To where introductions began, though there should be none needed for kin, we arrive again!
There, the tall fox statue that once mysteriously flew now sits upright, hiding away from the truth of the village’s core at this rim where orators and singers should regularly come to share fanciful thoughts that uplift to the stars.
No dignified, noble spirit was sung into this creation of kin, but instead oppressively dark it dares any to keep a proud song in their heart on approaching it!
(Why is the fox that was sculpted into form from wind-gathered sand not quite a fox?)
A beast scarcely seen in wilds, for wily and timid they are. Nor is its fur downy or bushy, but rather sleek. Swept as if by the spirit wind, all canine features muted, why is it seemingly fluid of features compared to a forest friend and more at home with curious fey?
(It’s staring too hard.)
… Not timid, this one, no it’s not as a green snake might be if also newly grown flowers strangely gathered unto it …
… It stares, and bores down, its stony, outstanding eyes being hungry just like the caverns below which gathered hate and jealousy. The flowers that worship it are the most sublime of fey wild ones, many of impossible petal shapes with extra-vivid colors that addle the mind …!
(Kin have never favored one forest friend enough to even think of deifying them? For why should we when all are equal? And for it to stare… stare like…?)
… A half a hundred forest predators sit atop their territorial perches, isolated always. Down upon a heroine they stare in silence, too, a hungry vigil that invites fear of their moods. Those moods are individually clear now after last night, where before it took searching the moods of kin for answers to be shut out after grasping the bare minimum …
(Fear… kin, bravest of all, only fear know they?)
… Their hearts no longer shut after the light of creation burst upon the lake, their emotions storm about so strongly that wilted leaves could pull off their limbs …
… Swirling violently until all a heroine can witness is what she also experiences as inner pain …!
… Disharmony in stagnant anarchy; yellow eyes frozen forever with hateful hopes directed not within, but outside …!
(Kin should not all share the same eye color! For, are not all their companion trees from many species of many different forests, with their hearts jammed full to breaking with uniquely dissimilar wants I now feel!?)
… Such a love that the Firstborn are known for shouldn’t make them feel like kin but not kin, all at once and not at all …
Their refusal to be known, to make clear their hearts, is like a communal tyranny that would make Kol groan with appreciation.
(How can we of the same first trees be strangers?)
“Straying, attention of one, ever more insultingly today?”
“I’m paying attention!”
“Managing how does one to ever be unworthy of aid of this lady, yet so readily and often requesting it?”
(Because I keep getting stared at, but you don’t see them doing it like you normally would, though you are being nicer these days despite so many strange things that you’d probably be droning about constantly…?)
A very diminutive lady walks to place herself between the fox statue and the one chosen by fate who cannot defy its gaze.
“‘Beast’, designation of foe and greatest threat, with Avenalliah as target,” Neesiette, who the gods speak should be helpful, and has been, still makes Ave cringe back with heavy blame when her own name is intoned so painfully! “This lady, two other ‘friends’, and ignoble… ‘patron’ of ours imperiled by target’s danger, focusing not on solution to this foe, explaining one might instead planned frivolities engaging in. Despite existence of better goals?”
“… Adris wanted to do other things today?”
“Postulating carefully, validity of such a reason, one might provide in place of him for having no destination at all planned?”
When the really small, really stern person who often doesn’t see Ave as even another sentient creature takes time to blink a bunch of times, stories reflect that such a look makes the heroine out to be quite a fool when the response is…
“Recall one’s contract with this lady.”
“I recall it… ‘you’ll help me find what I desire, so long as I listen to you’.”
“Indeed, that be all one comprehended? Then, own plan, guiding that invincible fool toward completion of goals rather than rampaging one intends? For sake of ‘obtaining the wind’ and now adding ‘liberating the world tree’ despite better advice, such a conclusion one shall…?” When the would-be heroine hides her hands behind her back instead of nervously fidgeting them, Neesiette sighs. “… ‘realize in concluding today’ being unlikely given one’s apparent mentality?”
It’s not a very fun sigh, either, because her violet stare becomes worse than the stares of every kin that Neesiette still doesn’t notice.
“Then, when? A wind spirit one shall seek out, Avenalliah, at what time?”
(No, I was wrong!)
Kins’ stares intensify for some reason even past Neesiette’s own attention at the same time as mentioning a “conclusion”…!?
“Soon! Tomorrow… I promise I’ll figure out a solution to everything after today! That’s what I’ll do, visit all the important sites of kin and learn what they augur about the forest.” Ave pulls her tight cloak even tighter when the word “augur” causes two watchers to stir. Their hurry makes her refuse to allow even a slight gust to touch her skin beneath her cloak! “Then, I’ll tell Adris what I find, because…?”
(Only Adris’ light can possibly save us. Just like he… “saved” you.)
“One’s reactions, disgusting in part seem these today?” Staring back at Neesiette who grasps something when the play from yesterday, and the sights especially, were so unlike any story or fantasy, it takes all a heroine has not to blush when the now-casually-dressed Neesiette softens her own stare just like she did when washing over with pleasure…!? “Guiding rule one stated, no matter how foolish the game, because of it that one’s opponent be that…” Crossing her arms, Neesiette covers up her chest over the steel-blue dress she normally wears, despite earlier her bare form chilling, bursting the heart of an elf maid with its audacity!
“… ‘Beast’, recall now verbally one’s issued challenge.” It’s only enough to break the spell of recalling how a swimsuit had showed off every part of Neesiette’s “perfection” before when this doll ceases to be provocatively confident by waving her hand before a heroine’s face!
