[Spending a string] How could she claim - if not your heart, if not your service, but your craving? What word, what touch, what caress, what slip of clothing must she give to make you want her? Even if you don't act on it, even if your vows and heart lie elsewhere, how could she make you feel torn about it?

It may also be better to answer not in what she might do, but what she does.

That's the thing about Kalaya. There are steps you can take, do take, but even as you do them you can see the results are somewhat ... limited. Muscles are impressive, as are feather touches and soft skin. Smiles and sweet words and feats of strength. They are opposite ends of the same ... rather tempting scale.

But temptation has its limits with Kalaya. She's very good at holding herself back from it. For oath and honour, a Knight is a Knight after all. Will she feel a jolt from the way your eyes stare at her when she comes to you? Yes. But will she feel torn?

That is harder. She will feel sad, if she disappoints you. She will feel upset, if she has to fight you. But to make her want you have to bury a different sort of hook into her heart than physical desire. If you want her to really feel the pain of choices that will come down the line, there is only one thing you need to do ...

Be a Good Girl.

You see, it's not Ven's arm or her strength or her kisses or even their friendship that chains Kalayas heart to hers. It's that, deep down, Kalaya believes that she is Good - despite all current evidence - it is all weighed against the girl that she grew up alongside and how they would stand up to bullies, look out for each other and always help those in need.

You helped her at Kingeater. Fought demons alongside her. That counts. A few more Good deeds - helping the Kingdoms or the small people that Gods and Royalty forget - and you'll find you've buried your hooks in her heart right well enough.

But maybe the real question is: can you keep it up? Can you keep being Good? Either really or pretending well enough and long enough to fool her?

Piripiri!

Never let a weaker person fight their own battles.

The noodles sizzle in the oil. The knife flickers in your hand, cutting apart the vegetables that will add body and texture.

Never let a weaker person fight their own battles.

What is going on between those two is certainly soft, and sweet, and good. But it is also a battle, of sorts, and you are letting Han (who burned so brightly, who fought so hard, but who still could not defeat you) stumble her way through romance for the first time, and isn't it just an itch on the back of your neck? Your own teachers certainly wouldn't have done so unless they intended on showing you how your untrained, inchoate instincts had failed you.

How do you shut those instincts up, daughter of Hymair? Or do you find the temptation comforting?

---

Han!

"We should escape," Lotus says, and absolutely does not let you go.

This is difficult, because she is smooshing your face into her body, and running her fingers through your hair, and generally being as clingy as a pretty girl like her would be over, like, some small kitten or her purse or a dainty flower. She's got her ankles wrapped around one shin as you recline together, rubbing the rope of her leash against your skin. She has swallowed the dragon whole with her softness, her good smell, her caring fingers, and that is a far more constricting prison than any chain or rope or, hypothetically speaking, the tiny cell underneath a lake that her mother is going to shut you up in the second she finds out that you have been so forward with her beloved daughter, and this is definitely the best time to suddenly remember that, isn't it? Jail For Dragon One Hundred Years, Plus Another Hundred For Face Crimes Committed Shamelessly Right Now.

"Right? We should escape?" She makes absolutely no move to get up off the divan, or to stop running her fingers through your hair. "We should start planning it, at least. Maybe we need to give her a false sense of security, lull her into complacency until she makes a mistake, but who knows how long that will take? And how many indignities she'll force us into for her entertainment? Maybe she'll tie us back to back, or, or front to front, so we have to stare at each other, and, that'll, give us time to come up with a plan...?"

From the grip she now has on your hair, and on your shin for that matter, it seems increasingly unlikely that she would be capable of coming up with a plan under those circumstances.

---

Giriel!

It's not Ven that lashes out at you. She's too soft for that, too malleable, too vulnerable, like some lost little kitten baring its teeth and hissing because it's scared of everything. How far she's risen from the depths of her preening villainy!

No, it's not Ven. It's Peregrine.

"Noodles? Disappointing," she says, as the wind-leopards bowl you over, sit on you, digging their icy claws into your arms, baring their half-there teeth. "Irrelevant in grander scale. Cakkavatti imminent. Strike her down."

