MINYA
take that look from off your face
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
Undulating smoke peels up from her skin. It rises like an echo of her dance, seductive and transcendent. Bodies press and push, friction burns along her skin as merchants and revelers push past her, but her eyes are only set upon the gilded girl before her.
Oh, Bexley Briar. Minya laughs at her. She laughs louder and more beautiful still as the Daylight girl replies in a breath that runs like a caress across her skin. “That is a bold claim.” The Scarab girl purrs as she moves, the silk of her costume sliding across the satin of her skin, long legs exposed beneath the slipping fabric. Eyes wander across the exposed skin of Novus’ finest dancer. If the jewels upon Minya’s skin are valuable, it is nothing compared to the girl that wears them. She is a jewel to be coveted, her admirers place her upon a pedestal and from there she surveys the kingdom of desire they make for her.
Minya leans in as Bexley does. In and in and in until they are gold upon steel. Until their skin rubs with blistering friction, until the air aches with the heat of their bodies. “Forgive me if I question your bold claim.” Minya whispers, her lips reaching to graze the shell of Bexley’s ear. Slowly the Scarab dancer circles the Solterran girl and never once does she let their skin part, never once does she let Bexley forget how their bodies feel as they touch and move together. Never once does she let Bexley’s mind wander from the seduction of her caress.
As Minya steps, the firelight catches upon the ivory tattoo that blinks white inside her thigh. The golden serpents banding about her slender forelimbs seem to slither in the dancing light. Slowly they appear to twine up her leg, as if to reach for the gilded girl they are made to circle.
“What makes you think you are all of those things?” Minya lets her touch roam across every inch of Bexley’s skin. She lets the Day girl feel that touch as it surveys her. She reveals nothing of her thoughts, though the darkness sweeps and draws and makes itself a mask across the delicate lines and shape of Minya’s fine face.
The Scarab girl knows how they both appear in this crowd – fine pieces of art to be adored and admired. Into the night she laughs like a bell and does not lift her gaze from Bexley. “I do not take a girl’s word for it. We are always prone to overestimation.” Minya’s smile is serpentine. It is sharp fangs that gleam in the light and promise of the agony of her biting words. “You shall have to make me believe you,” the girl breathes in a whisper that writes itself in a kiss across Bexley’s skin.
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| "speaks" | notes: <3
