Chapter 1: The difference between screwing around and science
Chapter Text
Bellara stared at the towering remains of the high dragon, curled and half-buried in the stone of the Chamber of the Unbound through some mastery of magic. She had, of course, seen Spite pull spanning stonework and macabre skeleton bridges straight from across the Veil, but they were temporary things. This dragon must have had some element of old, pre-Veil magic upon it to have been able to slice through the stone like water.
She reached out, running gloved hands across the ancient bones, careful not to place too much pressure upon them, lest they crumble beneath her touch.
‘You need to touch the thing to interact with its energies? Pathetic.’ An acerbic voice came from behind her, and Bellara scowled.
‘I don’t need to,’ she replied. And she didn’t. But she had always enjoyed getting her hands into her projects. And she didn't appreciate Johanna's derision.
‘Why you, and not Volkarin?’ Johanna continued. ‘He might have balked at crossing that final, great threshold even as he stood upon it, but he still has his areas of expertise.’
‘Emmrich’s already had a look,’ Bellara admitted. And it made her smug, delighted, that she was considered the second choice to investigate old magics, almost on par with a seasoned academic who had had all the resources of the Mortalitasi and the Nevarran Circle at his disposal. Her, and Johanna. As a precaution, and in recognition of Johanna’s skill, despite her misuse of it.
‘And it wasn’t enough?’ Johanna taunted. For all her bold words, Johanna was still the one of the two of them left half-mortal and bound by chains that effectively cut her off from any and all magic. At least it wasn’t Tranquility. Bellara shied away from thinking about how it would feel, to have that rare, esteemed extra sense locked away, knowing the person in front of her could undo it all. She couldn’t bring herself to look down on Johanna’s bitterness.
Nobody knew how long this skeleton had lain here, and it didn’t respond to any of the spirits Emmerich could conjure up. They seemed afraid of the remains, skittering away whenever Emmrich had crossed the threshold of the Chamber of the Unbound.
‘I’ve years of experience with the magic of Arlathan, and if it’s as old as we think, it will be more similar to what I know.’ Bellara heard that pale rhythm singing in the hollow of its bones already.
‘Blood magic,’ Johanna said with distaste.
‘You don’t approve? You killed dozens of people for your immortality, which didn’t even work, and blood magic is too much for you?’ Bellara felt outrage stirring, and forcefully pushed it down. Focus. She and Rook and Emmrich had saved all those people at the soiree, but they were still tracking down the families and next of kin of anyone else whose spirits Emmrich could speak to.
‘Dozens is a conservative estimate,’ Johanna boasted. ‘And yes, only a failure of a mage would need to resort to blood.’
‘So there’s depths you won’t sink to, not out of morality, but pride?’ Bellara asked, curious more than disgusted, despite herself. There was only so far she would allow herself to sink to plumb the depths of hidden knowledge. She would not fall prey to the same pride and folly Cyrian had. But she was curious, and wanted to know Johanna’s perspective.
‘You don’t have that issue,’ Johanna deflected. ‘So, is there blood magic in the dragon or not?’
Bellara sighed and returned her focus to the dragon. Although it was solely bones now, now that she could pay proper attention to its energies, it felt ridiculously dangerous not to still think of it as a dragon. She felt the bones, hollow and brittle and riddled with holes. An ancient kill, an ancient beast. It must have been near death already when it was hunted down, if it hadn’t simply lain down and died of old age.
Did the ancient dragons have ways to communicate between them, more advanced than mere animal speech? Did they have souls, strong enough to become spirits, of their own? Bellara had seen remnants of dragons in Arlathan through her explorations, and the art and artistry of the ancient elves depicted them as venerated, if not outright worshipped. Why were the high dragons in particular used to keep the Evanuris alive? How did they survive, sleeping, for so long beneath the surface of the world? The dwarves, despite their extensive records, had never come across a hibernating archdemon; they seemed to simply appear from beneath, perhaps trapped in some pocket of the Fade. She knew what triggered the recent catastrophe, but what called to the Archdemons of past ages? And could anyone connect with an Archdemon? Of course, you’d need to use a horrible amount of blood magic, probably, and subsume the identity of a living creature to do it, but was it possible? Did the Formless One also give its soul and connect to a high dragon, to this dragon?