"Witch, you do not control me either," Ven snarls, turning back towards Peregrine, whose eyes flash with Hell's green fires. She still thinks she's in control of the project; that she's not just going to make another King who will Break. Another facet of the world-crafting tyrant who is, at the end of it all, pathetic and alone in his shattered grandeur.

"Control? Yes. Also necessary." Another twist of her wrist, and ghostly shackles wrap around Ven's limbs. The sword is raised, and Ven is marched towards you, struggling against the spell, though whether from genuine repentance or affronted pride is difficult to tell.

Peregrine is the greatest mind of her generation, but taking on all of Hell and thinking she was going to get the upper hand may have been too much, especially because she must have forgotten that they could tempt her with things she wants. You're going to need to find some way of diverting her, or at the very least making her think that you'll be of use to the hell-fueled obsession of making Ven into the perfect king, and you've got to do it very, very fast.

---

Kalaya!

You are bowled over by a screeching, hissing N'yari who has just been covered in all the mud and would like all of the mud to instead be anywhere else, including on you. She shake, she floof, she knock you on your knightly butt and then notice the screaming priestess behind you. You'd better act quick, before she gets the priestess all muddy as part of trying to scamper away with a prize from all this (that, very specifically, being the priestess).

---

Fengye!

The Maid is so grateful at being freed that she is giving your neck a hug with her hands! And shaking you! What a good girl she is, trying to show her gratitude! It can't be anything else, because she's too pathetic and feeble to really do anything else, but, gosh, the intensity in those eyes! The baring of her teeth in an adorable snarl! The way she wiggles as she hugs you!

Then the monster roars, and she squeals in fear, and her hands drift lower as she clings to you, shivering, trying to put you between her and the scary thing of mud that had imprisoned her! To not be delicate, she's managed to unintentionally cop all of the feels while pressing her mud-slick, shivering body against you, looking to you to save her-- you, who she had, let's be honest, just been trying to throttle.

This is something you will be able to lord over her forever.

She’s so soft.

Soft are the fingers playing in her hair. Her ponytail’s been undone, at some point, because she’s brushing her unruly tangle of hair, and doesn’t stop until she can’t reach any farther, and her fingertips tickle her back as she goes for another brush. Or she’s found a patch to play in, to rub between her fingers, careful and sweet.

Soft is the fabric beneath her face. Softer is the body beneath it. On cheeks, on nose, on lips. Rubbing against her as she plays at her hair and presses her head close. Like the finest pillow in the finest cover, and on the edge of her hearing there’s the fluttering thump-thump of her precious heart. All her aching muscles drag her in deeper, deeper, deeper, until moving is impossible.

Soft is the voice that drowns her. It fills her ears, and it fills her thoughts, and all she has to do is give a low, rumbling, draconic growl of approval (not a purr shut up) and she gets to hear more of it. And doesn’t have to work out how to reply when it’s already effort enough to sneak breaths (sweet, heady, blooming flowers after rain) against her.

So it is a long, rumbling, thoughtful silence, before she tilts her head, freeing her mouth enough to share her ancient dragon wisdom. “Hell yeah, we’re gonna escape.” She nods, or maybe nuzzles against her. Difficult to tell. Not important. Shut up. “She said she was gonna train me, right? So…so I’ll just get so strong she can’t ever beat me, and then we walk out. Maybe take her with us? Get her?” Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. Show everybody what happens when they mess with Han of the Highlands, and especially when you mess with Lotus of Tranquil Waters, daughter of

of

o f

“Han?” Lotus asks, her voice ringing with faint worry. “Is something wrong?”

Oh gods she noticed. How did she notice? How did she do that?! (She has stopped nuzzling into her body. She has stopped looking anywhere but straight ahead, at whose body she was getting so, so comfortable with, at the chest that is so, so close to her face. She hasn’t stopped breathing, but is giving it her best attempt.) Her heart is racing, does she notice that too?! “It’s…no, it’s stupid.” Very stupid. Ruin-the-whole-moment stupid. The sort of thing you’d have to be a real dumb idiot to even think about asking after they just got done kissing, and now they’re all cozy together, and it’s too early! This started just a few minutes ago! What kind of big dumb idiot moron would ruin the rhythm at a time like this?!