(Why does seeing someone naked make every conversation after so embarrassing, Rouvenor!)
Instead of Neesiette’s features being struck by a lewd gaping of her mouth, and tongue hanging out while eyes almost crossed…!?
“‘My first is thus, without much fuss: teach all of ‘oneself’, obey the rule of elf.’”
Ave obediently answers in a rush, then clarifies. “I went first in Iâ, so the rule is mine for the first ‘play’, then hers. Since she let me go first, that means…?”
“She?”
“The ‘Beast’ is definitely a she, so, I thought I’d like to know… about her?”
“Not terrible the tactic be, though certainly nebulous and unspecific. Leaving open much to obfuscation and misdirection does this, to be wary of constant ruses thus necessitating. Yet…” When Neesiette lightly smiles, the forever lingering image of her starkly white self being pummeled into a flower in the position of mating canines given to their rut is unbelievable even now.
“Not entirely foolish, the choice, given how an aggressive rule would surely be twisted back upon the issuer if earlier observation of this ‘game’ suggests. Pursuit of Beast by comprehending, exposing, to the exception of all other objectives prioritizing does this a lady announce necessity.”
(Because you can’t smile while trying not to scream, a smile means you’re not being lewd, right, Neesiette!? Compared to me, surely you’re too, toooooo mature!?)
Too lewd too, doing what neither a heroine nor a kobold ever could, this tiny lady who discovered ultimate pleasure, nay, maybe conquered it by sincere effort, pats Ave’s arm and sends a shiver through her!
“By reaction of Beast relayed to this lady, silence thereafter while it conspired, analysis identifies dissatisfaction with this rule and proves measurable efficacy in one’s first strike.”
Inclining her head, Neesiette sounds almost sincere! “Acceptable be this, Ave.”
(… The… ‘Beast’ didn’t dislike my rule, actually.)
What another mistakes, the stories don’t mention even once about, and what only the heroine knows within to be true can explain the misunderstanding or error in an endless string of them that makes her home…
“Neesiette, there’s nothing but terrible, woeful wrongs within the world tree, and with everything, and everyone, in it.”
(Why, then, would someone that lives in our tree despise us, and conspire against the light? Despite being fascinated by it, what compels her to hate!?)
… It’s all too much once thinking so hard again, so the words just vomit forth as something that is known to be true, but cannot be so …!
“Final allowable occurrence this be.” After closing her eyes, Neesiette sternly rebukes Ave while holding her vicious, earth-murdering tome up as warning! “Stating the obvious, yet elucidating not at all from incapability to do so, deem not such nebulous statements to be true without establishing empirical evidence for such a premise and being capable of expounding upon it.”
“But, but, what I know…!”
“Repeating again, DO NOT.”
“But, what all kin should…!?” Trying not to panic, for no good heroine should sound harried, and definitely not waving her hands about…? “What I know, at least, says that none of this is right!”
“So one believes, though the wrongs witnessed and claimed do only YOU state as fact in spite of evident normality expressed otherwise.” Neesiette cuts her off. “One’s ‘kin’ of different opinions often holding, treating YOUR thoughts and actions and sensibilities as… alien to them, or at best exemplary, nay, singular, explaining thus one might this conundrum if professing fullness of truth?”
(I can’t!)
… Calling it only a “belief” what should be true, even if not understood, makes the stares of the many kin so much more painful …
“Consider…” After the heroine’s whole world seems to tilt a bit as strength fades, Neesiette slaps the heroine’s drooping arm repetitively to rouse her. “… Considering one might, that what learned one, these exposures to ‘truths of kin’, be only true in part.”
(Rouvenor’s tale isn’t untrue in any way!
HE ISN’T….!?)
… Frustration! This is a properly known pang, so frequent, so pure …
… Everything melts a bit more as the world shakes …!
“Oh!?” Until a harder slap on her wrist wakes Ave from the tale that was souring. “Sorry, I’m still listening…”
“Rather than ‘lies’ or ‘fabrications’, fragments of truth only be they, revealing with time might a greater whole of ‘truth’ when one’s efforts with into place sorting them.” Neesiette hastily finishes her order with an addendum that Ave nods at.
(Rouvenor’s tales aren’t false. Nothing I have witnessed is, either. But, for what I’ve experienced in the world tree to be counter to his and…?)
… Unknowable …
… Unexplainable …
Defying the very existence of divine nature, a distortion of the Ysanne’s primal desire to be the calming, renewing twilight that is enjoyed by its children near a sleep that never comes.
… If that’s the challenge, “to reveal all”, despite not usually being nearly clever enough to do so, then …?
(With the tales of old as guides, this cursed state won’t last!)
No, not darkly, but brightly as fate foretells and sings of, there’s the potential for salvation from this, for…!
“You’re right! This day will gather my thoughts to make them wiser! I’m sorry for not knowing your true spirit, too, Neesiette.”
After visibly jolting from this, Neesiette’s stern features relax. “Elaborate?”
“I… never knew just how much like us you really were, before yesterday.”
“Potentially, nay, predictably insulting be this assertion!?”
“No!? Why insulting? I… I’m just trying to say that…?”
(When held by his hands, never before with any of us, you became, seemed really…!?)
It makes the heroine remember the same heat, the same rush, the same… unexplainable, unnamed pleasures and dependency for his touches that Rouvenor’s tale didn’t prepare her for!
(If Neesiette and I can feel the same things, despite being from different worlds, then… I…!? Maybe we’re…?)