‘If you unlatch me, I can take notes for you.’ A voice broke through Bellara’s concentration.
‘What?’ Bellara looked up at Johanna, brows furrowed in confusion and annoyance. She felt right on the cusp of a breakthrough about the high dragons and the Evanuris.
‘You were muttering to yourself. Release my hands and I can take notes.’ Johanna held her wrists out, the heavy cord between them, braided with lyrium, twisting in a way that was an artful contrast with the clinical lab-coat attire Johanna still wore. Her hands were skeletal, and Bellara would have described her fingers as elegant, had they belonged to anyone else. Blue-tinted fingernails, almost a match for Bellara’'s own, both of them walking a sure, short path towards death.
‘I can take notes just fine.’ Bellara physically turned away from the reminder of her own ravaged body, spinning around in a circle on her heel, seeking out any errant wisps of Knowledge or General Helpfulness. As she had sensed when they entered the area, there were still none nearby, and she didn’t have the skill to coax them forward, not if Emmrich couldn’t. Despite her words, it would be nice for an assistant for once. She felt a pang of grief for Cyrian.
She pulled out her notebook and pencil, keeping one hand on the skeleton as she attempted to sink back into the magic and keep enough awareness to take notes. She balanced the book on a vaguely vertical section of bone, but it wobbled precariously every time she put pencil to paper.
The discordant notes of the agony brought about by the blood magic jangled in her ears and through her own bones, and her blood sang in response. She was deeply familiar with this magic. Years of plumbing the secrets of risen Arlathan had led her to spend more time immersed in the ichor and suffering of blood magic, which, repellant as it was, had become almost more familiar than her own magic. She had spent so little time, after Cyrian had left, that her-his-their magic had never really gotten a chance to feel like hers-alone.
Something of the blood, too, of the dragon’s blood, sang to a different part of her. Singing, yes, and Calling.
Bellara staggered backwards, feet tumbling over the dusty stone below, and she tumbled into strong arms, rigid metal cuffs digging into her back. She winced, and winced again, as Johanna’s voice came from right beside her ear, the other woman’s warm breath making her shiver. Despite knowing and spending time with Emmrich for months, she had expected Johanna to smell of death, or decay, or staleness. She smelled of elfroot, though, herbaceous and soft and familiar.
‘Blighted? The dragon was blighted, that long ago? Intriguing, though not surprising, given all we’ve recently learned. A failed Archdemon?’
Bellara righted herself and glared at Johanna, hyperaware of where her arms and back had pressed against her.
‘Not even a thank you? How uncultured,’ Johanna said archly, baiting Bellara.
‘The Formless One wasn’t an Evanuris,’ Bellara insisted. She straightened out her clothes, unnecessarily, taking a moment to collect herself. She didn’t want to admit that Johanna was voicing the thought that she herself had had only moments ago.
‘What is an Evanuris but a spirit so powerful it formed a body out of the Titans? Yes, I know more than your little group let slip to the public.’ Johanna made an abortive move to gesticulate, but the handcuffs pulled her arms back together.
‘He was the Formless One, he specifically didn’t have a body,’ Bellara said. And who had given him that name? She wondered. Had he had it before he became Forbidden by the Evanuris, or did he take it on afterwards?
‘What is this but a body?’ Johanna pointed both her hands at the dragon. She had, perhaps despite herself, slipped into the same tone Bellara thought of as Emmrich’s “lecture voice,” and she watched Bellara, waiting for a response with the slightest of smiles on her face. Disdainful, but she expected, trusted, Bellara to keep up with her.
Her implications clicked in Bellara’s mind, and she shook her head, more to deny the idea than refute it.
‘Are you saying he was in the dragon this whole time?’ The Formless One… Taking on a name like that would be an easy way to hide his movements, and even his presence. She abruptly wanted to ask Johanna about the history of the Necropolis, how long ago its foundations had been lain.
‘Wait a thousand years and you can ask him yourself,’ Johanna suggested.
Never mind, Bellara thought, she wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer out of the necromancer anyway. She scowled at Johanna, at her confident slouch, waiting for a rebuttal she knew wouldn’t come. Bellara couldn’t deny, however, that she had always appreciated having someone to voice her thoughts to and bounce ideas off of. She sighed. Why was she doing this again? ‘You said you’ll write my notes?’