There’s those soft fingers, teasing her hair. There’s that soft face, biting her lip with worry. There’s that soft voice, holding her gently. “...could I hear it anyway?”

……………………dammit.

An anxious growl rattles in her throat. “Okay. Okay. So.” Her eyes search for words. They search along her collarbone. They search on the curves of her chest. Briefly. They dart away to search someplace safer. “What…is this? What does this mean? Me being,” she nods her head to, to, well, where she lays. Where she is being held. “Being here?”

What does it mean to be held like this, by a demigod? What, exactly, is she doing with the daughter of the Sapphire Mother?

[Spending a string on Lotus, asking her to teach Han about intimate demigod cuddling.]

Never let a weaker person fight their own battles.

What in the world is giving the impression that's what she's doing?

Love has been compared to many a thing, but Piripiri naturally leans towards gardening metaphors. You need to make sure the ground is right, the season is correct, tend it carefully, water it, and then leave it be for periods of time. And then you check up on it. She's got perhaps ten minutes left till the food is done. She's hoping that Lotus is not one of those unfortunates who has absolutely no spice tolerance, and that nobody is allergic to carrots for whatever reason, but it'd be very awkward to intrude back in after declaring that they'd have privacy to ask about meal preferences.

So instead she'll make a lot of noise coming down the hallway in about fifteen minutes, let them separate and have a chance to realize that yes, they're both interested, and yes, it wasn't just a heat of the moment thing. Have a nice dinner together. And then exhaust the two of them training on basic essence flow. Han needs it, bless her, and Lotus can keep up. She's never seen how a demigoddess would take to the practices, it'd be interesting for them all.

But for the moment? She is intervening, it's the entire reason they've kissed by now (they better have kissed by now). But she's doing so strategically. Carefully. With an eye for thorns, and when to leave well enough alone.

Being in control means wielding the knight. Wielding the knight doesn't require weakness, so her weakness is irrelevant. Being in control means not tormenting the Maid. A grip on this sword requires the illusion of kindness and that means she cannot punish her tame, fearful devil-king. Not yet. So she smiles down at her, and only from the Maid's angle can the glittering savagery be seen in that smile, even as she speaks for the Knight's benefit.

"Oh, noble knight, thank you for rescuing her for me," said Fengye, not breaking eye contact with her Maid even as her voice quavered with crocodile innocence. "Please protect us both!"

Oh dear. The N'yari was going to kidnap her priestess. Which would mean another side-quest to rescue her. Which would mean another distraction. Taking her away from what she really wanted to do. Namely saving the Flower Kingdoms from the Dominion, from the Prophecy of Mars and from itself (and also saving her girlfriend from all of the above too).

No.

Not today.

No more distractions.

Kalaya felt like she was ... well, herding cats would be a potentially insensitive description right now, wouldn't it, but that's what it felt like. Constantly having to chivvy, guard and just plan old force things to stay on track. Well, there was a limit to her patience, and that limit was now getting tested.

"Okay. HOLD. UP!" she yells.

The N'yari gives a very un-ferocious squeak of surprise as something grabs it around the middle and lifts it, all the however-many-pounds-of-muscle-and-fur of it, into the air. Puzzled, surprised, it looks around for a moment before refocusing on the voice coming from beneath.

"Now. You are going to behave. Or I am going to plant you right back into the mud you just crawled out of!" yells the small princess, who is a hairs-breadth away from suplexing it.

"Is. That. CLEAR?"

[Boxcars on defy disaster - the dice want to keep things on track. And now I can check one more thing of my Kalaya bucket-list.]

Hell can tempt you with things you want? No, that’s not right. Hell is broken. Hell tempts you because you don’t know yourself, not really. It offers you what you think you want. Then you get it and lo and behold, you never actually wanted it and you’re very unhappy! Also deep in debt and so committed by that point that doubling down looks like the only good option.