“You’re… really, very pretty Neesiette, today and… yesterday, too. Not just outside, but within, with a… different, equal nobility to life’s wind.”
“Ah?” So perfect she is, stated as true and sometimes so, that for Neesiette to choke in response with such a blank gaze is rarest.
“How you’ve always cared for everyone became just as precious as the wind I seek without me realizing it. You’re a great friend!”
(I finally said it! Now we’re a little closer!)
Then, Neesiette adds another strange squinting face to the many memories Ave has of her prior lewd ones. “Ever increasing exponentially, one’s… strangeness…?” Despite receiving a compliment, the moon-born friend of elves turns away without acknowledging her own greatness.
(Now I won’t think of… something weird when Neesiette says she likes Adris as… a kid. I wish I was cute like you are, then maybe I could win an argu—!)
“Onerous, such over-familiarities become.”
“… Why?”
What should’ve been a stunning moment for two distant souls to cross the gap between them dies in the depths of that ravine when Neesiette adjusts her golden circlet without bothering to acknowledge the sky collapsing around. “Circumstances of this partnership, ‘heavy’ such random praise might be accurately termed given necessary duties of respective parties. Attempt not, currently.” As if that explains everything, she stops lecturing.
(Why can’t I make any friends, Papa?)
Legends speak of those magical people who like you. Who stand with you through everything; fellow travelers that use no dismissive tones toward girls who have huge lumps lodged in their chests like right now.
… Despite the cool numbness of something else filling that spot earlier, an old, familiar pain burns to prove that “loneliness” is the best pain you can ever hope for in comparison to …!
(… I HEAR A FRIEND!!!)
She thrusts toward that tromping sound, clapping her hands together for the true friend that skips closer from each thick branch to huge vine; then, slides down a branch high up that bends down low from his weight!
“Finding you in the haze is easy now, Ave.” With the grace of the fey restored…!
(Without anything worn he’s again with nature. He… not his voice, his gaze, or…)
Biting on her lower lip stings. She recalls heroic tales and famous warriors whose similar feats rode the storming gales into history; however, none were as bronzed as this one, nor with such dark grace when finding an elf without aid, even when others apparently hide her.
How nasty the gleam in his eyes is at what secret he cherishes about what’s beneath her own cloak of leaves; one that neither have revealed, yet keeping this innocence to every which way he turns to look at such sights as the village’s overgrown edge to avoid revealing her!
“Emperor… one’s… sanity be…!?” When Neesiette turns far later than she should need to at hearing his whistling, that their savior has finally adapted to “home” stirs up a hideous scowl.
“My sanity is very rested.” Lifting his bare arm up, flexing his bicep, a dreamy figment of the forest’s might then wipes his arm and then his cheek of the dew from leaves shaking off the branch he rode down.
“Explaining one might, then, one’s degeneracy!?”
“‘The water of their well, once drank from so shall your own rejoin.’” The back of his hand slides down his strong chest while sharing some foreign maxim spoken with his oddly moving lips. “I’ve nothing to hide.” Following his sensual hand lower to the only cloth he wears, a forest child can only tilt her head and nod when a white loincloth tied loosely is all that he keeps to cover up his masculinity at ease.
“Nah, ‘nothing to hide’ is what someone says when they’re trying to?” Flippant with the question, a prince makes a short bow of his head toward the many watchers while gesturing to his most toned and boyish features that they worship!
(… I never… knew how… warm he looks.)
His outside burns up, but it’s colder than inside herself…?
“How can I deny the happiness I bring?”
Not spiritual, this boast. Nor mythical. Only… physical.
(S-S-Sexy… maybe…?)
“Clearly evident physical possibility of accomplishing, demanding tangible protection from… profligates virtuous standards do, making the attempt one should!”
Strangely, impossibly, it’s not to Neesiette that he approaches with earnestness so that their chests might touch, but instead…!?
“Do I belong now?”
With his mouth so close that his hot breath tickles her nose, the most unbelonging one here is who he heaves a want for validation upon.
“… Yes!” When he smiles so brightly at the answer, she notices herself doing the same! “Very… very much so.”
Without any effort to appear at ease he shifts onto his back leg and waits with his thumbs pushed into the loincloth loop.
“‘So much more the less I wear’ is what you wanted to say.” That mocking grin appears again, cocksure but pleasant with his dirty whisper toward her. It sends a tingle through her belly at how his lips stretch evilly to make his smile fiercer!
(Nakedness is natural. Noble. But… but instead of a noble spirit, I swell with…!?)
To wear practically nothing, he bares the experiences of his life as proud scars, and the youthfulness he pretends toward brings a strange, never-ending fluffiness to an elf.
(What is this feeling, one without a name?)
He scans the whole village as if he’s opposing elvish gazes. “Hunger first, then sate the rest?” No plan, no destination, but the million questions and doubts in a heroine’s mind flee when this not-a-question promises fulfillment of all her wants.
“Come, Ave.”
“… Yes!”
His promise from last night makes it hard to slither, lest her held-tight cloak of leaves come loose and show…!?
“Hunger!?” Between them someone intrudes while the heroine stares at this fey lord who shifts his beautiful body so sensually to regard another. “Motivation and destination given dangers, be this an appropriate…?”
In place of words, surpassing even one, his hand only lifts to demand another fall in tow to sate the same needs.
“Hunger?” The adviser blinks, then scoffs. “Needs of this lady ranked appropriately, be not even close to th—!?”
Adris’ hand combs through his hair as his gaze turns away.