‘Deeply faithfully,’ Johanna promised with glee.
‘There’s nowhere but back to the necromancers whose edicts you betrayed if you try to run for it,’ Bellara warned.
‘Then I suppose I must stay by your side,’ Johanna said, eyes gleaming. Her slouch had turned into a boastful stance, wide-legged, shoulders back, arms held out more in demand than request. As if she was the one in charge. Bellara rankled at the implication, at the idea that she would give Johanna even an inch of leeway she hadn’t thoroughly earned back. She couldn’t deny, however, her admiration for the confident switch from debating to acquiescing, no sign of the backtracking and double-triple consideration that Bellara found so comforting and intuitive.
Bellara reached out and grasped the lyrium chain between Johanna’s cuffs, resisting the urge to yank Johanna forward, to put her off balance and disrupt that arrogance. She ran her fingers across the lyrium itself, wincing at the burn as heat radiated up her fingers from where she touched it.
‘Don’t tell me you need someone to explain the counter-frequencies of this trinket to you,’ Johanna said. She looked down her nose at Bellara, baiting her.
‘Don’t make me reconsider my offer,’ Bellara said. She shouldn’t even be considering it in the first place, let alone giving Johanna a chance at good behaviour.
‘You’ll need your little blood magic tricks to undo this. It can’t be mine, it needs to be someone else’s. Unless you have a gory vial tucked away somewhere else, open up.’
‘I thought you didn’t like blood magic?’
‘I said I didn’t like it, not that I didn’t understand it. I once considered it, before I crossed paths with the Gloaming Lantern. Don’t forget to keep the harmonic frequencies separate from the lyrium matrices, or you’ll risk hemorrhaging, no matter how small a cut you make.’
I'll show you risk of hemorrhaging, Bellara thought.
She kept it in mind, though, less familiar with mixing both forms of magic in the same spell.
She had read many treatises on the most efficient extraction of the power found inside blood, and if the location of any cuts or access points made a difference. The research was spotty, for reasons that Bellara understood, even if she mourned the resultant lack of scientific rigour. Even in Tevinter it was hard to sanction open study of blood magic, let alone the rest of Thedas. The only thing everyone could agree on was that strong emotions resulted in more power, and that blood magic would eventually cut you off from regular magic.
Oh! Was that related to Johanna’s warning about not interfering in the lyrium matrices? No. Focus, Bellara. She pulled her necklace free, pulling up the thoughts and memories that she hoped would elicit the strongest emotion.
Her grief over Cyrian’s death. Finding him, losing him again, forever.
The joy she felt meeting and getting to know the rest of the Veilguard.
The terror she felt at that final battle, when Elgar’nan had pulled her through the Eluvian.
The terror, watching each day as old wounds, once long scarred over, began to pucker and darken, as her eyes remained bloodshot no matter how much sleep she got, as the beds of her fingernails turned blue and her hands shook when she tried to look too closely.
There.
She ripped the pendant down, scoring deeply across her chest, feeling the momentary sting and burn of the Elvhen artefact’s blade. It had been designed for just such a purpose, and blood pooled in the grooves of the metal.
She directed the magic, her magic in a way no other could be, into the cuffs.
Faintly, she felt Johanna twitch away from it, her hands jerking back, but Bellara reached out and grabbed her hands, holding tight. Her fingers were wet and sticky with blood, and she felt a flare of resentment that Johanna could take so many lives in pursuit of her own immortality and yet flinch away from this proof of life.
She wove the magic through the chains, following paths forged by its creator. Her blood glistened as it floated through the air and wrapped around the chain, a magic she had only had to resort to a few times. The magic’s harmony became clear and true, clearer than it had been since she became Tainted, clearer even than it had been before that. A perfectly acceptable singing voice becoming a thing of beauty and wonder.
She would have to investigate more of that later. For now, she poured the magic through and felt it settle into the cuffs, which clicked as they came loose. Bellara sighed and closed her eyes, wearied by the magic and emotions both.
‘Well done,’ Johanna praised.
‘Thank you,’ Bellara opened her eyes to look at Johanna. ‘There were some fascinating interactions with the lyrium, they resonated with each other in a way I’ve never seen,’ she admitted. Internally, she glowed at even the minor compliment, the acknowledgment of her skill.
