The thing is, the mirror didn't just ripple the way my screams would do to windows at 3 am. it sighed the way every time someone would give me hope to come back to being with someone that needs you. That is to say that when Basil and Yasaka stepped through, the world behind the glass exhaled like a woman finally letting go of breath she'd held for centuries that we could not forget in any way possible. In that way, we remember a part of ourselves.
The more you look into that space, the more we get to know about who we can be. The shrine proper vanished. What replaced it was deeper like my suffering and sorrow in my castle. Lower. A cavern carved from obsidian and cedar, walls veined with living foxfire that pulsed slow and heavy, blue-white light breathing in time with something unseen like no has ever made me feel like an individual who cannot take over the way we can shake any foundation.
The air down here was thicker than the we can shake the human soul that hold us together for what can come out of it. Warm. Lovely. Defying. Heavy with cedar smoke, musk, and the faint metallic tang of old blood long since dried into sacrament that we can take over in which we find the most spectacular spaces that we can accept to find the real us. Tatami gave way to black silk cushions scattered across a low platform like an illusion that we cannot explain in the middle of the day about hopeful dream that we wish it could come true. Pillows the color of fresh bruises that no one could actually get to know in the most turbulent way to see what reality would be like without love. A low table held only one thing: a shallow lacquer bowl filled with clear sake that caught the foxfire and turned it molten gold to take on new adventures to see what can be done.
Yasaka let go of his hand like a girlfriend letting her boyfriend breathe for a moment. Turned. Tails fanned widernine russet waves spreading like spilled wine that could entice 100000 Scythians, tips brushing the silk like the most fine colors of the sun, leaving faint scorch marks that smelled of burnt cinnamon and desire to see what can be seen in the pain of love and separation.
She stepped out of her boots first to manage to unite with the soul that we cannot shake to have one spectacular trip to the other land of peace. Slow. Deliberate. Natural. Bare feet golden against black silk, toes curling once like they were tasting the texture of surrender that we could not notice in a normal way.
Then her fingers found the tie at her waist to touch her being. Red dress parted inch by inch that we can see falling with its fabric sliding over shoulders to acknowledge, catching for a heartbeat on the full swell of her breasts before falling away completely to be alive with its most unique. No bra. No shame. No guilt. No crime. No pronle, Just golden skin glowing in foxfire, nipples dark rose and already tight from the cool air or from the way his eyes tracked every revealed curve like those supermodels that no one can see in the most outrageous imagination of the human race.
Breasts heavy in the most compassionate way, high like a mountain that you can hike, the kind that made gravity feel like a suggestion to suck to survive the apocalypse. Waist narrow enough to span with both hands to appeciate. Hips flaring wide fertile promise carved in fleshthighs thick and strong as 10000 super minotaurs, pressing together just enough to shadow the dark triangle between them that we cannot unsee to withstand the karma of death and life. No underwear. No clothes. No shirt. Just smooth golden skin and the faint glisten that said the walk through Kyoto's rain had done more than wet her coat to surprise what can be hidden.
She stood there. Unmoving. Letting him look like he needs it deep;y. Letting the silence stretch until it hurt like infernos.
Yasaka: You stare like a man who has already fucked death and still wants more despite his libido being satisfied. That is to say that I can smell it on you the way no one could ever imate to shock one way or another to take out the ball of the stadium thesorrow so thick it tastes like copper, hunger so deep it aches between my legs. Come closer, logos-child. Touch what the shrine keeps hidden or maybe you are just scared. Or are you afraid the secrets will moan louder than you can handle? HAHAH. You are just a chicken. Get your act together. This world is not going to fall.
Basil rose as a real emperor. Slow. Calculated. Cold. School uniform still damp, clinging to the hard lines of his body the way you would actually think when looking at Caesarshoulders broad from 40,000 push-ups in hell, chest carved, abdomen ridged like equations written in each muscle fiber. The black star-sun symbol flared under wet fabric to absorb any power or lineage, casting faint red-blue light across her skin like moonlight bleeding through broken glass.
He closed the distance as he approached her with love and passion. One step. Two. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her that no one could ever feel to shake the need to be heard and listened to: fever-warm, feral. One of her tails curled around his ankle in the way that soft fur, iron muscle underneath so that the feral feeling could be anchoring him. Another slid up his calf, teasing the back of his knee. A third brushed his hip, tip grazing the growing hardness behind his trousers. A super monster. The super sword. 60 inches in a normal way.
