus told you once the gecko intends on going to Valhalla, and you insisted he’s owed it for being such a good boy! (you’re also inclined to agree with any man that has a ninety degree jawline)

Gao-Gao nuzzles against your pinkie affectionately when you put some powdered feed into his crate. He ate three days ago- and you know that because you’re his pet sitter. Holding onto the little guy was easy when Malleus was away- but on pickup when his little brother showed up he thanked you. Said that Malleus didn’t have any other friends, and you couldn’t just leave him to the “adult loneliness” wolves.. So you hung out with him for awhile, and he only got cuter. That’s where it exploded in your face.

It was never his fault. You just got a bad case of the feels- on a little work party when you got hammered, Malleus took the brunt of it. Cater cheered you on in your sexless, drunken rage so well that you just blocked the guy,, And you have no idea why he’s here now.

“So,,, what’s wrong? Why’d you show up?”

“I understand I was unable to text your phone, but we had scheduled a “hanging out”, and now we can resume watching cinema! Gao-Gao is very excited with the prospect.”

You let the silence linger- and not to be mean, either. You’re just marinating in your drunk stupidity. Poor Malleus has no clue what’s going on! His own phone goes out all the time, and it’s not like you canceled, or even officially quit.. This is the worst. Not even your last breakup (pretty bad), or telling Cater that he was demoted (he literally asked to step down. Still sucked) measures up. THIS is rock bottom.

But, you’re used to being on the bottom. From scraping your way out of college only to land some mall-cop ass job better suited to someone in their teens, and all those infamously bad guys you’ve groveled to. Only Malleus (sweet, old man in a young body Malleus) bothered to spend the time reteaching you that you deserve to be spoiled- you deserve friends, and fun, and so many more pet sitting gigs with pintrestable animals.

You’re worth it. Even if it’s complicated, even if you can’t have him the way you want right now, you’ve got the rest of your life to pull it off!

(And to unblock him. That’s probably a good idea.) So for tonight you’ll enjoy the temporary simplicity, and have an unforgettable time with your best friends.

“Yeah! Let’s totally watch some “cinema”, Mally. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Ah! A Happy Valentines to you as well!”

God this is scary!!!!!!!! I’ve never done an event before, so please leave some comments abt your feelings with it! Much love, thanks for reading <3

(My amazing beta reader @/Echosofmortality helped SO much with getting this published!)

[entelodante]

lil diagram for a pentapod lung! this is the basic settup for all terrestrial pentapods, Whorls included! More detailed info below!

First off, the lung is located right against the shell atop the back and is about the same length as the bone girdle that supports the other organs and leg anchors. The lungs basic structure has two bone pieces at either end, a 'nozzle' which holds open the airway, and the 'butt' which just helps maintain structure. The main support comes from four rings of cartilage, which prevent the lung from fully sucking closed on exhale! This is because the lung is open and closed by way of tendon! Four main tendons are anchored to the girdle and bottom wall of lung, the muscles associated with these tendon contract to pull open the lung and draw in air. Running through the lung itself are smaller tendons also connected to that bottom wall. These anchor to the shell and pull upwards to push air out of the lungs. While both sets are able to fight against the other, the lower tendons have a lot more tension and so the 'default' position of the lung is open.

But for Whorls, breathing is a pretty much involuntary process, think how you can choose to hold your breath but most times don't even think about needing to manually breathe. Aside from right now! At least they don't have to worry about manual blinking, could you imagine?

All in all though, this is just the basic layout and I'm thinking secondarily aquatic pentapods may even be able to fully collapse the lung. And that many pentapod species (not whorl) make noises by contracting different portions of the lung and making weird honks and barks. Much to think about!

[tellius-to-fodlan]

Fódlan dress theories:

Underwear

They must wear underwear, but the silhouettes and exposed skin show that it's not the underwear of an equivalent period of earth history, but I doubt they have the materials for modern underwear, with its rubber elastic and foam. So, what would they wear?

We can see on Raphael that the closest garment to the skin for men (at least in the officers academy) is a shirt fastened with buttons:

Shirts of an equivalent time in Europe wouldn't open in the front, but that's not really relevant. I imagine the shirt is made of linen for easy laundering.

As for the bottom, I assume that men and women alike wear linen braies. They can probably be omitted by people wearing long skirts and not riding horses in favor of bare pussy for ease of toilet access when wearing an outfit that makes taking off underpants difficult/time consuming. They're probably short and close fitting, making tight pants easier to wear without obvious panty lines. My evidence besides history:

Look at those little shorts.

As for the apparent leggings some of the girls wear

I bet those are woolen hose, which fasten to the braies.

What about bust support, though? Well, the lifted silhouette is more like a modern push-up bra than anything else, but since I'm assuming they don't have the elastic and foam those are made of, my next guess is regency style short stays

They give considerable lift to the bust without giving a particularly distinctive silhouette like a longer support garment would.

Now, we get one mention of underwear in the game, and that's Dorothea's lost piece of cloth, which was unrecognizable as clothing to Caspar, so I'm assuming it's an unshaped rectangle. My hypothesis on the purpose of this cloth, which I have no historical evidence for, is that it wraps around the torso under the stays to serve at a buffer between the tough, but difficult to launder stays, and the sweaty, sensitive skin. We see no evidence of a chemise or shirt over Dorothea's ample bust, while a wrapped rectangle could be positioned directly at the stay line for total concealment, held on solely by the stays, would have a plenty of wiggle room for weight gain, and only requires hemming, making it a solid skin layer option for a lady on a tight budget who wants to show off her assets. Although given the lack of obvious voluminous chemises on any of the ladies, this could be a common choice across social classes.

Then..... There are the people who don't seem to have underwear on their torsos at all.

I'd guess that Judith is relying on clever tailoring for support, Dorothea's armored girdle does the job for her, and Manuela actually has something really interesting going on, with her bodice being laced close under the bust, and then the breast cups suspended from her neckband for lift. I want to try making that dress.

However, the pre-automatic washing machine laundress in me is screaming at the good fabric right next to the skin. I want to believe that these garments have removable linen linings where they touch skin. Maybe that's what's tied across the back of Dorothea's shoulders.

[credus99-blog]

Between 100-110 million years ago on Atterra, Scorpaenidae (Scorpionfish), the first scorpion fish came into being, splitting off from other teleost fish into their branch of the family tree. Around 90 million years ago, the first Triglidae (Sea Robins or Gurnards) evolved from Scorpaenidae roughly 42 million years sooner than they did on Earth, making the Terrestrial Sea Robin the youngest of all the terrestrial fish lineages. These basal gurnards found their way into the hollows early in their evolution, likely through submerged cave systems, and fed on invertebrates along the submerged cavern floors (where many aquatic gurnards can still be found). Gurnards would leap out of the water like flying fish to escape aquatic-based predators, utilizing their large, wing-like pectoral fins to aid in their flight (a behavior not seen in their Earth counterparts.) While one lineage evolved the ability to glide with limited powered flight and use their ‘walking rays’ to clutch onto the rocky surfaces, another chose to leave the water and survive on the muddy shores of pools and waterways in their native hollow. This mudskipper-esque lifestyle left them vulnerable to predation by other denizens of the hollows, such as therapsids and anthropods (arthropods that diverged early in their evolution, developing an internal skeleton, lungs, and a closed circulatory system) An increase in both mobility and mobility efficiency was therefore necessary for these creatures to survive in their new environment.

                Over time, the walking rays of the newly terrestrial gurnards became more robust and developed dedicated joints. The fish's swim bladder slowly regressed into a primitive lung. Additionally, the pelvic fins went from helping to prop the fish above the mud flats to clumsily pushing the fish forward in a similar way to the epaulette shark (a shark that can walk across the sea floor at low tide on Earth), aiding the walking fins by pulling the gurnard’s body forwards. As the terrestrial gurnards became more efficient walking on land, the pelvic fin moved down and up toward the ribs from the clavicle until finally resting against the spine. The pelvic girdle eventually formed the hip bone, and the rays of the pelvic fin’s rays formed the leg and foot bones of the terrestrial gurnard. As the legs became more derived, the gill arches ossified and detached from the bottom jaw to form the inner ear bones  while the remaining gill arch bones formed the hyoid bone. The gill cover also became lightly ossified and flexible, allowing the animal to utilize them as mobile external ears to help it detect sound efficiently.

                Terrestrial gurnards display primarily using the is the upper rays of their pectoral fins retained from their aquatic ancestors. The fins extend from the side of their bodies to form a large wing-like structure. If the gurnard points the bottom ray towards their head and the top rays towards their tail, they give off the illusion of a large flat surface and showcases their striking and often brightly colored patterns. While this behavior is performed during sexual displays, this effect also makes them seem larger to potential predators. Should this initial display fails to ward off a predator, many gurnards will then rise up and stand on their back legs and spread out their ‘arms’ (walking rays) as they either hiss or bark (sound made from special drumming muscles that rest against an air sack in-between and behind their lungs). During this display some gurnards will open their pectoral rays to try and make themselves look even more threatening. If a predator is still not deterred at this point, the terrestrial gurnard will use its sharp claws and teeth to fight them off. As for their defense, many species of terrestrial gurnards have evolved bony plates derived from modified scales along their spine and side, similar to an ankylosaurus. The amount of armor plating present ranges from no armor to heavily armored. Boney protrusions on the shoulder from the clavicle, back of the jaw, and back of the head also help them deter predators.

