An idea formed, a silhouette drew across the white partition veil, and it was Tamsyn's fingers searching out the seam to draw the curtain gingerly open. She was smiling, seeing Danae for once in ages and remembering only the bliss together. All sins were forgiven.<br/><br/>She wore red, and at first the clothes were not right for a shepherd girl at all. But like woolen fluid pleat and gusset and stitchwork flowed, corrected, as though the hang of a sun dress had all along lurked in confounding folds and simply needed a shake out to take shape.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Danae should make an Insight check, DC 15</div><div class="spoiler_body">On a success, Danae is able to intuit that this manifestation is reading her surface thoughts- images, impressions, and emotions. Deeper thoughts are still being protected and don't seem to influence the manifestation's appearance.</div></div><br/><br/>Still Tamsyn bore a shawl across the small of her back, tied loosely wrist to wrist, and trailed without end like a long bridal train beyond the white partition and endlessly into dream. A red bride, barefoot and unchanged from the form crystalized in Danae's mind, except to represent her best and most beautiful ideal.<br/><br/>"Con...quests." This was not an idea commonplace to the asylum commune, and Tamsyn breathed it in, drawing medium from the dreamspace and delighted by a fresh new approach to intimacy as a selfish, bestial thing devoid of investment. It suited her, as a thing of dreams beyond mortality.<br/><br/>"Yes, we exist as your playthings, to keep or discard at whim."<br/><br/>Flush with the exhilaration of reunion she kissed Danae, from beneath the plush bottom lip, from a place of pleading. As she did, her fingers searched along the skin, searched out a seam.<br/><br/>"It isn't right for a conquest to reserve such space in your mind or instill such grief."<br/><br/>A tug, under the surface of the skin. There Tamsyn pinched between thumb and knuckle a satin red ribbon which pulled from Danae bloodlessly. The feel of it leaving was nauseating but freeing, a sickness excised, and Tamsyn promised to pull a little more, a little more.<br/><br/>There were a pair of long fabric shears in Tamsyn's unoccupied hand, its steely polished rings offered for Danae to command.<br/><br/>"Yours to keep or discard at a whim. Don't you wish to be free of it? Sever that string, Danae Vine-Lott. It can do you no harm, tis only a dream."