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A Musidorus In Totality

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The sun glinted through the windows of the palace, coming to a comfortable, glittering rest on the pillows where Philoclea and her paramour slept. Philoclea yawned, opening her eyes, and sat up. “Musidorus! Good morning, my--” 

A hand reached up to clamp across her lips. Her lover’s! Philoclea bristled. “What’s this? Wouldst silence your dear Philoclea? Have my sweet words grown tiring, now, for thee?” 

“Well, no, but--” 

“I’ll cut my tongue so’s not to thee offend!” she cried. “But no, then who wouldst kiss thee if I did? Some other pretty maiden, to be sure? Or some fair lad? Hast thou chosen such?”

“Well, no, but--” 

“Oh, what is love but some great silencing!” 

“Well, sure, but let me bend your ear. I hushed you not from anger or despair, but because it’s a Cleophila day,” explained Cleophila. “So ‘Musidorus’ was...inaccurate.” 

“OH!” Philoclea blushed, prettily. Almost the color of her favorite rouge, the one Pamela loved to steal from her because it “looks better on her”. “How fortunate a day is this, to share so much with so lovely a lass!” She eagerly laid back down to rest her head on Cleophila’s shoulder. and gazed adoringly up into their eyes. “Good morning, then, my Cleophila, dear. Will you permit me to dismiss the maid, and decorate your rosy face myself? Though such a face needs little decoration!” 

“Needs and wants, though, are quite different,” said Cleophila, smiling and kissing their wife on the top of her head. “And I do want such decoration--yours--for I have learned that Pamela and her own wife must be wise sages of the highest order. There are few intimacies like that between two lovers and the brushes that they share!” 

Philoclea got out of bed and began rummaging through her drawers to find Cleophila’s makeup, excited to paint the face of her lover.