“Then…?” He cuts both between the two ladies that gather to him and also off the speech that is likely coming.
Snake-like heroines would no doubt beg for permission. The heroine’s need for it is denied by his gentle hand pulling!
(This leaf, unburdened now. Soaring.)
A dark prince does nothing but grin when waving Neesiette off. Pleasure, eyes fixed forward toward it, his truth.
“What tastes best in the morning, Ave?” Two brave explorers set out into the ever-twilight with childish curiosity!
(Anything your tongue touches!)
Watchers above bustle like noisy, devouring grasshoppers. They swarm just out of his sight wherever fate takes these two; yet, they matter no longer even when they are as hurried as the tiny feet briefly stamping behind that then silently stop.
(Pellaeon, make me alike…)
Bark cracks with a mighty snap from one of many conical skirts.
The ravenous prince eyes his half of a rough chunk that is soon seeping sticky sweetness!
“Like honey comb?” The prince muses with an astonished look, though the heroine can only nod for the forthcoming despair. “Toasted bread that grows from a tree’s trunk?” Gazing lovingly at her, tearing her own heart like the tree’s bark with his anticipation, they share a bursting of popping bubbles on their tongues!
(Please stop hurting.)
“Mmm!? It’s…!” Quickly chewing it all up, the prince hungers for more!
“A tinglebark tree.” Like him, but instead because it steals her heart’s happiness, a poor elf swiftly swallows the crime.
(No effervescence that makes you want to dance. Even the crunch is soft, loose, unmelting with saliva.)
Rubbing her lips clean, a heroine represses the disappointment of the very last option to sate a hunger for tangy and sweet after so many low failures. In all the stories of kin, tinglebark is to elves what bread is to humans, a plant that everyone loves and it returns the same affection back as a unique tingle.
(Unhappy. No happiness exists in this tree, or any of the others.)
The shadows draw long over every single fruit-baring child of the village’s grove where happiness would be proof of being alive.
“Hessalian, when every child’s flavor is the same as each other’s, despite no two trees ever being the same even if just for pride’s sake, what is there to blame for this?”
“… they are all what they chose to be here beside us.”
“Hessalian… for the white light of the village’s core to bathe them true with life everlasting and vibrant, why are they all only shades of themselves? Why don’t they play, and why aren’t they played with to help them grow?”
When common sense says that it is the essential spice of life to play, and the true taste of the forest of kin alters from one bite to the next to further the fun, for a berry-growing elf pulls a branch of furry leaves down to hide her head behind it like a kid would.
“How can so many have no names for their species that are stunted dead, to have been born but never bestowed a soul by our aid? To have something to become, to change into, to…?”
(She knows. Why they have no inner souls.)
An elf that holds back.
All the stabbing, carving, tearing apprehension and continuing dread of being chased even when standing still, Hessalian fails to hide it.
Ave can feel without having to stare, then beg with her eyes for a clue like she used to have to, because trying to comprehend isn’t needed when an inner numbness is what accepts another’s spiritual torment.
(The world tree itself is afraid, or… everything is afraid of it.)
No longer will confusion disturb the dance of her thoughts for why, for she’s bared the truth of the curse that steals joy.
Isolation, of elf and all else from one another, is what makes a noble prince rub his bare stomach after licking his fingers clean to earn only a growling of it.
“What should be filling isn’t, right, Adris?”
“… Ah?” Surprised at the statement, the prince narrows his eyes and takes on the fearsome stance of a hunter being hunted. “So, it’s such a thing!” As a hunter he fights back! To Hessalian he glares, red eyes burning! “Kol’s constant hunger. All the flavor you could want, but this morning I was famished after the banquet of yesterday? And trying to fill my stomach, I’m left even emptier.”
(A single bite of elvish fruit should fill one for a day if plucked from the world tree’s own.)
To not last an hour is to deny that this is paradise.
… Upon the shining lake, a terrifying… monster confronted a mistaken “challenge”. Something as oppressive as the dark emotions that these kin all around foist on a poor snake gathered also there last night, though they weren’t borne by the caller or target of them …
(Adris’ light didn’t change the world tree… his spirit gave it true purpose for living where none exists currently.)
That is why all the plants wither.
Why there are no vibrant differences in bloom and vivacity.
Without love, the beginnings of species that are new, to old, to new again remain as nymphs who shall never metamorphose into the chance of being “shining”.
(No kin would ever plot or hesitate, for action is without thought, only BEING. Yet, they only watch or hide, when together we should stand against…!)
Of any creature to act within this stillborn infinite forest with happiness as guide, only this Beast shared a jagged smile so wide, so loose, so eager to demonstrate that feeling!
The heroine knows now that its cutting smile was rare and devilishly loving. What a blessed fey prince helped an unworthy snake elf shed, the Beast, too, threw off for the first time a weight that it only knows how long held it down.
(What we both felt without knowing a name for it, what was our expression called when we felt… happy, but also more?)
Ave’s locked self that opened, her emotions that were felt, never understood, reflected the same destitute smile upon the rippling lake below: for light’s sake against dark’s rejection.
(The wind is self. We born of the wind are… only ourselves, ever in the moment, ever living as now.)
But, only this monster felt more than the deer’s panic as the bushes crash; or the fawn’s sorrow after the mother is caught and it’s left alone; or the thrill of possibility when seeing the first sun through the melting ice of a cave mouth…!
(Not salivating for more like Castillo monsters, like… IT!)
These complex feelings, and so many dark, and devious, and twisted greater ones played out in the torment of the wind between them…!
