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through these glass patterns

Chapter Text


This kind of love is made of blood flowers and pomegranates. 




Reserved for her special audience of one. 


The priestess cradles the girl’s face, velvet gloves glide over pale cheeks. It’s her shark strung up in a private vermilion garden, suspended by dark appendages. Her little silver ornament for her eyes only. She plants a petal of a kiss on Gura’s lips, capturing the gentle ebb and flow of breath, then kneads into love softly with her mouth. 


“I’m sorry.” Ina whispers. “I didn’t mean to make you pass out.” 


The girl’s eyes flutter open. 


It’s a dark gaze filled with swirling scarlet and something else altogether. 


She's staring back at Ina with half-lidded eyes, mouth agape; like a bee to its flower, moving in for more. 






A quiet nod. 


Then Ina’s feathering her hands on the sides of Gura’s mouth. Thumbing for permission; the girl licks her fingers. Then pushing them into the shark’s mouth. It stifles the sound of Gura’s voice slightly, and the girl obliges with a quiet chomp , knowing exactly what she wants. 


Her teeth draw blood on red gelatinous flesh. 


It’s sweet on her tongue and pools saliva into her mouth. Ruby gems trickle down the curve of her mouth, plopping onto the bed of flowers below her feet.


A tentacle slides between her legs, wrapping around the curve of her tail. 


Gura heaves. 




“Do you love me?” 


Ina lifts Gura’s chin with a finger. 


Capturing red on the curve of pale cheeks when she leans in, like dredges of wine on glass. 


Her lips make their way down the girl’s neck slowly, in an unhurried, leisurely manner. The kind that makes Gura rock gently against the dark bend, twitching with the need to make love to one person, and one person only. 


She’s reaching for Ina, clasping onto skin, sweating. 


When Ina repeats the question, it makes the girl whine and strain against the motion; because she’s wrapping her lips around a soft mound of pink, and moving her hands down to Gura’s waist, past that, then pressing tenderly where the hunger resides. 


It makes Gura say the right things in her fumble for words.


Oh… what would you do without me?” Ina says, the flaps on her head folding in satisfaction. 


And she’s moving her hands, staring back up into the red glacé over Gura’s eyes. 


Her words fill Gura’s head like thick syrup, and steadily the latter’s coming undone - like the spill of rosy seeds from a pomegranate fruit pulled apart, then raining onto blood stained petals. 


Drowning in love and