                Most species reach knee to waist height in humans, but terrestrial gurnards come in various forms, from small hunters and grazers to bear-sized predators and even gazelle-like gracile species. Some groups have large crests to attract mates while others have elaborate face plates for display, and others have modified their front pair or two pairs of limbs into graspers to aid in securing prey or food to eat. Such diversity is believed to have arisen following a decline in competitive species midway through their evolutionary history. This decline is believed to have been caused by a disease that decimated the anthropod population within the hollows around 40 million years ago, allowing the terrestrial gurnards to diversify quickly, fill in empty niches, and eventually become more successful than their competitors. 

[true--north]

• THE WOLF MOON • prompt: myth • pairing: Elsa x Hans • albino!Elsa, Northuldra, animal magic, medieval AU, suggestive, ambiguous ending •

Elsa was going to spend all night in a vigil. As a noaidi, she vowed to do her best to help others. But something wasn't working. No matter how much she asked the Spirits to heal old Yelana, she still was sick. The Spirits refused her offerings. So Elsa was going to try again and again while there was still hope.

She went deep into the dark forest, built a fire, and placed a wooden bowl of reindeer blood, and fish she intended to present to the Spirits, on the snow. Alone in the night, Elsa let down her hair, took off her girdle, sat down, and sang an invocation.

She closed her eyes and let her spirit merge with the Nature around her. But not the patrons of the tribe, something else, something alien, has come to meet her calling.

A ghostly white wolf circled around the fire, howling with her song, its weightless paws leaving no footprints in the snow. Elsa sprang to her feet, threatening the beast with an enchanted dagger made of whale bone.

It was a foreign spirit, not of their forest, but, surprisingly, she sensed no hostility. Only longing. Only sorrow. The wolf stopped, looking at her pleadingly, then disappeared into the forest.

Elsa set off after it. The wolf looked back at her, leading her somewhere.

Towards the glacier at the edge of the forest. At the last aspen, the wolf took one last look at her, and merged with the purple shadows. Elsa stepped forwards cautiously, and fixed her eyes on the glacier. There, inside the frozen river was a young man, frozen into the thickness of blue ice.

He looked like the people from the Fjord Lands, from the stone houses. Those whom the people of the Forest, her people, have always feared. He was handsome, this stranger. He had a mane of long red hair and freckles on his high cheekbones. He wore a fur cloak and a tunic of fine grey wool, and had a beautiful silver torc around his neck, and an iron sword.

So that's why the wolf spirit had called her to save its master, Elsa realised. So the man was a sorcerer, since he had a spirit helper? She didn't really feel like doing that, but could she leave a man helpless, even if he was an enemy? She couldn't. The Spirits wouldn't approve of that. So she went to pick her things she left behind, and made a new fire by the glacier.

She sat and watched the prisoner of the ice, and waited. When his body went limp, she laid him closer to the fire, and rubbed his strong chest and broad shoulders with a cloth and warming herbal ointment to draw fire to his heart, and then she drew a healing rune on his heart, dipping her forefinger in reindeer blood.

The ice man opened his eyes, and Elsa thought they looked like the youthful leaves of April aspens. "Where are they? Who are you?"

"You are in the Northuldra lands. We are alone here."

He sat up and stared dazedly at Elsa. At her white fur coat and beads, whale knife, drum, and loose hair. "Who are you?"

"I am Spirit Talker. Who are you? I saved you, you owe me the truth."

The man's eyes flashed mysteriously. He squared his shoulders.

"I am Hans, the thirteenth son of the konung Magnus. My brothers wanted to get rid of me. And it seems they have almost succeeded." And he told her about his family. Of the cruel father who kept many women in slavery, and of the children from them, all sons,��each of whom tried to surpass the others in strength and ferocity so as not to end up at the bottom of the pyramid. In the place of the youngest. His.

"Why are they doing this to you?" Elsa couldn't imagine how a brother could hate his brother enough to bewitch him to die a cruel way like this, imprisoned in a block of ice.

"Because I'm not like them. I'm different." Hans replied in a low voice, glaring at her with a heart wrenching yearning. "I see I can share that with you, O Spirit Talker." He meant her white hair, and colourless skin, and almost invisible eyelashes, and eyes the colour of ice, everything that made her so different from her family; from all people, in fact.

"My people never hurt me because I was different," she shook her head, "But they thought I was born...this way for a reason, that I was marked by the Spirits and should belong to them, not to people." An honourable duty, but so lonesome. Elsa knew the forest and the mysteries of Nature's magic much better than human warmth and love.

Hans smiled strangely, the firelight dancing a wild dance in his eyes. "Then we are not so different, after all. Once people see your true face, they reject you and run in fear."

"True face?" Elsa raised an eyebrow.

A huge white wolf ploughed her down into the snow. His eyes were as green as a spring forest and its bloodthirsty mouth was bright red. Black claws dug painfully into her shoulders. He snarled.

"So this is why your brothers hate you..." she exhaled, fearless. "Will you be the monster they think you are, Hans, son of Magnus?"

The wolf blinked, and after a moment returned to his true appearance. Or was it the other way round, and the human form was a disguise for the wolf son...? Hans lay on top of her, his lips an inch from hers, his quickened breathing sweet and warm, his hands pleasantly heavy on her waist and hips. A strange longing echoed in Elsa's chest. She imagined them alone in her lonely lavvu, naked, buried in lush reindeer and fox furs, and his caresses on her body a hot, liquid fire.

"Is Spirit Talker your true name?"

But she had no time to utter it. Hans pressed a kiss on her lips, and after a few agonisingly sweet moments he was a wolf again, leapt off her and raced off into the darkness of the forest.

She sat up and listened to the echo of his howling. The winter moon was full that night, round and yellow as amber, and its call was one that no living soul could resist.

"It's Elsa." she said.

@helsaweenfun

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Chapter 4

A response to the writing prompt: “Why are you doing this?”

Thanks to my loves, my sister wives, my support group and Elvis cabal, @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain​ @vintageshanny​ @be-my-ally​ @ellie-24​ @from-memphis-with-love​

Summary: Elvis hangs out at Bess house, and finally gets to dance with her.

Warnings: Kissing, discussions of sex, typos. I wrote this so haphazardly during a busy weekend, I’ll probably go back over and polish tomorrow...

WC: 4.1 K

Please like, comment or reblog and let me know what you think. I enjoy reading your feedback and it influences my writing, as well as our connection, which is the main reason I post my writing on here - to meet and engage with other Elvis fans like you!

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added to the taglist.

Go here for the Basic Training Masterlist if you need to catch up

Sunday, April 6, 1958

12: 15 a.m.

The Schwartz Residence, Killeen

Elvis’ bottom lip hung down, Bess was so close she could hear his breath wisp over it softly with each exhale. It was as if he were so transfixed looking into her eyes trying to read her mind that he forgot to close his mouth. No, Bess thought, it was as if time stood still, as if he were stuck there mouth agape, waiting for her to respond. His words still hung in her ear.

“Jus kiss me.”

His fingers rested over her hips and then tugged her closer where he wanted her, no longer waiting to see if she would say something. He had found the answer in the way she bit her lip and nodded up into his chin, mouth pressing into his jaw as he pulled her into his chest. Her arms smashed between them as he kissed the tip of her nose, his breath was warm on her skin and the air between them smacked with a restrained heat.

The way Elvis touched her made her close her eyes and open her mouth as his lips nudged downward seeking hers. Bess’ breath quickened faster and faster, she felt almost dizzy as Elvis’ mouth became more urgent and she gripped his shoulder to steady herself. His large hands were now spread over her upper back, squeezing her closer into him, left thumb swiping over the top of her silk nightie to caress her bare skin. There, in the dim light of the hallway she shuddered and jilted up sideways into his lips, opening her eyes as he heaved back, smirking.

“Hmm, you okay, Moo Moo?”

He murmured softly, then his eyelashes fluttered downward at her bare feet, a grin curling up further at the way Bess’ beige silk nightie rippled from the movements of his hand over her side. Bess follows his gaze downward, her breasts heaved up with her shoulders as she breathed a shallow breath, noticing how her nipples protruded through the silk and the lacy trim at her bust dipped in her cleavage. She was not wearing a bra, a girdle or nylons, just a thin pair of panties underneath her negligee. Somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, Bess knew she should be ashamed, but her thoughts were lost to the drum of her heart beat thrumming in her ears.

Elvis’ left hand clutched hers over his heart, his nose was heavy against her’s once more, nuzzling up and down, the top trailing over her cheek, navigating the curves of her nostrils. His eyes were closed, and his mouth hovered over hers. She shuddered as his fingers tapped over her hand, gasping as he brought it up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

“I said, you ok, baby? You’re quivering’. Let me know if this is too much for you.”

She snorted, swatting him as she mumbled into his mouth, willing her words to be true as she pushed down the butterflies in her ribcage. She was not ok. Definitely not ok by any means. But she would be damned if she let him know the effect he had on her.

“I’m just fine, thanks. You think an awful lot of you’re kissing, don’t you?”

Elvis’ cheeks scrunched up and his eyes twinkled.

“Ya right honey, must be my ‘magination that you’re shivering.”