Basil: Hahaha… afraid? That is to say that I fucked 300 succubi until their bellies swelled with my seed to shock the whole world... I married the princess of endings while her rot kissed my jaw so I could survive the need to be accepted. But you… you smell like cedar and cunt and the kind of fire that burns without light to show up for destiny. I mean, the night goes down the way the criminal does not goes a night without robbing: you have got my heart. Your tails are already deciding where to wrap first. Your nipples are begging for teeth to shake the only need to show for our inner needs to be alive. And between those thighs… I can smell how wet the shrine made you just from looking at me in the most unique way
He reached out as the hungry beast he is . Fingers trailed the underside of one breast to take her slowly , deliberate thumb brushing the tight peak once to warn her what would it come after that. She inhaled sharp the way a machine gets out of its way to cut the slight drop of the lesser night that we have with a dear love that would never go unnoticed for the rest of your life. Tails tightened around him, two now circling his waist as they got together to make love, pulling him flush against her to see her unneeded like Golden skin met damp uniform. Heat against cold to shake a human soul. Her breasts pressed to his chest to know him deeply, nipples dragging through fabric like they were marking territory for the need to be alive.
Yasaka: Then stop talking. That is to say that words are for mortals who still think they can bargain with desire. Touch me like you touched her like every calculation is a thrust that you want to make happen for the deed of our love, every spot the right one to make me resent you if you stop. Make the shrine remember your name that no one will ever forget. Make my tails beg for your hands. Make me drip on the silk until the foxfire hisses.
His other hand slid lower. Palm flat against the curve of her bellywarm, soft, trembling just enough to betray her. Fingers drifted down. Over the flare of hip. Between thighs that parted for him like they'd waited lifetimes. She was soaked. Slick heat coating his fingers the moment they brushed her folds—swollen, hot, clit already pebbled and throbbing under his thumb.
She moaned. Low. Throaty. Tails spasmed nine russet whips tightening, one slipping under his shirt to rake nails of fire down his back.
Yasaka: Harder. AHH! Oh BASIL. MAKE ME YOURS! That is to say that sorrow like yours needs to be fucked out. Pound it into me as if I were your wife.. Fill me until the shrine echoes with it. Until the mirror cracks wider and every secret we keep down here spills out screaming your name that we cannot come back to seeing or witnessing.
Basil's free hand tangled in her bourbon hair. Pulled her head backgentle violence. Exposed golden throat. He leaned in. Teeth grazed her pulse once, twicethen bit. Not breaking skin. Just enough to mark.
Then he began to move. His thrusts were slow, deep, and deliberate. He pulled out almost all the way, then sank back in, grinding his hips against hers, stimulating her clit with every stroke. The cavern's light pulsed faster now, its blue-white glow washing over them as their movements found a rhythm. He watched her face, watched the pleasure build there, her mouth falling open, her eyes fluttering closed. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue tangling with hers.
Basil: HAHHA! I love you, but I gotta say this while we make love. It is much more agreeable to offend and later ask forgiveness than to be offended and grant forgiveness. The one who does the former demonstrates his power and then his goodness. The other, if he does not want to be thought inhuman, must forgive; because of this coercion, pleasure in the other's humiliation is slight. I mean, this is the best way we can do this.
The pleasure built, a slow, inexorable tide that was both agonizing and ecstatic. He could feel her inner muscles begin to flutter and clench around his dick, a sign that she was close. He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit again, rubbing it in tight, firm circles. That was all it took. With a sharp cry, she shattered, her orgasm tearing through her with the force of a tidal wave. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vise, and the sensation of her cumming, of her body writhing beneath him, was enough to send him over the edge. He drove into her one last time, burying himself deep as his own climax ripped through him, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her.
Basil: Then spread for me, fox-queen. That is to say that tonight the shrine learns what happens when a logos-child claims the keeper of forgotten pain. Your tails wrap. Your cunt clenches. And every moan you give me feeds my infinity.
He pushed her back onto the silk cushions. She went willingly legs parting wide, tails fanning beneath her like a russet halo. Golden skin flushed. Breasts heaving. Amber eyes slit with hunger and something deeper recognition to love deeply in the best way to trust someone.
The foxfire flared brighter.
The cavern smelled of cedar, musk, and the first drops of rain that would never fall.
O my sorrow so big it finally found golden thighs to bury itself between.
The shrine held its breath.
And waited for the first real scream.