Genevieve knew better than to move during the baring of Gravon, to draw attention away from what was being done before the crowd.  She stood as still as a willow tree as the clothing was stripped away from him, revealing him to be harder, more real than he had even seemed dressed.  Servants of Naamah, they learned the art of clothing, how to hide or highlight the human form.  But here Gravon demonstrated another art, and his bared body standing there was a monument greater than any tailor's construction there that night.<br/><br/>They all watched, but only Genevieve truly knew.  She saw the strength in his stance and in his eyes.  She watched, observing all as she was taught, and saw the way he looked at the woman, and then at the man.  Her heart pounded low and hard, and for a moment her vision spun, turned red, and she feared she would collapse there on the floor.  Gravon had not yet even touched her, never mind wielded that flogger.  And yet she already felt the force of him.<br/><br/>Men, men always thought themselves fierce.  They might treat a woman roughly with their hands, spear her fiercely with their loins, bend or twist her with their muscles.  But only Mandrake, and Valerian, knew what fierceness was.  It was hard, yes, and strong.  But it was unrelenting, and it began in the mind and in the eyes, not in the hands or the loins.  Genevieve knew a fear she had not felt since first beginning this path.  It closed around her throat as if his hands did, and yet now with it came the delirium she had been taught, joining with it.  She knew she would be made to yield as she never had, but she knew more than any other in the room what pleasure there could be in that.<br/><br/>But soon they would all know a bit better than they did.  This was the gift on the Longest Night, to let these people understand Namaah's teachings more deeply than when they had entered the room.  It was the task she had this man had been tasked with, and looking into his eyes, she knew they could accomplish it.<br/><br/>"Bare the flower of Valerian for the Mandrake," the voice intoned, seeming to Genevieve as if it came from another world.  She stood still, never wavering as the two closed on her.  Her eyes were on Gravon instead.  The woman plucked the flowers and leaves from her, as the man slit the shoulder of her dress with his shears.  Genevieve did not shy from the cold metal on her skin, and let Gravon see this.  Instead she stood tall and proud and graceful as the clothing was stripped from her.  She was left, barefoot, with the fae wings still bound to her back, covering her marque, her mask covering her features.  Her body was lush and soft, her breasts full and pendulous, tipped in dark nipples.  She stood with her hands clasped before her shadowed mound, chin tipped up and waiting for him.<br/>(http://forum.photo.fr/mesimages/10/laetitia_casta_2.jpg1..jpg)<br/>