“I mean, I might tremble a little, but that’s, that’s just a physical response to, you know, being kissed. I don’t do this as much as you do.”

Elvis’ thumb was back at work over her shoulder blade.

“Well, I’ve been out of practice lately.”

“Oh?’

“Yeah, kind of short of um, uh, suitable options in the barracks.”

“Somehow I get the feeling you will always muddle through and find someone to kiss, Tupelo. Seemed like you had your pick of suitable options earlier.”

“Always so jealous, Moo Moo. Those other girls weren’t nothin’, I just risked life and limb sneaking off post to come see you.”

“Hmmm, well, maybe you shouldn’t have. You could get in a lot of trouble if you get caught.” She steadied herself in his gaze. “Yeah, I can’t help but think it might be good for the female population if you really were holed up back in a bunk with a bunch of other soldiers for a while.”

“Is that how you feel Bess? Wish I was back in the barracks?”

He asked into her neck, his lips pressed on her nape.

“Instead of being here.”

Another softer, slower kiss lower on her neck.

“With you?”

She moaned out softly, unintentionally, reflexively, as his lips opened this time and she felt the warm, wet suction of Elvis’ mouth right below her earlobe. The sensation was overwhelming, it made her her vibrate and lean into his face, slowly shaking her head. No, she didn’t wish he was back in the barracks. She wanted him to consume her, to cool her body with his mouth before the flames in her belly burned her alive.

Elvis’ grip was strong as he held her close to him, yet everything else about him was soft and delicate and warm. Basic training had not yet hardened his body, and his fingers had the smooth feel of someone who regularly rubbed lotion into them. Cheeks round and supple against her forehead. It was like leaning into a human pillow wrapped in an electric blanket, her skin hummed from his attentive hands.

He was somehow able to touch her everywhere at once, his right hand on her back shoulder blades, thumbing her into a comfortable trance, his left hand held hers to his chest, the back of it grazing her breast as he clutched her into him. Even his sweet, low drawl had a soft, babyish tone to it. Bess was certain she would melt like butter into the wooden floorboards if she stayed much longer in the warm, swathe of his embrace.

This tenderness was a jarring contrast to the months of chaste living that Bess had imposed on her self in the wake of her failed engagement last year. Everywhere her former fiancee, Ben, had been firm and stiff, Elvis was soft, yielding and responsive.

Ben, Ben, Ben. It had been over a year since Ben had gone off to Germany during Bess’ last semester of college at Austin, her picture in his suitcase and plans to meet her on leave in Paris that summer. Her plans for crossing the Atlantic Ocean had been decidedly cancelled when he called the week before graduation and told her not to come, told her he had met someone else, told her he had married.

Bess’s initial response was to throw herself into the open arms of every eager Army officer  she could find. Most often, she didn’t even bother to get their name or do the typical good girl tap dance routine where she explained “I’ve never done this on a first date.” Stocking up on prophylactics at the Army medical clinic, Bess spent the first weeks of life after college fucking every officer that winked at her. The irony had been, of course, that prior to this she had only slept with a handful of serious boyfriends and never on the first date. Or second. Or third, for that matter. She had dated Ben for two months before sleeping with him. Falling head over heels for Ben’s freckled face, smart confidence and Midwest manners, Bess had been ready to go beyond first base after a few weeks. He had been the one who wanted to take it slow, to wait, applying his cold, sober analytical mind to assess their relationship and future before proposing to her, and then spending the next eighteen months plotting out their plans for a future together.

She wondered where that contemplative deference had been when he met Uta in  Heidelberg and married her within a fortnight. She had tried to fill the hollow emptiness of heartbreak with physical connection and found it sorely lacking in more than one way. At first, yes, a hard, quick fuck was a useful reminder of what it was to feel as Bess grasped for anything to pierce through the numbness of grief.

But she found that after the momentary rush of adrenaline and attention of casual sex she felt even more despondent. And, unlike her previous lovers, these men had not cared or attended to reciprocity. She didn’t fake orgasms, a practice that been much practiced and debated in the girl’s dorms at college, but it had been unnecessary with almost all of the men she had bedded. Apparently they didn’t need the ego boost , nor did it temper their selfish lovemaking. Lovemaking, ha, what an inadequate word to describe the act of opening up and fucking someone into oblivion as they tried to get off as quickly as possible. Vowing off men forever after a particularly disappointing tryst in the store room of Fat Daddy’s, one of the pool halls frequented by the Air Force officers outside Waco, Bess has pulled up her pantyhose and began making her own plans for a future. Alone.

That was the last time she had even kissed a man and it had now been almost ten months. Elvis somehow seemed to feel Bess’ nervy energy and he deepened the comforting caress of his thumb over her hand. She looked up into his blue eyes, she hated how magnetic they were as she felt them drawing her in more and more.

Elvis Presley was bad news. Bess knew this, for all of the reasons she could think of and the many more she dared not, she knew. She knew it as she pulled him down by his collar to bring him to her lips. He guided his hands back to her waist, his left hand moving lightly over her breast, and he smiled into another kiss, talking into her cheek as she trembled once more.

“Shhh, shhh baby, it’s ok. I can tell, you’re a good girl.” He pointed to his head. “S’why I like you, I don’t go for fast gals like Dori. I know she’s your friend, but I’d much rather be here with you.”

His knuckles caressed the back of her cheek, and Bess clenched inadvertently, feeling her vagina draw up into itself as she considered how wrong he was. Dori might well be one of the few virgins over twenty still out there. It was, she suspected, part of the reason Dori was trying so aggressively to get married. Elvis’ knuckles trailed back over her cheek and Bess kissed his index finger, bringing the tip between the edge of her mouth, caressing it with her lips. Her hands snaked up his chest while she stared at that bottom lip there hanging down again.

“Maybe you’re wrong, hmmm? Maybe I’m the bad one?”

He arched his eye brows, slipping his finger back in her mouth and over her tongue and then sliding it back out, slowly.

“Hmmm, nice try honey. But you can’t fool me, I know things.”

She giggled.

“Ha, see, I know you, Bess, deep down, you’re a good girl. And deep down you know I ain’t gonna try nothin'.  So let’s go somewhere we can be more comfortable.”

Elvis grabbed her hand and led her down her own hall to the living room, dropping Bess’s hand when he took in her father’s hi-fi equipment against the wall and let out a low whistle. There, in the shining, bright oak console was a stack of electronic equipment.

“Whooweee, what kind of set is it? Where are the speakers?”

Elvis was already sliding the bottom door open to look at the records.

Bess followed, putting on her best floor salesman voice.

“Why, don’t you know quality when you see it, son? Why this is the brand new, all inclusive Carlton hi-fidelity system. “

“Where are the speakers?”

“They are built into the furniture itself, see this here?” Bess pointed at the soft, woven area at the top of the console. “Top of the line sound, I tell you, you’ll feel like you’re in a concert hall.”

Elvis chuckled, his eyes not moving from the shelf of records that he was flipping through quickly, the soft thud of the sleeves hitting each other sounded like the rhythm of a song, like the pulse of Bess’ heart. She turned to calm herself by flopping on the couch.

“Ha, you’re a funny girl, Bess, you know that? Is this your daddy’s stuff?”

“What makes you think I’m not the stereo-phile? I know how all of this works.”

“Yeah, sounds like you’re doing an impression of someone.”

“You’re right, it is my father’s stuff. We all love music, though. But my father is the audiophile, he is always bringing home the latest equipment. We just got this system, apparently it’s stereo, whatever that means.”

“It’s recording on multiple tracks, they have a bunch of microphones around a studio so they can get you from all sides.” Elvis wiggled his brow suggestively as he said this. He then paused and held up the latest Coltrane LP. “Where’s the good music?”

“Ha, I have my own little set upstairs with my records. I don’t know if you’ll find anything hip down here -”

Elvis grabbed an LP, and stood up to slide it out and drop the needle over the lacquered, black grooves. Then he ambled over to where Bess sat on the couch jumping on top of her feet while Bing Crosby’s crooning played out of the speakers. He threw his cap onto the coffee table, and leaned over Bess as she cried out.

“Ughhh, cut stout Tupelo, you’re crushing me.”

Elvis pouted, and pulled her feet out from under his thighs, taking one foot up and kissing the top arch, and then the other as he scooted up between her legs, keeping her left foot in his lap.

“He’s sorry, Bessie Boo Boo.” There was that babyish, low voice again, as his thumb made its new home over her foot while his other hand trailed along the side of Bess’ body, hitching up her nightie slightly as it made it’s way to the side of her breast. Longing surged through Bess’ entire being and again her hands were at his face, bringing him closer to her.

His fingers stroked her side up and down, as, bottom lip hanging slightly open, Elvis' mouth was on hers and Bess swallowed as she kissed him back, unsure and nervous at first, she  closed her eyes as his mouth lingered over hers, then became more insistent each time they converged and she opened up to meet his tongue. Her chest heaved up into his and the strangled smush of their breath filled the air between their faces. Her fingers were in his hair and his hand was palming her underneath her nighty. Elvis pulled back, rubbing his mouth with his right hand, his left hand still walking up her thigh.

His lip curled in a mischievous grin.

“You  wearing’ panties under your night gown, widdle Moo Moo?”

Bess nodded. “Yesss.”

She started back slightly as Elvis lifted up her nightgown, sucking in his breath through his teeth as he gazed at the hint of her publc hair through her white panties.

