<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/53/Onnecamug3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Onneca de Goni<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Night, After Dinner<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Agatha's Bedroom<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha<br/><hr/><br/>Hearing Aggy describe the way she had loved and lost made Onneca realize how many ways she could have lost the woman she had long ago fallen in love with. How lucky she was just to have this moment. Her hands clutched in Aggy's nightclothes and listening to the patter of a fully realized heart, listening to Spanish in the lilting whisper she had always wanted to hear it in, she could let the shame melt away and expose the vulnerable young lady beneath. She could visualize it trickling down her skin, thawed by Aggy's touch and her warming words. Her olive skin was too sensitive for these linens, and the splash of a tear on her clavicle could be felt down to the tiniest ray.<br/><br/><acronym title="I love you/I want you.">"Te amo. Te quiero mucho."</acronym>Agatha's nightclothes were pulled tight across the back as Onneca clutched, and the stuttered breath of a nervous, comforting laugh tickled across her rosy breast. It was a laugh of sweet relief, the way Onneca had laughed when they were little and barely escaped punishment, the way she had laughed once when her leg was stuck in the branches of a tree and she'd pulled herself free only after crying for mama de Goni. "You take the words I am too afraid to say, right from my heart. Every day when I open the bodega, I hope you come to see me. I hope you try on your dress, and tell me it is not perfect, so I can work on it some more. The days you do not come, I find a reason to come see you."<br/><br/>Her own heart found a rhythm with Aggy's, matching her beat for beat. If they were sharing the same thoughts, the same trembles, the same heartbeat, did they share the same desires? How much of Onneca's fantasy was born of racy penny dreadfuls and dime novels, and how much true to the heart? "I made the dress completely over again in secret. The first one was threadbare from so many times." Arms cradled around Aggy's flanks searched up for the nape of her neck under hair like electrified copper or molten gold, hair she had brushed until the strength left her arms. It was natural, then, that her lips pressed to Aggy's throat. "What must people think?<acronym title="Those women are crazy.">Esas dos mujeres están locas</acronym>."<br/><br/>There was certainty in her fingers as she led Aggy's hand to the unrestrained weight of her breast, felt through linen thin enough to hint the skin beneath. That soft perkiness, that hypnotic heft, it belonged to Agatha. With a little more exercise, a little more diet, she might have long ago reduced her bust to her slender shape and made life easier for herself, but she had not. They had been heavy and hot and uncomfortable, the scarlet letter she carried for Aggy. Her body was so sensitized that she drew a sharp intake of breath and gave a squirm even though she knew full well the touch was coming. Onneca was not ready for things to be taken to the next level- her nerves were too electrified, her emotions too raw, and if they made love right there on the shared canopy bed, it would be the single most intense and exhilarating experience of her life. It would be impossible to keep quiet from Elisabeth and Christian. It was such a bad idea, and that was what made it so incredible and white-hot in her mind.