The Beast has all the answers, and so does the heroine.
But: only the world tree’s parasite knows their names, and only those names find the questions.
(And now, now with the breath I share between myself and kin, I get fed half-answers!?)
“Hessalian…
How can a proud grower not weep for the state of these children?”
Damning silence, louder than the storm as this much older elf retreats from view further.
“Yes, you ignore their plight, for they don’t speak to you, do they, these… dead unliving ones?”
“… I speak only to my companion tree, and the little bushes. Tend to what you can…?”
(WRONG! WRROOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNGGGG! KIN SHOULD HEAR ANYONE AS LONG AS THEY LISTEN! AND…!?)
Tension, curling fingers, so much sadness and…!?
And the kin who should speak to them, too, ducks low! Hessalian slinks behind the tinglebark tree’s trunk, her face green with… embarrassment?
(KIN WOULD NEVER LEAVE ANY TO SUFFER!)
Disgust!?
A billion other vile thoughts undeserving of kin are shared between them!?
(All of her… FEELINGS!? This… horribleness without clear names!)
Sussing out kin before was such a strange thing. Mython breathed as an elvish block of petrified wood might instead of sharing true spirit!
What should be a moment became a [Short] merely to comprehend without shared empathy providing! And now, comprehension is disillusionment, the death of the dream once empathic selves are shared?
“Can you not hear the others calling, begging to be heard? Why only care for Roggyaparru!?”
The strange kin sticks her head out, tilting like a bird with shock unneeded. “… can talk to Roggy?”
“Your companion tree? He grumbled to me the whole of our visit!”
“… He did, with his very chatty nature… what spoke of was there?”
(Do you not know he wants sunlight that he can never see here!? Were you not listening to him!?)
“… Only the Callers talk to all the greenery.” Hessalian gloomily states what’s wrong again, then slides down the tree lazily. “In the depths of Ysanne, no Caller ever travels. And so, no one talks to the trees beyond, or even here, to know why they don’t grow. For, why bother when little at all will thrive even if everything of yourself is given?”
(You call yourself… KIN!?)
Laziness flies off, for Hessalian leaps up with a face as white as the roots’ light deep below!
“And so…! So, so… no one bothers with these children who the winds have never once filled.” Ire, damnation, despair, insolence, and this sorry fake-kin wants to run and hide…!?
A thousand things that are wrong, all cramming into a tiny village that bothers not even to save its own!?
(Fake-kin? That’s actually me, nearly always. I’m the coward-calling-other-kin-cowards who doesn’t even have an answer for her own question, or a question for the answers…)
And the world all around seems smaller when the numb feeling within is all she’s aware of.
Cold, distant, but ever close, even if you don’t feel fear, the memory of it marks you.
(Help me, Rouvenor. The village chief must know, but how can I…?)
No other knows, except maybe the one she whips to face.
Everyone else lacks the light he summons.
(… Can he save me from this pain …?)
He blinks while staring at the tinglebark tree, then…
(Adris, I want… O-Oh…?)
… twists his head! Like the hunter he is, a prey is found!?
So familiar this staring contest is, when what seems like shock straining him transforms through his strong muscles driving him forward. Like the season of growth which sees so much rebirth, powerful rains of pinkish promise fill him as he swaggers with manly confidence toward…
Aiming at…?
Wanting, burning!?
“Ave, there’s always something else delicious within reach.” His usually dark voice is coy, enticing!
“… F-Food from what we…?”
A whisper of an offer dies suddenly when his hand lifts toward her cloak of leaves!
“If no new fruit fills me, then I’ll just…”
Both of his strong hands, grasping at the edges, pulling off her only barrier, protection, and unveiling…!
“… have a tasty peach, instead.”
(Ex-exposed… I’m…)
With torturously slow alacrity, he makes sport of pulling the cloak around her front!
Her backside shows first. The hundred living petals joined by spirit thread warm only the small of her back when the cold wind punishes the rest.
Orange and yellow, the skimpy warmth that travels toward her frontside lightens to pink at her breasts!
(I should’ve chosen larger petals!?)
The cloak is flung!
It glides away so that his hands can rub in view of all what he claims so strongly!
“Pink, and pink?” A thumb moves over the edible petals that smell strongly of citrus, skipping to and thumping a nipple that sings with sensation!
(AAAH!? Before… everyone, I’m… I’VE NEVER…!?)
It was her choice not to cover those up, why did she decide not to!?
“Those petals smell sweet, but which should I taste first?” It’s a horrible tease, because his tongue instantly flicks over that singing nipple so wetly that the singer might scream instead of answer! “Ave, ‘what you should wear tomorrow’, you really listened as a good girl should.”
(Haah!? ‘Don’t… come with barriers, but with barely nothing between us…’!)
Problems shed away with the promise of closeness again! Everything gleams brightly, and she can’t help but kiss the tanned skin of the prince’s arm instead of letting it wrap around her. Coils that have a life of their own wriggle, and slide, and his hunger is what burns inside them…
“I’m going to devour you, Avenalliah.”
It’s not a question, and it never seems he will ask permission ever; but, that’s okay!
(Shouldn’t I have to say yes…!?)
Huffing and not interrupting, obeying without needing to ask if it’s right, a heroine that dreams of sunshine is instantly on her back and nestled within the soft raised roots of the village’s edge to await it.
His sunlike self is over her like a beast pouncing…!
But, slows in his leap when her hands come to the silky sheer flap up her front that’s tucked tight at the top within the petals at her chest.
