<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c4/a2/eb/c4a2eb3622a5fd5f4149b8e094a22fa3.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Danae Vine-Lott (https://ddb.ac/characters/13428552/TAFm5K)<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Dreamlands<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Cavalry Officer's Uniform<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>The dream<br/><br/><em>Playthings?</em>.  Precisely.  She had wanted it all, and her animus possidendi yet ruled her.  The thrill, the frisson of conquest.  That was why she had become a soldier: scholarship was numbing, managing a windswept manor dull beyond description.  The visceral passions, the wanton ones of the oldest kin of Man: hunting, warfare, fornication.  Those were the only worthy pursuits.  And yet she had to pretend it was not so because the canons of Ezra would make her forswear flesh, and all frivolity.  So such things were to kept secreted in hidden places, under a veneer of civility.  Now that veneer cracked, and the mask slipped.  The dream spoke to her, thrust tendrils in her mind, irresistible.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Insight Check</div><div class="spoiler_body">At 2021-09-14 18:37:12, MdG (uid: 41210) rolls: 1d20a1 Result: 8 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=155785)</div></div><br/>It may as well have been a phantasm out of her own mind, all-knowing, and all-consuming.  Tamsyn's form was not a mere apparition, but a flawless facsimile.  Here there was no sense of the uncanny, and the sensory barrage overwhelmed her reasoning mind.  A fine dress Tamsyn wore, perhaps, but Danae could clutch familiar hands roughened by clutching crook and shears, inhale the scent of fresh-cut hay and straw and wild meadow-flowers with which country lasses were wont to garland their necks and tresses.  She submerged herself in the memory, embraced it.  When she'd first kissed Tamsyn, she'd tasted rough and sweet country cider, the good pressings of the last drabs of autumn, and that same savour was again on her tongue.  The little harlot had known full well what she'd wanted, and the hem of her blue gingham dress came up, teasing dark curls kissing the inside of milky white thighs.  Not coy at all.  Not hesitant.  Not tremulous.<em>"I reckon I've a nice cunny, don't you?"</em>Coquettish smile of a country girl who knew her power, and how to wield it.  When she reached under the billowing red dress, her fingers encountered the same copious slickness and Tamsyn giggled, red tongue pressed to pearly upper teeth, a strangled laugh.  She wanted her again, then - wanted her dimpled arse, ever-juicing cunny, and tireless tongue.<br/><br/><em>"A few pennies for a shepherd-girl's purse, M'Lady?" Tamsyn had asked when Danae was tying her breeches out in the hayloft with the new morning sun streaming through the rafters.  Always smiling.  Radiant. <br/><br/>"What do you lack?  Some sparkly bauble?"<br/><br/>An inane giggle, "Ribbons, M'Lady - for my hair.  I reckon you'd like scarlet ones, but they's dear, they is."</em><br/><br/>"Sever the string?  To relieve the pain - the stain of guilt?"  No, the taint of guilt and of sin could not easily be washed clean.  It had infested her, become her.<br/><br/>Clenching a length of red ribbon in her fist, Danae pulled Tamsyn close.  Fabric spooled and fluttered, like a child's toy.  She had never wanted any ribbons in her hair when she was a girl.  "Shall I not carry my own weight?"  From the dream-Tamsyn's hands she took the shears.  If she was free of the memory, could she be free of the sin?  Could Ezra judge her on facts of which she had no recollection, which may even have been excised from reality?  A single attempt could not hurt.  The procession of her conquests was long - doubtless, she'd forgotten the names and faces of some.  Could another omission hurt?<br/><br/>Danae's fingers clenched out of impulse, and the shears sliced.  "If I am to forget, who shall I now see, instead of you?"