Johanna was eyeing her chest intently, and Bellara felt herself begin to blush, until she realised her shirt was bloodied, the deep vee of her neckline exposing the skin she’d sliced open, blood oozing out, sluggish, hiding the scars from previous times she’d used blood magic. Now that she was paying attention to it, the wound ached, and she would stop in and see what the Mortalitasi could do for it before they returned through the Eluvian.
Johanna dragged her eyes back up to Bellara’s face, not bothering to hide the respect on her own face. A smile tugged at her lips, and Bellara wanted to press that smile back down, refuse the conspiratorial offering, smear her blood across Johanna’s face to remind herself what she owed Bellara for this. She fought back the impulse, slightly horrified with herself, and quickly wiped her hands on her pants.
‘Well, then, feel free to talk about it. I’ll keep notes going, I have a shorthand that can keep up with most conversations.’ Johanna reached for the notebook and pencil, holding the book open in front of her, waiting expectantly for Bellara to return to her examination.
A slight, unconscious, smile on her face, Bellara did so. Creators damn her, it was nice to have help.
Chapter 2: Is writing it down
Chapter Text
Johanna continued to be a major nuisance and a minor assistance as the Veilguard worked to restore people’s livelihoods across Thedas. She always had a scathing but insightful comment about any mages or academics they had to correspond with, and she continued to pester the residents of the Lighthouse for outside access. Emmrich, as her nominal warden and jailer, continued to resist her entreaties, but he was eventually worn down to allow Johanna the occasional trip to the Necropolis. There, heavily guarded by Thedosian and Fade guardians alike, she was provided access to notes on the magical goings-on of the continent.
A number of weeks passed, Bellara continuing to travel around with her companions, helping people where she could, chasing down the remnants of the Venatori and the various Antaam factions. Taash's revelation of their Adaari heritage had helped thin the latter’s ranks, and with Maevaris pushing hard for Archon, door after door was being closed in the Venatori’s faces.
Still. The issue of Arlathan Forest persisted. The magic stirred up by Solas, and the consequent Blights and Evanuris workings, had not halted its progression, but rather hastened it. Towns that crouched, wary, at the edges of the Forest, like D’Meta’s Crossing, were being ravaged by ruins that grew like wildflowers. Ancient guardians lumbered from the forest, felling townsfolk like timber. There had even been reports of a Varterral creaking along the skyline at night.
One such ruin had emerged recently, towering out from the trees, and after the Veil Jumpers had declared it free of mundane dangers, Bellara had volunteered to investigate any magical dangers present. Johanna had asked to come along as well, claiming her academic history and knowledge of spirits could be a help. Rook had been dubious, and Emmrich alarmed, but Bellara had disregarded them both, gracefully allowing Johanna to assist her. Johanna had smirked at her, twisting her wrists so her cuffs, with their threads of lyrium, caught the light. Bellara shook her head, as subtly as she could, and frowned at Johanna. She really hadn’t been supposed to do that at the Necropolis, and she didn’t want to risk getting a talking to if her transgression was discovered.
Nevertheless, when Bellara stepped through the Eluvian and into the Veil Jumper camp, she waited only long enough to get around the bend in the mountain path before she roughly pulled Johanna forward by the chain and released its bindings, letting the fear and anger and self-disgust fuel her magic. She chose a less dramatic cut this time, slicing along her cheek with the same necklace. She felt the blood drip down her face, and then flow into the chain, moulding itself as before into the grooves, sinking in until they came loose.
Johanna rolled her shoulders, giving a graceful nod to Bellara. ‘Thank you once again. I admit, you have the better of me in this area, but I will take control of any spirit-related complications that arise.’
‘No,’ Bellara said. She turned and began the walk to where the scouts had indicated the new tower was. Some kind of laboratory, from what they had said, filled with contraptions and gizmos and warded chambers. Bellara felt her excitement rise. Perhaps some ancient spirit remained within them, willing to share its knowledge. She grinned, and let a bounce enter her step.
‘Why bring me along, then?’ Johanna questioned, striding beside her, long legs easily keeping up with Bellara. She wore the same long, white coat she had worn when she opposed the Veilguard.