(I’m… I’m weird, I need…!? But, why am I doing this!?)
Thoughts aren’t had anymore, because she drags loose this flap so that he can take it, proof that she allowed all this, wants it.
Like a leash upon her, he slowly pulls it away toward her quivering tail where the flap actually ties around.
“Such a lewd fruit.”
First, a stomach that’s tight with need shows, the anticipation and insecurity growing.
Then, the raised fat beneath which protects such delicateness, the feeling of being witnessed here exploding into thumping beats so fast!
And, and…!
Hands come up to cover the heroine’s eyes when strings of liquid stick to the flap that should make her modest!
“My ripened elf.”
Pulling away, they pull too, for the spot it clung over loosely gathers what isn’t sweat! To be betrayed by her own mortal form before all the kin of the forest, the world is turning thumping white and pink!
(I’m lewd!? I’m lewd…? I’m… like them…!?)
His own loincloth shifts when he mounts her tail like she is his steed and he a sentinel knight of the woodlands bending low to lick from a pond of dew.
Dark hair tickles with its spiky points when his face comes close to her sacred place, her tail heaves toward him to arch it open without even a thought, and he… HE…!?
(SHO GOOOD!?)
“AAAH!? ADRIS!!!” An ear-splitting shout defies the song of balance, and the village earns the slurps of a terribly lewd foreign child visiting it!
His tongue is molten, her once-folded-in petals spilling out by the enticement of being melted!
Lightning crashes through her with each heaving obedience to a small nub being flicked by a wet sea beast’s skin!
Like the black sea at the crumbling coasts of Altseimar,
the tidal pleasure is endless as those gigantic waves!
(Prince…! My not-prince! Cleaning my shameful plac—aaahceeee!? HAAAH! Of a… terrible, cowardly, shameful elf, he adores my… taste most of all!?)
Not creeping, but sudden the mind-splitting quick!
To thrash is all she can do. He clings like he fights to the death to have her!
“Mmmmnaah! Ave!” Moaning into her opening depths, she peeks through straining fingers to find the not-prince enjoying more than elvish peach!?
(Dick…! Tail!? My tail, his dick, pump… pumppp!? Haah…! Nnnaaah!?)
With pure purpose, his princeliest member thrusts out of his loose loincloth!
Upon scales undeserving for only treading the ground, the bright red head of this great serpent grinds against Ave’s lesser serpentine length!
The ground she never notices herself treading over as more than tremors, those unworthy thick scales covering a tail now feel moisture and human touch that is like being massaged by heaven’s purity!?
“Adris!?” Again she trashes in the moment, her hands now ripping at the roots as she begs! “This… tashte!?” Slurring over her own long tongue, she wants, doesn’t deserve, but needs to know!
“Does… Ave’s… ‘honey’ fill you!?”
(How, how, howww, how can I ask that!?)
Not a conscious thought, she was asking before even thinking; for, her body is its own separate existence so long as her burning heart is stronger than her willpower!?
His face is stained by her juices, looking so unprincely when he lifts to look at her with alarm. So needy his cheeks glow. Manly it isn’t, for some reason, driving contradictions into Ave’s thoughts about him, and her, but…?
“I love this elvish pussy.”
So base, unpoetic, and… and…!?
“‘Ave’ should also mean ‘sweetness’!”
Her “pussy” that he wants so much is what she bucks back into his face, both gasping loudly as he dives into its honey again!
(I’m… too sweet… lewd…!? Oh, I’m… flying…!?)
Soaring low the whole while, the branches above crash into Ave as her head and heart beating hard.
“AAAHHHH!? AAAAADRIIIISHHHH!?”
She can only see white as even the pink bleeds out!
A moment of black takes her…
(I… I… died!?)
Only the loud slurching of a tongue waggling so fast on her flower’s petals, so loud that Ave can hear it, wakes her up.
When she can see past the throbbing pinkness obscuring her view, there is a face staring into hers with such astonishment.
“How can sensation of before be so wonderful again?”
The once-hiding Hessalian sits beside Ave now, the licentiousness of this no shame reflecting from her back from what Ave burns with!
“… That feeling…!?” When shame burns, Hessalian finally rears back.
“… I don’t know that one? What is it!? How did you learn it?”
For one kin to not know of another’s feelings, this shouldn’t be possible, especially if it’s something as simple as shame.
“AAhhh!? I’m… naked… before…!?” Crying out, then covering her cheeks, a once-maiden who has only truly known isolation, then duality with a single friend, finds that sharing a scene of greater love like this with the whole world makes her want to thrash harder!?
(Adris, help, help, aaah, it’s… too good!? Why does it feel so much, HIIIIEEGHHHH!?)
“Better!? To be watched? Why!?”
Hessalian’s alien fascination at simple things becomes heavy, for the bush-growing kin loudly intrudes. Her fingers poke at another’s cheeks to cause a strange combat of frustrations; how Hessalian breathes matches Ave’s deep moans with uncanny resonance that feels like some mockery…!
“No feelings like these have I ever known, to want the same, but more, never old, always fresh?” Hessalian’s singing tone does mock what is love’s potential promise! “Being seen, not wanting to be seen, how can you be both?” To experience with one, to share, to become close, until your bodies unite in perfect…!?
“Branches…! Joining… aaaah, s-s-sex is for more-than-friends…! Like… you and the kelpies, right?!”
“‘More-than-friends’? Is there such a thing?” Hessalian’s strict fascination winks into a joking smile. “Kelpies? Those children? To play once is what they wanted, isn’t it? A moment of outrageous fun, then…”
Teeth show, strangely sharp.