“Shhhh, s’ok, just taking in the view.” He snapped the elastic band, and she hit his shoulder, pushing the beige, silk fabric back down over her thighs and kicking him back as he chuckled.

“Oh man, but what a view.” He shook his head, grinning. Then, as a new song started, Elvis stood and took Bess’ hand, drawing her back up.

“Why are you doing this?”

She followed him into the middle of the living room, as he brought her into his embrace began swaying with her.

“Never got my dance tonight.” His breath was warm where he spoke into her cheek, and his voice joined Bing and the Andrews Sisters as he moved them slowly in a circle.

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences

And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses

And I can't look at hovels and I can't stand fences

Don't fence me in

 Bess leaned into Elvis chest, she could smell the sweet scent of his cologne, a mix of woodsy pine and citrus, it mingled with the smell of fresh rain and sweat and the shoe polish that lingered on all soldiers, a reminder of their morning inspections. Her cheek glided over the outline of a tee shirt underneath the thick cloth of Elvis’ uniform. For the first time in a long time the fabric felt warm, safe and welcoming. They continued to sway in the silence after the song ended, after the record ended and all that remained was the thud of the needle revolving at the center of the album. Elvis half sang half mumbled the words to “Don’t Fence Me In” in fits and spurts, a haphazard performance for Bess’ forehead. Her skin was warm where his breath fell, and she pushed in further, just wanting to say all night like this passing time in the rise and fall of Elvis’ chest.

Elvis took her chin up to look into her eyes, she could tell he was about to say something when she heard the front door slam shut and the sound of her sister’s voice singing out some of “You Send Me.”

Stepping back, Bess looked Elvis in the eye and whispered forcefully, “Stay here.”

She hurried to the hall, and peeked out, as Kay greeted her.

“Aw, good Elizabeth, why am I not surprised to find you ready for bed?”

Bess took in Kay’s mussed hair and the lipstick smudges around her mouth, then looked up at the clock by the stairs. It was past one, she guessed Kay and her boyfriend had been off necking after the dance.

“Oh, you know, just winding down for the night.” Bess smoothed her hair, then twisted it into a makeshift bun that fell apart the second she released it. She then leaned across the hallway, blocking the passage way with her arm.

“You look a bit disheveled, Kay, maybe a good idea to go wash up and wind down yours-”

She stopped talking as she head the sound of footsteps behind her, and felt the brass buckle of Elvis uniform push into the small of her back, flinching as his hands wound around her waist and his chin tucked into her shoulder. She groaned inwardly as Kay’s mouth dropped open. Elvis kissed Bess’neck, then extended his arm out to shake her sister’s hand. She watched him introduce himself as if he were any other stranger meeting her sister for the first time, as if casual introductions in the midst of affectionate kisses while he wound himself around her body were the most normal thing in the world.

“Um hi, I’m K k k Katherine, Kay that is. Nice to meet you.”

Kay stared at Elvis, then, as if coming out of a daze, looked at Bess with a smirk.

“Just winding down, huh?” Kay nodded at them. “Well, I’m, I’m gonna do the same.” She winked back her sister as she turned up the stairs. “Good night.”

Bess shook her head, and faced Elvis.

“I thought I told you to stay in the living room?”

Elvis feigned indignance, “You embarrassed of me Bess? We weren’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. I think she liked me."

Bess rolled her eyes exasperated, watching as Elvis tilted his head towards the kitchen.

“Come on woman, I’m hungry, fix me something to eat.”

*****************************

Elvis jostled her up and down in his lap as he sucked the last of the meat off of a drumstick, and Bess couldn’t help herself, licking the crumbs from fried chicken off the side of her mouth. Still chewing, Elvis slurped some of the milk from his glass and then laughed as he belched into Bess hair.

“Ew, gross.”

“S’ a compliment, honey. I want you to make this for me for dinner every night.”

He kissed her cheek with his wet, milky mouth, swallowing as he spoke.

“Bess, I like you. I wanna spend every night I can with you.”

Bess turned to him, now straddling him over the chair he sat in at her kitchen table, her feet dangling down on either side of Elvis’ thighs, her underwear the only barrier between his uniform and her body. Her momentary disgust with his manners disappeared as she draped her arms over his shoulders, and looked into his eyes.

“What, what is it honey?”

Bess sighed.

“My folks come home today, I have to drive to Waco to pick them up, they’re flying in to Connally Air Force Base this afternoon.”

“So? Parents love me, I ain’t ever had no trouble with parents.”

“My father is an officer at Fort Hood, Elvis. He will also know that you’re in phase one, you’re not supposed to be off post. And, they won’t approve of you spending the night here, no matter how good we behave.”

Elvis stared off in at the porcelain plates that decorated a portion of the kitchen wall, they had old timey paintings of German farm life on them, with the words for different animals under them.

“Yeah, huh, you said your daddy teaches German, huh? I forgot he was an officer.”

Bess grimaced to herself, remembering that she may have minimized her father’s position at the base.  Although, in a way, he did teach German. That was how he had started out his career in Army Intelligence, and he oversaw that now in the training at Fort Hood, among all the other projects that his office undertook. Bess decided then and there that if she had anything to do with it, Elvis would never meet her father, no matter how many parents he had charmed in his exploits. She knew her father, he hated rock and roll, and, more over, he would certainly not approve of any relationship between her and a new enlisted recruit.

Looking back into Elvis face, his eyes widened with recognition of her uncertainty and he pinched her hips, rocking back and lifting the chair so that she fell further into his lap and onto his groin.

“S’ok, honey. I don’t care how we figure it, I like you, I like you a lot. And I know you like me.”

“You do?”

“Uh huh. I could see it in your eyes, they way they open up wide for me whenever we meet, like they want to let me in, no matter what words come out of your mouth. No matter how difficult or stubborn you try to be. I can tell, I told you, I know things.” He pointed his index fingers into his temples. “S’like a sixth sense.”

“Huh.”

Bess rolled her eyes for the tenth time that night, and then gasped as Elvis leaned back even further and bounced her into his chest, his large hands spreading around her back.

“S’true. Admit it, admit you like me,  Bess.”

He bumped her nose with his, his finger tips tapping over her skin. She looked down.

“I like you.” She mumbled into his chest, refusing to acknowledge the smirk on his face as he said this.

“Ok, there, good girl. So, you go get your parents, and then come meet me later on post.” He kissed her nose now. “And bring some more of that fried chicken, Moo Moo, s’probably the second best I ever ate. Wait till you come to Memphis and try my Mama’s chicken, it’s the best. Boy oh, boy, can my mama cook, best biscuits, best cake, best food in the world.”

Bess ignored how easily Elvis plans for the future suddenly included her, just as his hands in the present seemed to move all over her body, compelling her attention, regard and affection. Bringing her as close as he could as she succumbed to the sensation of his lips on the top of her head, and heard herself promising to meet him with a basket of food that evening.

“I need to see you tonight, Bessie Moo Moo. I can’t bare to be alone, I think too much. Knowin' I'm seeing you gets me through the day.”

His words echoed in her ears and she could still feel the touch of his lips on hers as she showered,  dressed, and drove to Waco. She hated to admit how much she liked Elvis, how much she cpuldnt wait to see him again. Wanting was dangerous, and she feared the way it made her vulnerable. No body every tells you how hard it is to keep going after the anguish of heartbreak. As she drove, “Heartbreak Hotel” come on the radio. Every song is about falling in love or breaking up, she thought, reflecting that she had always been the one to sing to a lover in pursuit or in agony. Maybe it was time to let someone sing to her.

**************************************************************************************

@eliseinmemphis​ @moonchild-daniella​ @tacozebra051​ @ab4eva​ @kingdomforapony​ @everythingelvispresley​ @richardslady121​ @dkayfixates​ @artlover8992​ @peskybedtime​ @freudianslumber​ @amydarcimarie​ @toreigh​ @notstefaniepresley​ @18lkpeters​ @yynneessmons​ @lookingforrainbows​ @prompted-wordsmith​ @ashtag2887​ @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme​ @returntopresley​ @girlblogger2002​ @rjmartin11​ @bigromansgirl-blog​ @literally-just-elvis-fics​

[lyndashome]

Personally I love the look of the open bottom one with stockings.

[lmichaelmcgrath13]

WEAR A GIRDLE AGAINST THE FREEZING COLD!

by Gilliane Manning. Wear a girdle to keep your entire midriff warm against the freezing cold – and wear a couple of pairs of nylon tights or stockings too. Keep your head covered, good shoes or boots – high heels help you avoid puddles. The girdle can be a panty girdle with long legs, or even the vintage Open Bottom Girdle with suspenders. And if you can lace yourself into a corset too, all the…

[relyonya]

Fifties shapewear - back in style

A short history of shapewear from the forties to the sixties, and the rebirth of this lingerie as retro learn more shapewear. Find out why ladies' girdles and corsetry was so essential in the fifties, and what has become of this underwear today.

Retro styling - these days the term is being applied to everything from clothing to furnishing the home. The name retro comes from the Latin meaning 'backwards'. This article is concerned with retro lingerie,Fifties shapewear - back in style Articles or to be more specific retro shapewear.

Although most of the comments that follow describe the sleek chic girdles from the fifties and sixties, they can equally apply to today's girdles that are based on the original designs.