Did she have multiple versions of it, or just one that she kept immaculate? Oh, I should ask her for her advice on keeping whites white.
Bellara would never describe herself as fashion-conscious, but she enjoyed the fine quality of Orlesian linens, and the Rivaini knew how to make clothes that kept the heat and the mosquitos out, a lifesaver in her adventures through Arlathan.
‘As a backup.’ And it had nothing to do with grilling Johanna on her magical knowledge, or of having someone who could understand and appreciate her own drive to walk the edge of discovery. Or of the unexpected ease with which Johanna traversed the wild terrain, feet steady and hands always ready to reach out to support herself or Bellara.
It took perhaps a half hour to reach the clearing, and the tower looked like something out of a noble girl’s storybook, the sort Bellara had been warned to consider exceedingly duplicitous in its messaging. It was narrow, with the top floor ponderously overhanging the tower, and the foliage of Arlathan reached up to embrace the stone and metal embellishments. There couldn’t be room for much more than stairs leading up to the rooftop, and Bellara wondered what kind of room needed such isolation, and yet was stuck so firmly on this side of the Veil. The power crystal at the ground floor door had been disabled to keep errant wanderers safe, and it was only a moment’s work to free the bindings and replace it on its activation pedestal. The door swung open, revealing the spiraling staircase she had imagined.
Bellara pressed her hands to the wall as she ascended, feeling for any errant magic, but she found nothing. Still, floors above, the wards she had been told of deafened her, and she began to regret not bringing more people. Was there some demon up there, an abomination or grotesque creation of Ghilan’nain’s, trapped for millenia?
‘There’s heavy wards here. Get ready for a fight,’ she warned Johanna, who grinned in anticipation and pushed up her sleeves. She drew up the spectacles that had been slung around her neck, and pulled tight the strap that secured them to her face. How can she see anything through that thick green glass? Are they some kind of Veil-seeing device? I should ask her later, once we know this place is safe.
In the end, the door at the top of the stairs swung open at Bellara’s touch, a frisson of magic responding to her own. She looked around, wary and waiting for the trap to spring.
It was similar to many other Elvhen laboratories she’d seen: a more well-supplied version of her own room in the Lighthouse. Light from small, high windows that might have once held glass bounced around the pale stone walls, setting dust motes to sparkling. Benches, full of the contraptions and gizmos she had so hoped for, curved around the outside walls, and a trio of tall alcoves, their insides shining pale and vaguely reflective, shimmered with wards. Bellara stepped across the threshold cautiously, taking a deeper look around with eyes and magic both. She felt something spirit-based behind the wards, but it was weak. Not much more than a wisp, whether or not it had ever been something more powerful. No way to tell what type from across the room, though.
Johanna stepped in behind her, prowling around the room, reaching out to pick up measures and devices with a carelessness that made Bellara cringe. Why did she care, though, if the necromancer met her grisly end by underestimating the elves?
‘What were they studying here?’ Johanna asked. She held up a short stick, not dissimilar to a golem control rod, and rolled it from hand to hand, a speculative look on her face.
‘Whatever it is, you’re not allowed to copy it.’
‘You don’t trust your ancestors,’ Johanna said. Stated, confident in the conclusion she’d drawn.
‘My ancestors included Ghilan’nain. No, I don’t trust them. They didn’t even write half of what they did down,’ Bellara complained. And indeed, as she looked around, she didn’t see a single book or plate. It couldn’t have all been stored in the Nadas Dirthalens, could it? Bellara hoped not. Anaris’s one was the only remaining one, all the others long destroyed for the secrets they risked disclosing.
‘All the atrocities, and your gripe is documentation? Now whose dilemma is pride and not morality?’ Johanna said, a smirk on her lips, calling back to their first discussion of blood magic.
‘You don’t care that they didn’t keep any records, either?’
‘It would have been nice to know, yes, and I might have avoided this whole half-lich business happening. But that’s all in the past. What was this space used for, I wonder?’ Johanna pulled her notebook and quill out of her bag, beginning to note down some of the items arrayed across the benches. Bellara saw her make some rudimentary sketches, along with initial impressions and estimations for what they were used for.
Bellara approached the warded alcoves, glancing inside to double check that they were empty. She leaned her weight against one of the wards, pressing her hands up to block the light and get a better view. Mirrored walls and floor, oxidised and coated in less dust than she would have thought.