Never noticing it before, yellow eyes are dissimilar, but not these teeth when between native and foreign kin they are the same.
“Finding fun, always and elsewhere! The best… the best possible experience is awaiting us, ever awaiting!”
(Else… whereeeee!?)
The topic, the pleasures, the closeness and distance.
Words that don’t exist for Ave’s pleasures share instead in the carnal sounds an elf’s genitals make when coaxed. That she should feel warm and wanted below with the tongue of a friend, but cold as winter and dried of all moisture up where breath is shared with kin, it’s painful, and good, and all too much since she’s forced to listen.
Forced, then gasping in horror, too, at how she longs to hear even dirtier noises made if it’s Adris causing them…!
(Papa, haah, is being an… instrument of his mouth… weird…!? I don’t under—!?)
Even thinking of that one right now harms, hurts, and drives away the joy!
A not-prince is the true savior like Rouvenor is!
He who claims, now and forever, protecting her within a pink, wet forest; not… someone who…
… leaves…!
“Aaahhh!? Ah… haaah!”
Suddenly, the mind-breaking theft of honey stops. The pot is left empty, while the tail that was being drilled into by soft manly thrusts ceases to feel them.
The world re-centers, and over her now is both a crouching elf girl and a dark shadow rising up like an animated corpse of the shaded realm!
“More?” Thunderous, his discontent. “You wonder why she always needs… more?”
“Hoh? Yes, more! Why, more when she’s already had your tongue? Shouldn’t interest end, till maybe a far day that she forgets and yearns anew?”
Hands that were soft for Ave’s white skin and emerald scales come with great intensity to hover over an elf’s flaxen hair.
“Forget? ME?” Ominous, his importance aroused!
“Yes? You. A ‘friend’, perhaps, but the play chosen should never be boring.”
(Please… stop talking…!)
“For isn’t it after the first time a game is done with and left behind, that you search for a new playmate, another game?”
Red, roaring, and blinding, the gaze of an awakened fey lord is ignored by the forest child that keeps japing.
“Hey, feelings never felt, more of a game already played, between the two of you, why is this strangeness here?”
Petulant, arrogant, and absolutely childish, the huffing, puffing Hessalian pulls on the loose loincloth almost fallen. She stares up at the godlike existence that no kin has ever felt the full brunt of his power but Ave.
Dark specters whip up around him, clinging to him as curses against life’s light that Hessalian finally witnesses!
(Stop being annoying, PLEASE!)
At the same time as screaming that in her mind, Ave jolts when Adris clamps onto a kin’s head like cold iron shackles on a fey.
“Do you want to learn why?”
“Ah?” Hessalian blinks, shudders, then a dreamy expression overtakes her with her eyes moistening.
“Show me!”
“For you, He-mare-lian… sure.”
What was already falling off does so, and then a very thick teaching tool comes to rest on the closed lips of an elf that finally stops speaking.
“Let me demonstrate.”
Hessalian blinks once with confusion, then she chokes with her eyes lifting up from sudden pressure!
“Suck… down…!”
The wayward, annoying kin collapses onto the roots when he drags, then thrusts!
“My gift to you… then learn why!”
Once, then twice, then a dozen times, there’s no break even of a heartbeat’s length!
Just as a timid pussy once turned into a sloshing honeypot, so might legends speak in the future of the noisy elf who learns to hum without air!
“Still trying to yap!?”
Fully masculine again, terribly violent, a boy that has one foot propped up and the other lower braced on roots pistons straight into the bulging throat of a child of nature.
“Use your tongue! Tighten up!” Even her nose leaks by the fierceness of his delving!
The gentlest man to be found across any of the magical lands of Zennia…
Has such proudly white teeth while smiling, cheeks drawn tight as he swings, and yanks, and glistens with his efforts that aren’t noble.
An awakened monster of yore’s features, his manners, warp with each insult he bestows!?
(What… what… whatwhatwhat…!?)
A heroine is powerless to act, basically a noodle upon the roots as a kin is brutalized before her.
No matter how annoying, to harm a kin is…!?
“MMPHGGG… SSCHLLLOOPPP!?” Hessalian does more than hum when tiny hands come to a prince’s taut behind! The eyes that lifted up were not from shock, or dissatisfaction, but shining now with sheer joy of being invaded!?
Sticky and chaotic and oppressive, her truth flooding out overwhelms all!
“S-S-SHHHIIIIIIT!?” The prince is first, when his strong knees shake and his sneer turns into a foolish grin! “She’s… not bad…!?”
(Aaaahh, p-p-p-pussy, my pussy is…!?)
It’s squished by something moving fast!
A very tiny bean that makes the pleasure happen is squashing, and the electricity is staggering!?
Without comprehending, the heroine looks from the gross attack upon Hessalian’s throat, down to the heroine’s own waist where two hands greedily, shamefully work!
One hand tends to the electric spot, while the other hand dips its middle fingers between her tender lips with a rhythm that matches the pounding.
Desperately, the depths near her core yearn for… for…!?
(Why am I selfishly…!? Hoooh!? FEELSGOODFEELSGOOD!?)
Ave’s tail jumps with the reverberation of Hessalian’s outbound waves of pleasure! No, not waves, but a constant gale of want, and need, and desperation for more!?
And the selfishness isn’t so selfish when listening to the many bells Hessalian wears clinking musically. A mixing of all three of them in the moment sees another female elf… slut’s hand move from a prince’s bottom to her own hidden place beneath her ribbon dress!?