Poor Peregrine.

Well, the thing if someone is in that deep is that you have to pull them out of context. Especially someone like Peregrine who absolutely has spent an unhealthy amount of time running through this over and over in her own head until the justifications turned themselves into well-worn grooves of trodden grass and flowers in her mind.

This is what Giri thinks about as she crawls her way towards Peregrine dragging leopard and girl alike through the slippery, muddy earth. And this is what she’s thinking as she manages to reach up one strong, well-muscled arm past the nipping leopard teeth and rips off Peregrine’s dress.

[Overcome 6+2. If this is tricky enough for Wit, it’s an 11. If it’s Daring, that’s an 8]

Han!

"It means I fell in love with you," Lotus says, the bravest girl in the entire Flower Kingdoms. Her glasses are a little crooked; her lips are wet with your mouth's... wetness. Her blue hair's a halo on the pillow. "I don't know exactly where, but... I like you, a lot, and I care about you, and I think you're a hero. And I think. I think I would be very lucky if you wanted to give me a chance, because I feel safe around you, Han of the Flower Kingdoms. Han of the Dragons."

She brings your hand up to her chest, and you can feel the heart beneath her skin. Her soft, gentle, demigod heart, which is beating for you. Delicate, like a flower. But she's placing that flower in your hands because she trusts you not to bruise the petals. And the look she's giving you...

"You won't break me," she whispers. "I want this. I want you. I want you to kidnap me back from her. I want you to toss me over your shoulder and run off with me, and I don't care if my mother's watching. I want you to be my big mean dragon who's going to make me her bride, as long as I can be the priestess who kisses your bruises and I can stop you from hiding your injuries and pretending that you're fine. As long as I can be yours, Han. I'd pick you-- I am picking you. Over everything in my mother's house. Because all of it isn't you."

Lotus of Tranquil Waters is the daughter of a member of Venus's court, and right now, you know what Venus means. It means her pulling you closer because she wants you to do the same. It means being wanted and having your want be wanted back. It means hunger and it means thirst. It means a girl who gets squirmy when she gets tied up but wants you tying the knots and keeping her quiet, because she feels safe with you. And it means a girl who sees you hurting and tears up because she wants to kiss you better.

Do you make her feel that she is loved back, Han of the Flower Kingdoms?

---

Piripiri!

The sip of tea is calculated. Loud enough that you can barely hear it over the sizzling of the food. And there she is: the woman who trained you all those years ago. She has an umbrella; she has a hat with a veil all around the rim, parted so that she can bring the tea to her lips. Beside her is a teapot, which you did not hear sing.

"Well," she says. "How has your service to the Red Wolf come along, dear?" Her voice betrays nothing, but to ask is to know. She always knew before you did.

Go ahead. Admit it to her first, so that you can then admit it to yourself.

---

Kalaya!

"It is very clear," says the goddess, and the words she uses mean illumination and glory and I am impressed all at once.

Her palanquin rises out of the waters. She is huge. She could pick you up with one hand and shake you like a child's doll. Around her are cranes, and warrior goddesses, and ferns the size of you, and little brown foxes, and pillows, and in the middle of it she lounges, head propped up on one hand, sapphire-sequined dress hugging her curves, and she looks a little like your mother, because she looks a little bit like everyone's mother.

The Sapphire Mother of Lotuses slowly blinks at you, considers you. Around her are demigods with burnished spears, flowing dresses, knight's breastplates: some of her many daughters. Then she nods, once. "This one. This is the knight." And what that means is chosen and royalty and guardian all at once. "Kalaya Na. The Dominion desires our home. Hell seeks to destroy it. You and the Stag Knight have been warring for my heart; but you love more. You love when it is foolish and you love when it is hopeless, and that is what we need for our Champion."

This is how she chooses you. This is the moment in which the fate of the Flower Kingdoms shifts. What is the token she offers you, the one that will convince Uusha to stand by your side against the Dominion, that will unite the Kingdoms behind you, Queen of Queens, Knight of the Sapphire Mother?