The war years were years of austerity and women on both sides of the channel dressed for comfort, to help the war effort. Women, eager to attract partners at the end of the war, so fashions reflected this desire. This culminated in Christian Dior fashion, which required a sleek, chic silhouette that only a corselet, corset or girdle could provide. Suddenly all women wore girdles, and not just women either - all the shapewear manufacturers targeted not just women but teens as well. A variety of girdles for the young adult were produced. Probably the teen girdle that gained the maximum coverage, in more than one sense, was the panty girdle - a tight-fitting cross between a girdle that held the tummy in and one that protected the wearer from advances, whether unwelcome of otherwise!

The girdle had several functions - to give that sleek chic silhouette to the wearer and to hold up the nylon stockings. Girdles generally had a minimum of two pairs of garter clips. There are two at the front and two garter clips, usually slightly offset from the rear. The garters are offset so that when the girdle wearer sits down they do not have to sit directly on the clips! The open bottom girdles usually have the garter clips on elastic straps, which is useful in keeping the nylon stockings taught as the wearer moves about, sitting and standing. The nylon stockings from the fifties did not have spandex or lycra and were non-stretch; without the elastic of the garter strap the stocking would 'bag' as the wearer stood up.

[verycrownkitten]

¡Echa un vistazo!

[taslin-strider]

CW: period shame, adenomyosis, endometriosis, ableism

Once again, Rook has miscalculated.

“Of course you showed up today,” she says under her breath as she rifles through her pack. Above her, the wind sighs through the autumn canopy of Arlathan Forest. Camp is behind her, a rushing stream in front. Pebbles crunch beneath her feet as she shifts her weight, trying to relieve the uncomfortable dampness between her legs. “You’re either early and you ruin my smallclothes,” she continues, tossing out a spare undershirt and a sachet of lavender, “or you’re late and you throw everything off. Very considerate.”

She reaches the bottom of her pack and still can’t find the bundle of rags, or the elfroot lozenges, or the embrium powder, or the girdle sewn with a pack full of wheat that can fit on a fire grate. Nothing. She left all of it in her room at the Lighthouse.

“Well, fuck me,” she blurts out.

Rook winces as invisible claws drag their way through her insides. She hears rustling in the undergrowth nearby, but if it’s one of those deepstalkers with a poisonous flower for a head, then it can go right ahead with whatever stealth attack it’s been planning. Can’t be any worse than what’s about to happen to her anyway.

“Hey, Rook…”

She turns around.

Bellara waves hesitantly with her free hand, which is holding a bar of soap. The other arm has a towel draped over it. Her dark tresses are loose from their usual bun, falling well past her hips and catching against her trousers in the breeze. How in the world does she keep her hair so healthy?

Rook avoids checking her own split ends. “Oh, hello.”

“Is everything all right?”

Buying herself time to figure out how to answer that, Rook sits back on her arse with a soft grunt, rests her elbows on her knees, and glances around at the contents of her pack strewn everywhere like a strange new form of confetti. Hmm. Bet that undershirt is full of gravel now.

She shrugs. “Yeah, ‘s fine.”

“Sorry, I thought you went closer to the waterfall. I’ll just go bathe over…” Bellara casts about with a vague wave of her arm. “There!”

“Got a nice rock to sit on,” Rook observes, following her line of sight. “Flat. No moss. Good stuff.”

Bellara spits out a strand of hair that’s blown into her open mouth. “Mm-hmm,” she says, scrunching up her face and swiping at it.

A bird squawks on the other side of the creek.

“I’d better sort this out, then.” Rook hastily gathers up her washcloth and nail-scrubbing brush and drops them into her pack.

“Did something happen?” Bellara presses. “You sounded upset.”

“No, it’s nothing important,” Rook insists, trying to ignore the grinding sensation in her belly.

Bellara watches her shake out the undershirt and fold it into lopsided halves. “If you’re sure…”

Which makes Rook realize that she is not, in fact, very sure about this. Bellara isn’t carrying much on her, but maybe she would have some supplies back at camp? And wouldn’t she be happy to share them? If today’s elaborate campfire lunch was any indication, Bellara is all too eager to share.

I’m actually having an emergency right now, and I need help quickly or else I might be in so much pain I can barely stand up—

Is what Rook wants to say, but the words don’t make it out of her throat. She’s quite frustrated to not be able to give Bellara correct and complete information—a dangerous impulse she has never been able to fully squash—and she’s even prepared a concise script for exactly such a moment. There is a Part Two for after Bellara responds to Part One.

My monthly cycles tend to be severe and unpredictable. I’m sorry to trouble you. I wish I could manage them like everyone else does—

“I’m sure,” says Rook, straining to push a smile across her face.

Bellara waves goodbye with a puzzled expression.

Despite all her time spent in anatomy lessons and communal living quarters, Rook still can’t figure out why she feels so ashamed of something so basic. Perhaps it’s the rather punishing train of thought that started back in her apprenticeship. Pain made it hard to work. Skipping work made her look bad. Ergo, pain made her look bad. Lazy apprentices don’t last long in the Grand Necropolis. Don’t last long, little foundling, and you’ll be back on the streets. Not that anyone ever had to tell her that.

Just try to endure it, one of her new mothers in the Mourn Watch had said to her with a kind smile, after she worked up the courage to confide in her.

“So, what can you do,” Rook says to a silver-blue fish swimming around in the shallows. “Keep on living. That’s it.” She lets her fingers drift through the cool water, trying not to scare the fish by getting too close.

Better change her smallclothes, at least. Rook gets to her feet, her legs trembling slightly, and begins to strip down. The water is inviting. She could sit there for a while. Lie down on the shoreline and pillow her head on her pack.

The sky is vast above her, a brighter blue than she’s ever seen.

She wonders if she could have asked Bellara for some rags.

Thanks for reading! You can find the rest of my Rosalind Ingellvar series here.

[bigbaldlen]

Just love women wearing open bottom girdles and nylon stockings.

[ellaofoakhill]

The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline, Chapter Three: What We Choose For Ourselves

Ella relaxed as she settled into the kneeling position, hands on thighs, eyes closed, her mind like water at the bottom of the ocean, nothing but the tide of her breath, and the pulse of her blood.

And a niggling just at the edge of consciousness. She remained settled, turning her mind to observe the disturbance, but it slid away, a hexcat at the edge of the firelight. Yet when she returned to her contemplation, there it was again.

She gave the tiniest shake of her head, and opened her eyes. The shrine sat in the corner of the armoury, a white ribbon and brass posts cordoning it off from the practice floor. The silver lamps cast a bright glow over two portraits: Master, a grandmotherly smile crinkling her features, the hilt of a training sword visible behind her right hip—an outdated painting, from before she lost her eye, her hair in its silver bun with three pins pushed through; and Teacher, the Great Sage Beyond the Moon, simple and realistic—subverting the stylization typical of the depictions of Great Sages—their lips curled back in a toothy smile, vivid against their dark gremlin fur, black back then, with not a trace of grey.

Behind them hung old broken friends. Stone and claw had rent Honesty’s links; Ella could not have asked for more from any other hauberk. Patience, her maille belt, her buckle split by forces even her flawless construction could not withstand. Wisdom and Concentration, so warped and cracked one would have to know they were greaves to believe it. All that remained of Laughter was her scabbard, hung on a peg, the sword herself at the bottom of the sea. Kindness, her disc and rim torn almost in three, the once beautiful design on her boss grotesquely distorted; Ella knew of no shield that had done so much for her wielder. Clarity, her cheekplate riven in two places; Ella would not have seen her eleven thousandth birthyear had her helm not died so she would live. The war mask, the face of Shrannyd, blue and beautiful and white and terrible, was the only piece of Ella’s old panoply unharmed.

And Mother’s helm. Truesilver where all the rest was soulgold. The only treasure Ella claimed from Kulkarax’s hoard, long before her first grey hair.

Ella touched her forehead to the floor, rose, and shook herself out. A smile spread across her face, that stayed as she locked up the armoury. Meline was coming. Time to get bathed and changed.

***

The bell brought Ella running, leaping down the steps three at a time. She stopped on the landing, straightened her blouse, adjusted her girdle, made certain her hose lay properly, wondered at herself for this unprecedented attention to aesthetics, and opened the door.

“Good evening—Havel?” She had not expected to be looking up.

“Master?” He was dressed in his usual attire, his training clothes slung over one shoulder. “You look nicer than usual. Are we… is tonight special?”

“Our next night was the tenth, wasn’t it?”

“The ninth, Master,” he said, “you’re always very clear about dates since The Porridge.”

Ella blinked. Several times. “Oh.”

“Should I… should I go home?”

“No, no, it’ll be fine,” Ella swung herself and the door back, “I’m just entertaining this evening.”

“Enter—” Havel might have been told by a reliable source that Gaea, the world on which he stood, was flat. He put the back of his hand to Ella’s forehead.

“Oh stop, I’m not sick!” She slapped his hand away.

“But you are a little warm…”

“I just got out of the bath!”

“And blue—”

“That’s makeup!”

“And you’ve never entertained that Mom remembers.”

“Even Theodora of Deeprock forgets things!”

“… When?”

Ella wracked her brain. “Like that I entertain! Sometimes! In a long while! When the confluence of moon and stars is just right!”