Once the prince is captured by the slurching sounds of Hessalian’s overflowing mouth, once his dick can no longer escape, her dainty hands that till the soil move to stuff into her growing hole as if she’s planting, and to massage a pair of hanging balls as if testing their ripeness!
“FFFFUCK!? She, you!? You’re… fucking!? GGAAAaaaa—Oooohhh, ooooh!”
Jumping in place, angling downward into an eager mouth, the prince’s firm grip on Hessalian’s head is placated.
Once only thrusting, his hips obey the lips of an elf whose suction is so strong that, when she pulls her head away to evacuate his trapped lesser self, it’s an ugly, erotic sight that nobody should see when her sunken cheeks and red lips stretch to follow!?
(Lewd…!? LEWD!? Kin… Kin are…!? Nnnahaaah!?)
Seeing this, despite never wanting to, a heroine feels her swollen tongue hanging out to taste the air that’s thick with beastly scent!
She bucks on her side like a playful kitten might, an unknown so much stronger than shame driving her fingers to abuse a hole that has never known such self-torment before now!
No prior collapse of life’s highest poetry into abatement by selfish masturbation has ever been quite so good as this…!?
(Except in that room! With Kol…!? And, after, he, with meeee!? I want, I want, I want, WANTWANTWANT ADRI—AAAH!? HYAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!?)
The unthinkable, unknowable drives the collapse of the world when such a strong wave of “white” clears her mind!
Liquid trickles noisily, adding to her unsolvable shame when it feeds the roots of the village!
As something crashes through her, the prince also loses his composure!
“SSSSHIIIIIT!? Aahhhh!? AAAHHHHH!? YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!?”
Barely he stays balanced, held up by only shaking knees and Hessalian’s vacuum lips when he tries to fall backwards.
Into the depths of her shaking throat the prince meets supreme bliss; shaking, because Hessalian’s whole body quakes with pleasure that distorts the air surrounding.
No, not just this elf maid’s pleasure even if she gulps down the blissful white cream that a prince erupts with, but the pleasure of all!?
(… What… was… I…?)
Thereafter, there is only panting. The not-prince at the end of draining all the bad lust out of him collapses upon emerald coils. Staring is all they can do: red to green eyes, then green to yellow, then…
“Do… do you…?” Gasping this question, the prince sounds very, very shrill. The overpowering smell of his sweat makes him the one pleasured most by all of this. “… Do you get… why she wants more, now?” His kingliness renews when he sits up, leering at Hessalian with a sneer… despite his eyes seeming very canny of something more…?
Licking her lips of a trace of white goop, Hessalian stops heaving with tiredness. She coughs, then breathes with furious purpose.
“… That was… very…!”
Yellow, glowing eyes shake?
“… very, very, very…!?”
… and pointing teeth getting pointier… seem less pointed after her breathing fit ends.
“… it…
Was so very… enjoyable after so long, and brutal, and hot, and …!?”
After a million words sing about what is felt within, then flows out to also be shared, Hessalian’s happiness abruptly breaks.
“… but… it was only one moment, oh Priestess.” Her light, nasally voice grows solemn, defying the pleasure entirely!?
“If the greatest moment you crave has already been foretold, how could small ones ever satisfy before its coming?”
(Huh!? Small… moments? Bigger ones? Foretold by who…?)
Then, she blinks, and crosses her legs wide to reveal a purely-pink slit that is soaked from her own heights. Hessalian moans after shivering, then sighs with melancholy that makes that strange seriousness seem daydreamy.
“… I don’t think it’d be very [novel] twice?” Tilting her head after using a new word for “the wind”, the elf seems so distant from what good people know of love and closeness which grows forever greater. “Did I slip past it? The [novelty] you enjoy?”
Hessalian waves at the heroine while using a hateful synonym for “wind” as if she can answer the conundrum despite it not being one.
“What makes the game different the second time?
The place? Me joining? If you’ve felt his tongue before, why so soon wanting it? One day, it might become [novel] when the memory mists over.” Looking into the distance, she ponders. “Hmmm, Castori’s is nimbler, oh, and Firasae’s can make a tingle that races up your skin to your hair tips, though, so…?” After naming two elves that nod back, their attentions raised and the chance for joining coursing life into them…
“Why play an old game when a new one awaits, Priestess? Even playmates, it’s better with more, and with each to yourself for a time. And he with them, isn’t it better for all after you’ve had their ‘essence’ fill you, and he gifts them with his? It was… very, very tasty, actually, more tasty than I could’ve dreamed of, I’m sure Mython would want know him within, too?”
To become the perfect disappointment, Hessalian lays down on her side like a kitten, too, to match the heroine whose heart is breaking. “When you saw the kelpies, your breath soared at first~?”
(Please stop…!)
“If… if it’s you, since you’re so much… more, you’ll achieve even greater [novelty] than I could when within it flowers out, fills both with itself and the torrent that smells like…? Ha—Have you ever ridden one like that, Priestess? For me, for a kelpie to do it, it was quite fun to bend over to wait patiently, but waiting is also too teasing, so teasing back …!”
(Papa, our kin aren’t one with the wind here!)
Two people’s fists clench when the disgusting tale continues, though the heroine can’t explain the ire that overflows from his soul to make the heavy, joyless air of the world tree that much heavier.
Other kin may accept such artlessness from an unmajestic fool who cares nothing for the [eternal moment of now, then forever], but…!
(I’m going to heal everyone, and everything…!
Somehow, I’ll free Adris’ light again.)