---

Fengye!

The real question, the one left remaining for you, is who you're leaving with tonight. On the one hand: the most eligible employer in the entire Flower Kingdoms is in front of you, and if there is anyone who can talk her way into her court tonight, it is you. On the other hand, there is still a N'yari here, who has just had the fear of Kalaya Na put into her, and she's going to be very well behaved. On the third hand, you have always had a will of your own. That's why you volunteered to wear the mask in the first place. Tell us your plan, tamer of demons.

---

Giriel!

That distracts her just long enough, makes some long-buried modesty flare up, that you can tackle her, and the two of you are wrestling, and there are wind-leopards everywhere, and somewhere behind you is a scream and a surge of power, but you have to trust in goodness and keep Peregrine pinned underneath you, one hand over her mouth, until the leopards grow bored and slink away, leaving you panting and sweating and vulnerable to being stabbed in the back--

But Ven just sighs, standing over the two of you. "...you'll need help with an exorcism," she says. Her silhouette is different. Tearing off your own arm will do that to a woman.

Behind her, blackening the grass underneath it, lies her brass arm, the fingers slowly curling up like a dying snake.

The good news is that once you've exorcised her, Peregrine will be mostly fine. Upset that you pulled her back from the brink, but once she really starts thinking again, she'll realize that she wasn't the charioteer and that she wasn't at the reins, and then she'll be angry. Not at you, she'll just be embarrassed and quietly offer her support with whatever you have planned next. The bad news is that you still have to carry out that exorcism.

Better make it the best one the Flower Kingdom's ever seen. Peregrine deserves nothing less.

"I will" Giriel smiles and ventures to give Ven a pat on the back after she stands and dusts herself off. Of course it earns the "how dare you peasant" look, but there's no fire in it, and Giri grins as Ven physically appreciates it despite herself.

She moves them over from the mud, back towards the N'yari camp. She makes a sling what remains of Peregrine's ruined and muddied dress and some branches to carry the brass arm without touching it. Best not, with what it was doing to the grass. Gets the N'yari to help her make a hot firepit full of charcoal. Did you know that a campfire is just barely short of the temperature to melt brass? But if you make a charcoal pit and get it as hot as it can go, it will do the trick.

It's not that the magic strictly requires a fire hot enough to melt the brass. A magical fire could easily be conjured that would melt regular brass with minimal difficulty. But that's not the point when it comes to an exorcism done right. It's about the nature of the thing, the meaning put into it, not the temperature. Making a fire that everyone knows can't melt brass and then trying to focus some of the magic to enhance it makes the main ritual weaker. If you put in the effort instead, the magic gets stronger.

That was always the way of these things really. It's why Giri was so strong, why she carried a great black sword and not a dagger like many witches. This is not to say that a strong witch always had the better of things, Peregrine was exceptionally gifted and thin as a willow branch after all. It was just that one way to make your magic strong was to do the busy work properly. Giri sweeped and she chopped wood. She hiked and she picked things by hand. And because she didn't take the shortcuts and she put the care and the time into each bit, the symbolism would turn out right and strong. People always forgot these things because they thought that once they got good at everything else, the time didn't matter. A lot of folks made the mistake of thinking that being skilled meant being fast. Sometimes, sure, it could matter. In a fight, say. But that wasn't the only sort of skill. Sometimes making a good soup means leaving everything to simmer for as long as it takes because if you turn up the heat it will just burn instead. And if there was one lesson, it was that if you were going to make soup for the dead, you ought to make them good soup.

So, Giriel very carefully kindles the fire. She works with Ven to draw the circle, the two of them together. Their blood mixed in the lines. Same reasoning. Blood magic isn't evil, that's the superstition. Blood is powerful because it fundamentally represents the vitality of a person. Giving it up weakens you until you can rest and eat and rebuild yourself. Giving up too much kills you and yes that was evil if you drew on it for power. But that's because taking someone else's life in the vast majority of circumstances wasn't yours to make. This though, this was Ven's blood given willingly, such as she had left after the loss of her arm. And Giri's blood given gladly. For a friend.