Much less dust. Not a speck of actual dirt or soil on the inside. Huh, the wards must have been active when Arlathan was sunk. Had this place still been in use during the fall of the elves, or had they learned everything they needed to here? What had happened to all the elves who lived in the city when the magisters brought it low?
The first alcove’s power crystal, a shining magenta instead of the usual blue, was untampered with, not a hint of the misalignment that had disrupted so many of the crystals around the forest floor.
Why magenta? Did the colour represent something? It was too soft, too pink, to be the vermillion glow of red lyrium, but Bellara had never seen a power crystal that wasn’t the cool aquamarine of regular lyrium. She tried to feel for whatever magic was different about it, and ran up against a humming barrier. But when she tried to disengage it, it refused to budge. Inspiration struck as Bellara recalled her adrenaline-fueled discovery of the Nadas Dirthalen. She leaned down, wrapping her hands around the thing and hauling on it. Nothing. If there’s a spirit trapped in here, I need to free it. Or at least talk to it. It might know something.
‘What are you doing?’ Johanna’s acerbic tone came from across the room, and she jumped, feeling her face warm.
‘It’s stuck.’
‘Do you think somebody glued it down? You’ve been studying this magic for years,’ Johanna chided.
‘Well, yes. But there’s only so much I can learn in a few years! The old elves had centuries to develop their magic, there’s bound to be a few tricks I haven’t worked out,’ Bellara paused. ‘Yet.’ She and her fellow Veil Jumpers would reclaim Arlathan, secret by secret.
‘Have you tried blood magic?’ Johanna asked. ‘It seems to me that the Evanuris were quite fond of that little crutch.’
Bellara paused. She hadn’t, actually. The colour of the crystal had thrown her off, disrupted her from her usual protocols. Johanna smirked and returned to her notes. It wasn’t a crutch, it was just another source of power. Bellara spent a few moments imagining Johanna’s response if she dared to call the Gloaming Lantern a crutch to immortality.
Smiling at the thought of Johanna spluttering and outraged, Bellara returned her focus to the secrets of the unfamiliar crystal. The slice on her face had barely scabbed over, and it only took a moment to scrub the cuff of her shirt over it to set it bleeding again.
Life-blood singing its discordant notes, she reached out to press bloodied fingers to the crystal, which sang back in return. But not the same song. Different. Wrong. Not a song, but a silhouette, a bas-relief being flooded with her magic in ways it wasn’t designed to. “Don’t forget to keep the harmonic frequencies separate from the lyrium matrices, or you’ll risk haemorrhaging, no matter how small a cut you make.” Fuck. Johanna, you better not abandon my body here.
Lightning crackled up her arm as the ward flickered and faded, and hot, sweet-scented air rushed out, fast enough to set Bellara’s hair ruffling. A sparkling wisp, brilliant magenta, flecked with gold, spun out of the crystal and collided with her before she could dodge. Her vision whited out, and her head rang. She reached out to the wall to steady herself.
Part of her retreated to the confines of her mind, to analytic observations, while the not-wisp-not-spirit attacked her.
Entropic, the Andrastian Circles would call it. Something that can affect the mind directly, subtly. A wisp, not a full spirit, the kind that was the remnant of a spirit who crossed the Veil and starved. What spirit was this? Bellara tried to work out what she was feeling, to get some sense of what emotion the wisp sought. Need rushed in, heady yet undirected, marking her mouth water and her core ache.
Desire. More talkative, more cunning and capable of manipulation than most spirits. Vaguely, Bellara became aware that she had been possessed, like the Seers of Rivain, but with none of the cooperation and amiability. She clenched her hands where they rested against the wall, testing her control. Nothing seemed to stop her, and her knuckles stung where they had rubbed against the stone. The sensation grounded her, and she kicked the wall, hard enough to make her toes ache and her teeth clench. The desire still lurked at the back of her mind, but doing things deliberately, taking control of her own body, seemed to keep it at bay. No abomination for me today. She stood up straight, limping a bit as she turned around. She needed to find out how much time she had lost battling the spirit.
