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lucid dream

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Beau wasn't expecting this, this softness wrapped around her and strength bearing her up. She feels powerless and uneasy and the lingering, astringent odor of smoke is exacerbating the headache built up behind her eyes. Her pockets feel so weighed down with dirt, and her chest is tight with something close, something she is trying to forget. The woman speaks to her in elven, a soft, constant, distant, unintelligible song of words, whispersoft on her brow. They trade salty kisses, though Beau wouldn't mind tasting the elven woman's lips again, if she wasn't so tired and sated, drifting and drowsy. A kiss on her cheek, and Beau turns her head to meet it, kisses back, bites lightly, softly. The elven woman bites too, laughing a little.

She has compartmentalized: for this night, she wants to be the best, most attentive and enjoyable customer this woman has had all week. Beau's fingered her and licked her and sucked her nipples, and gotten plenty of attention in return. They've had wine together and the elven woman blindfolded her and fed her dinner, bite by bite. At this point, Beau wants a bath, and when she says so, the woman leads her behind the partition, where a clay tub stands, and activates a rune on it. It begins filling with gently steaming water, and Beau marvels at the clever arcane trickery here.

"It is pulling water in from that elemental plane, and passing it briefly through the plane of elemental fire," says the woman cheerfully, as she grabs a pitcher from the shelves behind the tub, and begins pouring some kind of soapy oil into the waters. It smells earthy and sweet, some mix of roots and lavender. Beau lets herself be helped into the bath, and moans louder than she has all night when the just-a-little-too-hot waters first hit her aching skin.

The bath is a blur of being finger-fucked, held, and kissed so ardently she feels special. This woman is very clever at her work, and Beau enthusiastically expresses her gratitude until sleep overtakes them both.

It's a deep, dreamless sleep, and that was the point.

In the morning, Beau picks up the grief she had put away, and sharpens it into a tool. Mollymauk will fund his own resurrection: Beau will see him back. Then grief won't be necessary. This is no different from the other shit Lorenzo's done to them, and the solution is simple. They will find and free their friends, they will slay their enemy. They will save Nila's child. And surely, surely, they will find a priest, or a miracle-worker, and they will bring Molly back, see him again.

That is what Beau tells herself, as she stumbles down the stairs. It was easier being night-Beau, but she can't give up yet.