“… Is it—”

“Yes! Now,” Ella clapped Havel’s elbow, “you have a set of riding leathers here, don’t you?”

“I,” Havel stepped inside at Ella’s gesture, “I think so. Are you sure they’re appropriate?”

“Moreso than your current attire.” Ella glanced at the patches on Havel’s bib overalls; thank the powers Theodora would rather lop off her hands at the wrists, her wings at the stubs, and her feet at the ankles than have any child of hers go out with a hole in his britches. “No time for a proper bath, but you should wash up a bit.”

“Will do, Master.” He started up the stairs.

“Make sure to get behind both pairs of ears!”

“Yes, Master!” She heard more than a little laughter between Havel’s footfalls.

She sighed. “This could be a long night.”

“I doubt that, since we’re still in August.”

Ella jumped and spun around, catching the door in exactly the wrong spot on her elbow. She snapped out her arm—the one not currently a lance of tingles—and caught it before it could slam in Meline’s face. “Meline! Good—” She remembered her lessons some twenty millennia gone, drew herself up, and swept into a long, low bow. “Good to see you again, and welcome.” She picked up the brass tray on the bench beside the coat pegs. “Enter, and partake of my food and drink.”

“How formal.” Meline stepped inside and partook as Ella closed and latched the door behind her. “That was your student?”

“Yes.” Ella took Meline’s cloak and hung it on a peg as Meline wiped her feet on the mat. “I’m afraid I made a scheduling error. I’ll properly introduce you once he’s washed up.”

“Of course.”

“In the meantime,” Ella gave herself the slightest shake and offered an arm, “shall I give you the tour?”

“By all means,” Meline took the proffered arm in a firm grip. “That girdle becomes you, by the way.”

“Oh.” Ella’s ears warmed. “Thank you.”

***

They would have said hello to Coarser, had he not been out for his evening graze. They moved from the stable to the forge, but since Meline was familiar with both spaces, Ella soon found herself escorting Meline upstairs, and realized an important flaw in Oakhill’s construction: there was not quite enough room for Meline and herself to walk abreast, given how Meline’s shoulder pressed against her arm. Not a problem in itself, but halfway up the stairs to the main hall Ella caught a whiff of sunshine and beeswax and a crisp autumn morning. It grew stronger when Meline caught her hair on a splinter sticking out from the wall. Meline waved away Ella’s apologies, and gracefully consented to wait while Ella extricated her hair.

“How long have you been here, now?”

“Oh, about six hundred years or so,” Ella said, carefully freeing the last lock. “There! How long have you been at Wild Rose?”

“A shade longer, nearly eight.” Meline took Ella’s arm again. “It’s changed so much since the other humans…” Ella pushed open the door to the main hall, “Oh. I haven’t seen a proper hall like this in…”

“The hardest part was carving it out.”

“I guess so.” Meline spun on the spot. “That must’ve taken a decade!”

“Thereabouts.”

“… Question.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve mostly lived by yourself, right?”

“Barring students, yes. I settled here a few centuries after I finished training my last one.”

“But you haven’t lived with anyone since.”

“… Yes.”

“And you’ve kept mostly to yourself.”

“Ah.” Ella set a hand on the spotless table beside her. “You’re wondering why a fey who lives by herself and doesn’t entertain would put so much effort into a space she hardly uses.”

“Yeah,” Meline started braiding her hair, “not how I would’ve put it, but yeah.”

Ella leaned against the table, crossed her arms, and looked up at the window above the hearth. “The tree wanted it this way. Besides, we haven’t always been this size on Gaea; who’s to say I won’t need this space one day?”

“It seems to me we were once tall enough that even this space would be nowhere near enough to accommodate me, let alone someone like Havel.”

“I suppose, though by the time humans are calling fey like elves and Havel giants again, this tree will be long dead.”

“Perhaps.” Meline’s focus returned to Ella, and she extended her hand. “Show me the rest of Oakhill?”

***

Oakhill was certainly a big tree from the outside, but it hadn’t occurred to Meline just how much space Ella had carved out on the inside. The main hall was roughly a foot of the way up the trunk. Rooms of any size had thick oak columns running through them. Every wall and ceiling was domed or arched. Pictures hung here and there, mostly of rolling landscapes.

“You’ve been to the land of snows?” Meline gestured to a painting at the top of the fourth flight of stairs. If she was honest, the question gave her the chance to work a stitch out of her side.

“Ah!” Ella leaned in close and Meline felt her face warm. “Yes. After my last home burned down, I thought I’d explore parts of Gaea I hadn’t seen before settling again.” She gestured to a dot of yellow at the shadowy foot of a pair of mountains. “That was my fire. A water troll was generous enough to paint this for me.”

Meline almost commented. A troll! Wow, times have changed. “And how long did you spend at that?” she said instead.

“Not more than a few nights, though—”

“I meant exploring.”

“About… about a thousand years, I think.” A tender smile graced Ella’s features. And… was there a little sadness to it? “It was nice just to see people and travel with them, and teach them a little.”

“Did you never wander when you were young?”

There was definitely sadness now. “Eventually. But there was… a quest… I went on when I first left home. Afterward…”

Meline mentally kicked herself. “Sorry, let’s talk about something else.”

Ella’s gaze lingered on the mountains a moment longer. “Yes, let’s.” They continued on down the hall. “I think I need to expand these passages soon.”

“They seem plenty spacious to me.”

“Really? Whenever we go up a stairwell, you have to push tight against me to make it by, don’t you?”

Not for the first time, Meline was glad her blushes didn’t show. “I didn’t notice!”

“Well, regardless—”

“What’s that room there?” Anything to misdirect from the sweat about to break out on Meline’s palms.

“Oh—uh…” Ella had a look on her face like every bad liar, “just a storage room.”

Meline shot her a look of high skepticism. “A storage room, you say?”

“I—yes. No. I’m just... may it please wait for another time?”

Now Meline was curious. “… Alright. This is your home, I won’t stick my ears in.”

Ella’s transparent relief made Meline’s lips twitch. “Thank you. Uh,” she resembled a chipmunk calculating the quickest route to the nearest tree, “how about my library, then?”

Meline felt her pulse quicken. “You—no, I shouldn’t be surprised you have a library. Please, show me.”

They were at the library door—up another two flights of stairs—when Meline heard quick, heavy footfalls on the stairs behind them.

 “Meline,” Ella said, extending a hand, “I don’t believe you’ve… met…” she waited until his shoulders cleared the landing, “my student, Havel of Deeprock. Havel,” she waited until his puffing subsided, “this is Meline of Wild Rose. She’s my guest this evening, and I am giving her a tour of Oakhill.”

If Havel had sounded surprised at the door, it was nothing to how he looked now. Pure confused grey flashed across his skin. Meline held her breath. And quietly let it out when yellow spots started mixing with the grey. “Well met, Miss Meline. Any friend of Master Ella’s is a friend of mine.”

Meline bowed back. “Ella mentioned Theodora of Deeprock is your mother?”

He nodded, his tight curls nearly brushing the ceiling. “Do you know her?”

Meline shook her head. “Only by reputation. Everyone in ten miles, myself included, wants Deeprock glass.”

The yellow won out, as did his broad smile. “I’ll tell her you said so.” He turned to Ella. “You were showing Miss Meline the library?”

“Indeed.” Ella pushed the door open with one shoulder. “Care to join us? You can pick out your next study piece.”

“If I’m not intruding?”

Ella darted a look at Meline, who smiled and shook her head.

There were three levels, with a central stair winding about a sturdy oak column. Havel immediately took it up to the next level. The aisles between the shelves had been carved from the living wood, as had the shelves themselves, still part of the walls, floor, and ceiling, and covered in whorls of flowers and foliage. “It comes in handy, sometimes, being so small.”

“You appreciate it, too.” The warmth in Ella’s voice was clear. “Could you imagine lugging the wood needed for these shelves up those stairs?”

“I could, but I don’t want to.” Ella chuckled. Meline’s gaze swept over countless volumes. “If you’ve only been here six hundred years, how do you have so many books? In so many styles, by so many authors? This, here, for instance,” Meline picked out a slim volume in plain wood and cloth binding. “I don’t even—who is Nagharzhu-”

“Nagarjuna,” Ella said, brushing her hand over Meline’s as she took the book in one hand. “He was a human monk and philosopher, and I listened in on and transcribed some of his lectures.” She leafed through the heavy paper, her fingers tracing the letters as she read.

“What’s a ‘monk’?”

“Like a sage, only they tend to live in large groups.”

“Ah.”

“My teacher found the parallels between the humans’ spiritual teachings and our own fascinating when I showed them.”

“You have a spiritual teacher?” She was so close Meline could smell the rich pinch of lavender on her.

Ella’s smile deepened. “The Great Sage Beyond the Moon.”

“W-wait,” Meline tried and failed to ignore the smell and the closeness, “I—they’re a gremlin, right?”

“That’s right. They found me when I was as low as I’ve ever been.” Warm pink and a tender smile softened the lines of her face. “They saved me.”

Say it, a voice in Meline’s head urged.

What?

Something! Anything! If you listen to her rough, furry voice another second you’ll burst!

“Anything” is a bit broad!

Start with that old line of Sali’s!

Which one!

It went something like “How dark was the world before you fell into it”?

Ugh! No! At best, she’d laugh at me!

I dunno, you’re the one who’s falling in love with her!