Very little, it seemed. Johanna was still bent over her notebook on the desk, and hadn’t moved on from her notes on the golem control device. Her hand curved around the quill, long fingers graceful as they danced across the page, and she tapped the feathered tip to her lips occasionally. Bellara watched, entranced, as Johanna shifted to reach out and wrap her other hand around the rod. Heat rushed to her face, and Desire reared its head. She glanced away, focussing on a spot of lichen that was growing from a corner of one window.
‘I got one ward down,’ Bellara finally said, to the lichen and to Johanna.
From the corner of her eye, Bellara saw Johanna look up and glance behind Bellara. ‘So you did,’ she agreed mildly. ‘I see the blood magic did the trick.’
Something was doing the trick, and it seemed to be Johanna’s voice, because Bellara was suddenly desperate to hear more of the condescension and precise language she always used, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giddy laugh. This was the worst possession ever.
Johanna put her head back down to her notes, and Bellara shook her head to clear it. Yes, Johanna was attractive, in a severe, shemlen, way. Yes, Bellara enjoyed having someone she could talk magic with, who wouldn’t shy away from the taboos she had had to cross to get where she was, who helped her think about magic in ways she hadn’t considered before. She killed probably hundreds of people to save her own life! Get a grip, Bellara. If I can just make it home to the Lighthouse, I can lock my rooms and take care of this wisp myself.
Determined to tough it out, Bellara walked into the now-open alcove, using a spare cloth in her pouch to scrub at the oxidisation. It didn’t budge. The walls were invitingly cool and she wanted to press her heated skin along the wall, to relieve some of the discomfort. Think, Bellara, you need to think of something else. What purpose did a whole room made of mirrors serve? Perhaps to better observe whatever subject was held within the wards? What she could see of herself in the reflection showed her face pink all the way down her neck, and her eyes had a glassy look she would have worried about had she seen it on anyone else. Well, I’m still worried about myself, but there’s nothing I can do right now. I need to get out of this room and check the next crystal. I really, really hope there’s no other wisp in that one, too.
The next chamber was in better condition, the mirror still shining, clear enough for Bellara to see her own reflection mirrored in the walls and floor as she approached it. The crystal for this one emitted a soft white glow. Did they have different purposes? If magenta was Desire, what spirit was white? Please let it be Peace.
The flush to her skin was harder to ignore than the impulses, and she took off her jacket, laying it over an empty space of bench as she began pacing, letting herself be distracted by thoughts of spirits and the elves.
Why would you even capture a Desire spirit just to trap it in a power crystal? Once Johanna works out what some of those gadgets are for, that might clear things up. Bellara looked over at Johanna, and the urge to press herself along Johanna’s back and pull her coat down, possibly with her teeth, paralysed her. Don’t think of Johanna. It might have been any random spirit that got caught in the device, and it happened to be Desire. I’ll just be extra careful disengaging the second crystal, in case there’s a nasty spirit in there. Another nasty spirit.
Something tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned with a yelp. Johanna stood looking at her, eyes hidden behind those tinted spectacles, light from outside making a halo out of her hair, up in its bun. Would she let me undo her hair? I bet it would feel so nice to grab and pull and stroke and-
‘You used blood magic on a spirit, didn’t you?’ Johanna asked. Bellara watched her mouth form the words, but the meaning slipped away from her in the face of the heat that pooled between her legs and tightened in her chest. The room was really warm, and Bellara was surprised steam wasn’t coming off her.
Johanna knows all about spirits, oh no, oh no, she can probably tell exactly what’s happening and I’m never going to live it down.
Bellara reached out her hand, hesitant, arching for her hair and at the last moment diverting to her coat, fingers trailing down the wide, purple lapel, wanting to curl her fingers in the fabric in her coat and pull her close. She let the impulse spin in her mind, indecisive. She tensed every muscle she could, trying to hold still. She wanted to yell at Johanna to get back, get out, but she didn’t dare open her mouth.
Johanna looked her over, tipping her spectacles up on her head to inspect Bellara. Her eyes were a warm brown, soft and sympathetic and incongruous in the sharp analysis written across her face.
‘Hmm,’ she murmured, voice low, ‘I told you I was going to take control of any spirit matters. You really should have brought me on from the start.’
Bellara wanted to wipe the confident curl of those lips off Johanna’s face. So she did.