The black sword, too, makes for the ritual. Giri uses it to draw each line, and when it's done, she lays it across Peregrine's chest. A sacrifice, a magical implement that she has sanctified and blessed and brought before the local gods and ancestors in turn. She will sacrifice it in its entirety for Peregrine. She'll have another sword made, or find one to buy to her heft, but it will take a long time to bring it in line with her black sword. The biggest loss would be that she'd need another way to intimidate people while she was traveling. It was nice to come into an inn and be left alone sometimes without having to make your hands start glowing.

Giri hums as she works the fire and then carefully, carefully lowers the bronze arm into the firepit. Two sacrifices. One from Ven, one from her for Peregrine. The arm would be doubly effective in that its destruction would be a boon for the Flower Kingdoms, lighten the presence of the demonic, and the symbolism of its destruction matched with the ritual exorcism for Peregrine.

Lastly, she finished brewing her pot of tea, scalding hot over that same firepit, and poured three cups. One for herself, one for Ven, and one to offer a sip to Peregrine as they started the ritual. She poured the rest out and then pointedly didn't examine the leaves, instead placing Peregrine's cup facedown once she had trickled a few drops into the witch to fortify her.

Then, finally, there was the part with all the chanting and the screaming and the shrieks of demonic agony. You know that's just the showy part though, right? When you've done the preparations properly, double checked the lines and the tools, and mentally prepared, then the actual doing of the thing was the formality, the theater done to demonstrate that the work was already completed successfully. You knew you could do it, you knew they symbols were right, and that confidence in turn was something that the hells could never understand, could never touch. Because hell was a broken thing, a purveyor of false dreams and pride born of failure. An unwillingness to learn, to do better. What better way, then, to perform the chants than with the quiet surety that comes from a job well done?

Only when they were done completely, Peregrine panting and covered with mud and sweat, the arm melted into a formless puddle amidst the coals and then buried in mud and clay...only then did Giriel let out a breath, remove the tea cup, and look over the leaves. A downward mountain trail, the sign of fresh wind, the setting sun. The signs for the end of a difficult leg of a journey, if one that still required a bit of walking before finding some warm rice and a soft bed.

Kalaya and the N'yari are both frozen in shock as the Sapphire Mother emerges.

And emerges.

And keeps emerging.

Woah ... Big Goddess.

It's not the most erudite thought ever, and probably borderline blasphemous, but it's all she can process right now. After all, Kalaya has had some religious education in her upbringing. Okay, maybe she skipped some classes (oh dear, does She know that?) but she'd gotten a priestess, and was ready to get the offering and the ritual and everything and why is the Goddess just here right now??

She's not alone either, she's brought what looks like a chunk of her entourage with her. Demigoddesses and Knights and both at once. Daughters of the River, burnished breastplates shining and banners flying. Cranes and Foxes surround them. It's a truly majestic sight to behold, one that leaves her in awe, and it is at this point that Kalaya realises she is currently standing ankle deep in very slippery mud while hoisting a large, wet, cat above her head.

About five seconds later is when she realises that the Goddess is talking to her. About five seconds after that is when what she is saying starts to register and at that point...

...

"HOLY F--"

... at that point, physics decides to remind people that it exists.

*Slip* *SPLAT*

---====---

A short while later, Kalaya is out from under the N'yari, who appears chastised into behaving for now - although weather from her speech, or the Goddess' appearance, it's hard to say. She's brushed the mud off her face and clothes as best as she can, and kneels alongside Sagacious.

To say that she is full of emotion is an understatement. For years, she'd felt abandoned by the Gods and Goddesses. Ignored. Her prayers unanswered as she had to strive by herself to be anything other than a Princess of Lilly. To become what she wanted to be, a Knight.