I’m not—

Don’t lie to me!

You are me!

Yeah! Don’t lie to yourself!

“… I—”

A bell started clanging. Meline jumped out of her skin as Ella replaced the book. “What is it?”

To herself, Meline likened Ella to a sweet old bull whose daily mischief included sidling up for a flank scratch. As Ella’s shoulders set and she started moving, Meline jogging to keep pace, she remembered what one bull in her hometown’s herd had done to a dagger-cat that dared hunt one of his calves.

“Neither Coarser nor Tobi rings that bell lightly,” Ella said, wrenching the library door open.

Havel careened down the stair, jumping the last half-dozen steps to the ground. “Master—”

“I heard. Come.” Havel obeyed. Meline took the rear.

“Do you think it’s a demon?”

Meline’s skin erupted in gooseflesh.

“We’ll find out,” Ella said, taking the stairs two at a time. “Help me dress.”

“Dress?” the word was out of Meline’s mouth before she could stop it.

“I am a lord, and this is my demesne,” Ella said, shrugging her shoulders and reaching in her pocket as they came to the door she had so frantically avoided, “and I will not suffer a demon to rampage across my lands.”

A key clicked in the lock. Ella commanded, and the door swung open without a sound. “I was hoping to show you this at a later date,” Ella said as she strode for a pair of copper doors at the far end. “Welcome,” three more keys shot from her hand into the bolt holding the doors closed. Ella spoke, her voice crackling with power; the doors flashed letters and shapes faster than Meline’s eyes could see, and then those doors too swung wide, “to my armoury.”

The space behind the copper doors was not large. Even so, Meline was not expecting to see suits of armour and racks of weapons of every kind she knew and more.

“Sunbeam gold and moonbeam silver … and truesilver too.” Meline said to herself. “I almost need shadow glasses just to look in here.” She backed away from the doors. Havel was helping Ella into a suit of silver armour. “You’re actually doing this.”

Ella looked at Meline like she’d said poppyseeds were a painkiller as she hung a sword on her hip. “Stopping a demon? Can anyone else around here?”

“I thought—” Meline’s eyes fell on a shrine in the corner. Of the entire set of traditional fey armour hanging above it, only the blue and white war mask was intact; all the rest was unuseable. “… Are you a demon slayer?”

Ella laughed. “No, but I knew one once.” She threw a shield over her back and took a spear from behind the copper doors. She started helping Havel dress. “If you’re coming, you should wear protection. Demons like to add curses to the wounds they inflict.”

Meline considered the weapons and armour she saw. “I’m an earth fairy. I should be fine with that stonemail if I hang back.”

There was a soft rattling crash as Havel’s scale coat fell down over his padded shirt. As he strapped a sword on his belt and threw a square of sand-coated wood that had more in common with a wall than a shield over his back, Ella went to the shrine, and knelt. Her rough, handsome features softened as she pressed her hands together. Her lips moved too soft and quick for Meline to make out her words. She touched her forehead to the ground, stood, and tied the mask over her face, replacing her helmet. Around her neck she hung a silver horn.

“Alright.” She spun on her heel. “You’re ready?”

“Yes, Master,” Havel said, his voice muted behind his helm.

Ella looked at Meline; it took a moment to realize she expected a response. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

***

Coarser was waiting in the stable, pawing the ground. He already had his barding mostly on, he just needed a quick cinching. In the spot on his cheek the barding left bare, colours swirled, resolving into a map showing where Tobi the cat had seen the demon, east of the house and shed and north of a set of huge iron panels. It was not a large creature, possibly a squirrel, though by the brief description Tobi had given him before dashing into the humans’ house, one would be hard-pressed to identify what it had been.

“Havel,” Ella said in a quiet, commanding voice as they started out, “What is a demon?”

Havel jumped at the address, but answered as if he were reciting, “a demon is an entity made of projected intent and ambient negativity. They have no physical body of their own, but they use spiritual magic to interact with the physical world. Here on Gaea, they’re most commonly encountered around human towns and cities.”

“Good. And why are they dangerous?”

Meline, following just behind Havel, saw his shoulders start to relax. “Uh, they’re dangerous because,” he continued, “they feed on emotions like anger, sadness, and fear, and are drawn to folks who are especially negative. Their presence makes those emotions worse, and they can get someone stuck deeper and deeper in those feelings until they’re so desperate to escape them they’re willing to do anything.”

“Including make a pact?”

“Yes, Master,” Havel said as they started around the back side of the humans’ north outbuilding, “and a pact is a deal made between a demon and a person.”

“Are there any limitations on what kind of person a demon can make a pact with?”

“Not really,” Havel said. “There have been fey, humans, dragonkin, creatures of Fey, Gaea, and Nidd, and even spirits that have made pacts with demons.”

“And what is the nature of a pact?”

Havel thought for a moment. “The demon agrees to help the person do or get something, and in exchange, the person gives the demon something the demon wants—usually complete control over the person’s body, mind, and soul.”

“Glad you’ve kept up with that reading I gave you,” Ella said over her shoulder, “In addition to your own studies.”

“It was interesting, in a scary sort of way.” Havel caught Ella up in a few huge steps. Meline sped up until she was at Ella’s other side. “So how can we help, Master?”

The pride in Ella’s smile as she looked up at her student belied her words. “Maybe you aren’t all the way caught up on your reading, then.”

“It’s—”

“Depressing, and scary, and therefore hard to read too much at once?”

“… it uses a lot of words I don’t know in weird ways, so I understand less about the words I do know.”

“Ah.” Despite herself, Meline almost laughed at the look on Ella's face. Was she always this wide of the mark?

“It’s those things too, though, Master,” Havel said as if he’d just poked a toddler a little too hard.

“Take your time reading, then,” Ella said. “Worldly magics and physical arms cannot harm a demon, but they will be repelled, if not destroyed outright, by spiritual positivity when not bound by a pact. But even if all the Great Sages surround a demon with their perfect love, a binding pact will maintain a demon’s existence until such time as the person who made the pact dies, or frees themselves of its influence.”

She knows an awful lot about demons for someone who isn’t—

Shut up! She’s so cute when she’s being a teacher I could—

“So the person is the demon’s weakness… oh.” Havel stopped walking. “Master, are we gonna have to…?”

Ella turned and faced him, planting the butt of her spear in the ground. “There are other ways. If the demon’s end of the bargain is still unfulfilled, we can persuade the person involved to renounce it, and to accept our help. We can even do so after the terms of the pact are met, but the process is more involved, and more dangerous: we would have to restrain the poor creature and either find, or build, a place to hold it while I work. I might even need Valdr's help, in that case.”

“So we don’t have to kill anyone?”

Ella shook her head and clapped Havel on the elbow. “Killing is a choice. And I’m not choosing it tonight.”

The grass was clipped short by the fence, not even up to Meline’s waist. Her steps slowed as she felt the familiar nausea and spasm of iron, even if the stonemail helped.

“Spread out,” Ella said once they were across. “We need to find the creature, and determine if the pact has been fulfilled.” She patted Havel’s elbow. “Remember your circles. They might save your life tonight.”

Havel nodded, and despite the situation Meline felt a flush of warmth in her chest.

“Meline?”

“Yes?” She managed to keep her voice level.

“You know your circles?”

“Yes.” Meline eyed the other side of the fence. “A witch needs to know how to keep bad influences from harming her patients.” Something clicked in Meline’s memory. “Though speaking of circles, do you have one around Oakhill?”

“Circles are harder to maintain over a large area. I have other wards running along the fenceline.”

That’d explain why I never sensed a circle while I was there. “Why along the fenceline?”

“Really the humans living here sensed my wards and laid their fenceline along the same path. Come—” Ella sniffed, and stifled a groan. “It was definitely here.”

Burning rubber, sulfur, and the raw smell of fresh death hit Meline’s ears and started them streaming. She pulled a half-mask from her medicine bag and handed it to Havel, drawing one out for herself. It was amazing what crushed sage and a little potioneering could do.

Coarser led them closer to the fence, looking and sniffing despite the watering of his eyes; Meline would have to make a mask for him, too. Her skin crawled as they drew closer; any tuft of grass could hide it—

Wait, no it couldn’t! Meline asked the ground to let her feel through it. And out in all directions for perhaps three feet, she could feel every root and stone. But no moving, living thing; even the earthworms had gone. “I can feel if it tries sneaking up on us,” she said, “but it can probably jump further than my earthsight.”

“Good thinking,” Ella said, “thank you.”

“No problem. I actually use something similar while I… ugh…” The earth where the demon had stood was black and sick. Anything growing there was going to die in a matter of weeks, maybe days. Meline suddenly wished she was wearing something more closely resembling armour.

“What?”

“It was standing right over there.” Meline pointed.

Havel was halfway through a word of power when the hilt of a dagger glowing yellow rapped his shoulder. “Leave the earthsight to Meline, Havel. You don’t need to find out what demonic corruption feels like.”

He rubbed his shoulder, though Meline doubted it’d caused any actual pain. “Yes, Master. Can we follow it, then?”

“Meline?”

Meline moved up beside Coarser. “The feeling’s weaker heading north, and stronger heading southeast.”

“Excellent. Are you alright with staying at the front?”

No, but I’m the obvious choice for it, aren’t I? “Yeah, I can handle this.”

“Just stay close to Coarser; he’ll get you out of here when we find it.”

“Right.” Staying slightly off the trail—it felt like someone rubbing half-rotten fish in her face—Meline proceeded at a pace quick enough they were probably gaining on it, but not so brisk as to walk them into an ambush. To her right, she could just barely feel the fence, its presence an unpleasant thrum against the back of her hand and top of her foot.

“She moves quietly, Master.” Havel probably didn’t realize earthsight sharpened Meline’s hearing.

“Pay attention to how she moves, minding her feet and timing her noisiest steps with the breeze and the grass rustling. And how she spreads her weight between her feet and her staff.”

Meline wrenched her attention back to the trail. Earthsight was also making Ella’s compliments, delivered in a more resonant version of her usual voice, harder to ignore.

“She’s modified the stonemail you gave her, too.”

“The stripes and spots are a nice touch,” Ella agreed. “Even a fey horse would have trouble matching her camouflage.”

Coarser snorted what sounded like grudging admittance.

“Oh come, she’s good en—”

Meline ducked; she’d barely felt the tremor to her right, where her earthsight weakened closer to the fence. Flattening herself to the ground, a huge shape whooshed through the space she’d been standing in. She sprang back up in an instant, staff whirling and smacking flesh before she could properly see what she was striking. “Run!”

This wasn’t a squirrel; this was a rat, now with three writhing tails that clattered with barbs. Her lower jaw split as she roared.

Meline settled her feet. “Do you know me?” There was something in the cast of the rat’s features that looked familiar. “You look like you might be related to Hepzibah.” She gestured for Ella and Havel to get back.

“Let us go.” Meline had cleaned out abscesses that felt and smelled like that voice sounded. “We need to run or we will die.” The demon gathered the rat’s body to charge. Meline spoke a word of power and kicked, the ground slid out from under the rat, and she scrambled to right herself. Meline was halfway through telling the earth to clothe her in jagged stone when a golden note swelled on the air.

The rat screamed in two voices. Ella played another note, her horn softly glowing, and the poor creature writhed on the ground. Ella’s fingers began to dance along the seven holes on the horn’s side. “Skip Me Down to the Pasture”, Meline thought, or “Got Me Nothin’ But Hair”, as Ella would probably know it. Whichever song Ella had in mind, a soft glow emanated from the horn, and the rat’s hide began to steam as she shrieked, the demon raking the rat’s claws across the ground to get away from Ella, but lacking the strength to do anything but crawl.

With one hand, Ella continued to play. With the other, she drew her sword, and Meline had to shield her eyes. She never spoke a word… how much spiritual power does she have?

Once Ella had walked around the rat, the horn ceased, and the light from her sword went out. She ran to Meline, horn bouncing on her chest. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m—” Meline’s face must’ve cast a light of its own as Ella took it in her hands, looking her over. Meline could only take a few seconds before she shook Ella’s hands loose. “I-I said I’m fine! It never touched me at all.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes!” She didn’t feel half so annoyed as she sounded. “I’m perfectly capable of checking myself over!”

 After a moment in which Ella’s eartips might have blued, she nodded. “The rush of battle can make a body—”

“Yes, I know that, too. Go help that poor thing.”

With a last glance at Meline, Ella turned back to the rat. The blaze of her sword returned. “Demon,” her voice was gentler than Meline expected, “what was your half of the pact?”

The rat twitched on the ground. Ella took a step forward. The demon hurled the rat forward. Towering over Ella, head and shoulders over Havel, the rat crashed against a wall of light and fell smoking to the ground. Now Meline saw the circle Ella had cut with her sword; the grass had hidden it.

“What was your half?” Ella asked as if nothing had happened. The demon growled, slime bubbling from the rat’s jaws, but already the demon seemed too weak to compel her. “What was your half of the pact?”

The black vapour rising from the rat’s boiling body condensed and hit the barrier with a crash, floating away on the air as a white mist.

The demon’s lips pulled back in six directions. “To help the rat escape.”

“And has she succeeded?”

“Ten miles we needed to travel, by her reckoning.” Its breath rasped in her throat. “We haven’t made it one.”

Ella nodded, and sheathed her sword. “So you have not fulfilled your half.” Meline clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. “Let her go.”

The demon hissed.

“Let her go.”

The rat’s claws tore furrows through the ground as the demon bared her misshapen teeth.

“I said…” Ella stepped into the circle. The demon’s charge stopped before it started. Every piece of Ella’s armour glowed and the ground hissed where she stepped; Meline felt the corruption burning away. “Let.” No part of her shone brighter than the mask, its blue and white halves seemed to breathe in the rippling air. She raised her hands like a mother welcoming her long-wandering child home. “Her.” The demon pressed the rat against the barrier, smoking at the contact. It squealed, the rat’s tails lashing as it fought to free itself.

“Go. In the name of the Great Sage Beyond the Moon.”

The demon screeched as Ella’s hands touched the rat, black smoke billowing as ichor dribbled to the ground. Its body froze, its six eyes locked wide, its six limbs crumpled, its teeth a hairsbreadth from Ella’s face as its split jaws snarled in a rictus of agony.

Slowly, Ella pulled away. Only in the light coming off her could Meline see the shadow writhing in Ella’s hand, a single fibre still tying it to the rat.

“I don’t know your name,” Ella said to the rat, “but you never needed this kind of help. Let it go, and wherever you need to run to, I will help, if I can.”

Every hair on the rat’s body stood on end. Her hands fell on Ella’s shoulders, her knuckles white, her claws screeching on glowing silver. “Please help me.”

Meline heard a soft shick as Ella’s sword cut the last tendril. The shadow writhed as it crumbled to nothing. The rat’s four extra eyes fell out, their sockets closing, as her extra limbs and tails fell away, smoking and dissolving in the night’s clean air, and her jaw knitted back together. Before the glow had fully faded from Ella’s armour and horn, an ordinary rat sat within the circle.

She looked at her hands, and the rest of herself. “I-I’m me again!”

“You are.” Ella began cleaning her sword.

The rat looked around at the three of them. “I’m sorry, I—”

Ella raised a hand. “What’s your name?”

The rat knotted her hands together. “Clarisse.” She bowed her head lower. “Clarisse Slough.”

“Was anyone hurt while you were possessed?”

“No.” The rat shook her head. “No, I kept it from doing that much, at least.”

“Good.” Ella seemed, now the demon was dealt with, to be at a loss.

Meline took a couple steps forward. “You were running away, right?”

Clarisse nodded. “Things are bad north of here. Finally had enough, but it’s hard to get out.”

Meline raised her eyebrows. “Bad how?” Clarisse shook her head; she’d started trembling. “I’m sorry… can we…” she glanced at Ella, who nodded, “can we help you on your way?”

Clarisse raised her head. “You’d help me after—nono, please, I’m fine, I’m—” her belly rumbled like a mill grinding grain.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Ella asked. “I live in the oak tree over by the house there, and I’ve lots of food kept by. Just a meal, and a pack of food,” she looked at Clarisse’s torn, filthy tunic, “and perhaps a little coin for some new clothes.”

Clarisse looked between them. “I—I’m…”

Meline put her arms as far around Clarisse as they’d reach. Ella turned away, and started giving Havel a few points on properly cleaning a blade, to give Clarisse some privacy as she cried.

***

“That was an exciting evening,” Meline said as Clarisse waved one last time before disappearing around the corner of the house.

“Sorry it got interrupted,” Ella said, finally lowering her hand; the blood would soon return to it. “I was hoping to show you the conservatory.”

Meline tilted her head, flashing Ella a smile which momentarily lit up the world. “You have a conservatory?”

Ella hoped the flush of her eartips went unnoticed. “Found it when I was cleaning up, actually.”

“‘Found’ it?”

“Oakhill’s got plenty of rooms I haven’t used in decades,” Ella said “Small wonder I’d forget some of them.”

Meline laughed. Ella wondered if she was catching something, with how hot she suddenly felt.

“So tell me something,” Meline said, taking Ella’s arm as they went up the stairs—she really did need to widen these passages.

“If I can.”

“You own an entire arsenal, and I can count on fingers and toes the number of folks I know with more spiritual power than what you showed tonight.”

A light sweat broke out across Ella’s shoulders; she was suddenly glad Meline was not holding her hand. “What was I supposed to tell you?” When an answer was not immediately forthcoming, Ella looked down. “Meline?”

“… We-well, I mean, you slew a demon today, so are you sure—” the laugh bubbled up before Ella could stop it, “I’m serious!”

“I know you are,” Ella said once she mostly had control of herself again. “Why are you a witch?”

That stymied Meline as they continued past the landing to the hall. “I chose to be,” she finally said.

“And I chose not to travel the worlds slaying demons.”

“You’d be good at it, though,” Meline said, “from what I saw.”

Ella glanced at the closed armoury door as they passed it, the torn armour above the shrine flickering through her mind as she placed her foot on the next step back up to the library. “More than any other work,” she said, “you have to want to do it. And more than any other work, Meline, you risk your soul in the doing.”

After a long moment, Meline squeezed her arm. “You had some books you wanted to show me?”

Ella smiled. “Havel’s laying them out now. I believe there were some treatises on the proper collection and storage of sunbeams.”

“Ooh, crystal resonance or golden jar?”

            Ella gave her a wink as she pulled open the library door. “Let’s find out.”