And then it was about proving herself. And then it became about finding Ven. About saving Ven. And in all those challenges, from Turtlehead, to Kingeater, to Cathak's Barge, it had always felt like she'd had to fight this alone. Too small. Her pleas ignored by the divine, even as she'd been cursed with rejection from her homeland.

But.

You love when it is foolish and you love when it is hopeless

In those few words, she realised that she had been watched the whole time. In those few words, she felt seen. In a way her own parents had struggled with. Yes. She loved. She loved Vee. She loved the Kingdoms. She loved adventure and helping people. She loved all of this, even when her world had told her that it was a dumb idea. That she'd get hurt, or that she couldn't change things.

In another story, maybe she might have listened to those voices. Perhaps tempered her expectations and the dreams that drove her. Maybe she might have seen Ven as a poisonous influence, best left behind. Maybe she might have been content to reside in a tower, reading poetry and making embroidery for her life. Maybe she might have given up and let the despair take her, when she was betrayed and left alone in the rain - lashing out at a reality that seemed stacked against her, an ungrateful kingdom that refused to be saved and a witch that cursed her when she'd thought her a friend.

The Kalaya in those stories might have existed. But they would not have been her. She simply loved too much to just give up, even at the blackest. She loved too much to turn her back on a childhood friend. Heck, she probably loved too much to hold a grudge against Giriel too. Maybe one day she'd find her and be able to test that.

And so it is, by the bank of the River, that a Knight kneels before a Goddess.

And the Goddess speaks.

"You will need a new Sword."

And when she says it, it means weapon, and symbol and hope - all at once.

She finishes stirring the pot, letting the pork simmer, and moves to cutting up vegetables. Onions, peppers, leeks, carrots. It's not what she's used to cooking with, there's no taro root and the spices are different. Not wrong. She thought that when she first came here, that everything was wrong, but no, it's simply different. She's gotten a taste for it, though.

One must prepare one's thoughts. Meditation, a chance to reflect on how she feels, would have been ideal. But she doesn't have that time, so she licks her lips, nervous, and begins with the declaration of treason. Hopefully she gets to finish the thought.

"The Red Wolf... no. Cathak Agata is wrong. She has no right to act as she does, not by blood, not by conquest, and certainly not by the abundance of essence she has been gifted. Her command over the Dominion forces here, their very presence, is immoral. But it doesn't serve Dominion interests to act morally, so they will ignore or tolerate it up until there is a forced public acknowledgment of her actions. That will be a blow to their ability to bring the Flower Kingdoms into harmonious accord, so they will not see anything wrong with how she acts. The entire system is wrong, and flawed from the start. There's no benefit to the people who live here to be brought into that fold. But that's not why."

She looks up and meets her teacher's gaze, through the veil. The hat was new, but she always did like the theatrical details. Draw the eye to something big and easily swapped out of, like a hat, or a painted mask, and nobody will make an easy connection. She'd liked that lesson.

"There are two women in that room that love each other very much, and only just have managed to realize there is a chance, a seed to sprout. Agata will crush that, without hesitation, not because it's right, or because it's needed, but because it does not glorify her. She is not the center of their worlds, and so the two lovers will suffer for it."

Her grip shifts on the vegetable knife.

"I won't have it."

One arm hangs free. Just the one.

She punches the divan so hard the whole thing creaks in protest, but it yields her some leverage. Willow-thin arms squeeze tight. Venus pulls. And still she pushes, and presses, her muscles bulging, straining.

And Han, impossibly, rises an inch off the girl.

An inch is all she needs. She looms over Lotus of Tranquil Waters. Cascades of deep auburn hair come tumbling down to pool around her head. None hangs in front of her eyes. Nothing hides Lotus from the piercing gaze of the dragon. Nothing stops the wash of her breath from sweeping over her face, hot and hitching. In and out. In and out. Her eyes dart over her. Refuse to stay still. Piercing her through in a hundred different places as they search her.

Her shining teeth clench.

“Oh bud…”

Side to side, she shakes her head. Waves of heat and hair ripple around them. “You don’t know how easy I could break you. I could snap you like that,” And *snap* go her jaws. “I wouldn’t even know I’d done it until it was too late. You haven’t seen the half of what I can do. You haven’t seen the half of what I’ve done. You’ve only see the Han who’s been on her best rotting behavior to make good on a promise. You can’t-” She sniffs, and she wills her eyes to steam if that’s what it takes to keep them from leaking. “You can’t-”

But "can’t" is such a perilous word.

Can Lotus of Tranquil Waters help but love everybody she sees? Of course not, because she’s a silly little demigod, with a heart of pure spring water, and when she turns it on you, somehow, all that gets reflected is someone worth loving. Nevermind that she’d been through Hell itself. Or kidnapped, several times. Or watched a dragon lie through her teeth to keep her from worrying over her. Didn’t matter. She found a way.

The will, the possibility never lay with a demigod, but a dragon. She could break Lotus’ heart. Or she could speak her own.

She can’t do both.

So. Han of the Highlands. Han of the Dragons. Which would it be? And which, mighty Venus whispers, does she want it to be?

“But.”

She swallows. She gulps. She sits very still, and makes all manner of noises with her throat, none of which help at all.

“I…you…”

She is the heart of the inferno. She is the doom of kingdoms. She is burning so hot that she might explode into a thousand pieces at any moments. And. And.

“Okay, you know what? You know what?! Words are stupid and they suck, so, here!” She slams her fist down on the divan. The cushion makes a lovely *poomf*. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna burn the Dominion right out of the Kingdoms. I’m gonna burn the N’yari until they learn to behave themselves. I’m gonna burn the Kingdoms until they finally stop being so stupid and selfish and start doing their wilting job so I don’t have to keep doing it for them! I’m gonna…okay, well, I’m not gonna burn any priestesses, but I will, I don’t know, put them up a tree or something if they turn their nose up at us, until they go tell your mom she’s just gonna have to learn to deal with it. Us. Deal with us. Because! Because that’s what it’s gonna take to show you all the stuff you want to see, without you getting your pretty little butt kidnapped every other damned day! That’s what it’s gonna take for me to have you, forever!”

A faint wisp of smoke curls from her clenched fist. The fabric around the skin chars lightly.

“That’s what I wanna do. I wanna make a home for you…for, us?” She pauses. Lotus nods. She continues. “For us. Because. Because…” Okay, yes, she did say words are stupid, and she shouldn’t have to say any more. But, dragons also want the best promises, the best confessions, and she can’t stop now. “Because…bud, I…I tried as hard as I could, but. But, dammit, I went and fell in love with you too. When you look at me, when you say I’m a hero, I think, maybe it could be a little bit true. I want it to be true. You’re the sweetest, kindest, most honest and real thing I’ve ever known, and. Out of everybody in all the world, you’re…you’re the only one I don’t have to fight.”

She wants to grab her and pick her up! And! Kiss her lots. And feel her heartbeat. Hold her in the palm of her hand and purr with triumph and keep her all to herself.

She wants to surrender without a word, letting worry and pain and even her very thoughts slip away. Under her care. Under her voice. Under her lips.

She wants to…she wants…

Han’s lips curl in the slowest, bravest smirk of her entire life. “Do you know,” and her voice is dry in her mouth and she is burning up all over again. “How gorgeous you look right now?” The fire beats in her heart, pumping through her veins, running down her limbs. Warming her hand until it is unignorable against Lotus’ chest.

She squeezes. Muscles that could rip mountains in half press in, unstoppably, with all the weight of falling petals. Lotus placed her here. Lotus said this was okay. Maybe she could dare to go farther. But this is as far as her courage and comfort can take her today, and she wishes with all her burning, fluttering heart it is alright.

“I wanna look at you like this some more.” Those piercing eyes come to rest on hers, drinking in the sight of the priestess laid beneath her. Of the most beautiful, most lovely girl in all of the Flower Kingdoms. And she’s the lucky dragon who she lets hold her. Look at her. Love her. “My little bud. My…” She inhales deep, hungry breaths. Eases off the pressure. Then squeezes anew. “Treasure.~”