Her fingers clenched in the fabric, and she shoved Johanna against the wall. The grooves and carvings couldn't have been comfortable, so Bellara leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Johanna’s in apology. She spared no thought to what Johanna would make of this, trusting her to respond as she would. Bellara was used to following her impulses, and the desire wisp was taking full advantage of that.
Johanna’s mouth was warm, her teeth sharp as she nipped at Bellara’s lip, biting down hard enough to make Bellara whimper. In pain? She wasn’t sure, but any discomfort was pushed to the back of her mind by the skin contact. By needing more of it. Bellara kissed back, harder, licking her way into Johanna’s mouth, resting her full weight against her. Heat singed through her, and Bellara broke away, only to return to pressing desperate kisses to Johanna's jaw and neck.
This isn’t fair to Johanna. I need to… I need to make sure she’s okay. Or, or knows what’s going on.
There was no way in the Void she would have ever done this without the spirit possessing her, and it was beyond risky to expose anyone else to an unplanned possession.
Bellara was broken out of her thoughts as Johanna moved a hand up, unlatching the series of buttons that held her coat together, baring bone-pale skin, untouched by either the sun or Bellara. Bellara held her breath, watching as Johanna let her hand come up to tangle in Bellara’s hair, twisting her fingers into the strands and digging her nails into Bellara’s scalp, the sting urging her forward. Bellara reached out to run her hands over Johanna's ribs the way she had run them over the crystals just minutes before. Blood still clung to her fingertips, dark and sticky.
Please, Bellara thought. She didn’t realise she’d spoken aloud until Johanna responded.
‘Please what?’ Johanna asked, looking down at Bellara. Lost in her own internal struggle, Bellara had managed to pay no attention to someone she was making out with. Typical. She looked as cool as anything, composed and poised and in charge, a complete contradiction to how Bellara felt. But she was herself, and Bellara was desperate for someone who wasn’t under the influence of a desire spirit. Desperate for Johanna.
‘Please fuck me,’ Bellara said. Is that what she wanted? It seemed it was, because she could feel arousal soaking her pants, and she paused to squeeze her thighs together, looking up at Johanna. The open side of her coat blocked out her peripherals, reducing her awareness to her own raging need and the cool, calculating look Johanna wore. If I survive this… Emmrich’s going to kill me. And then Rook’s going to kill me. And then I’m going to die of embarrassment.
Johanna pulled her up, and Bellara went, mouth pressing to whatever exposed parts of Johanna she could reach: collarbones, one shoulder, neck, jaw, ear, cheek, mouth.
‘Open that room,’ Johanna commanded, and Bellara looked where she pointed. The middle room, its mirror walls untarnished. She saw her own reflection in the ward, her cheeks, her whole face and neck, really, flushed the deep red of rashvine. Johanna stood, behind and slightly beside, one possessive hand curling around Bellara's neck, a sharp contrast.
Bellara didn’t hesitate any longer, grabbing the crystal so that its sharp point dug deeply into her hand, slicing into her skin, blood searing as she brute forced the spirit out. Whatever backlash happened would be worth it. Whatever “it” entails. Her head spun.
The crystal’s power unfurled to her, the wisp rushing out to embrace her. No blinding white, this time, just her eyes going out of focus, her restless urgency undercut by sticky, clinging webs wrapping around her mind.
What…? Not Sloth. I’m okay here. Sloth, I’d probably try to lie down, or go home, or something else. I still want this. Bellara cast her mind back, trying to recall the names of every spirit that had been recorded, fighting the lethargy. She wanted Johanna, and the faster she sorted this puzzle, the faster that would happen. A flash of memory came to her; the Ossuary, walking past row after row of startlingly similar alcoves, each one labelled with a spirit and its corrupted form. Passivity…
‘Hmm. That’s an interesting wisp, I should make a note of that one,’ Johanna muttered, and Bellara looked over to see her retrieve her book and pen, jotting something down. She wanted Johanna’s hands on her, not on that book. She stood there, though, frustration building as she waited. ‘Take your pants and underwear off, and sit on the floor in there,’ Johanna said, still scribbling in her book.
For the first time, Bellara’s sensibilities broke through. This is crazy. Crazier than killing my own gods. What is happening? Johanna knows I’m possessed. Did she want this, before now? Want me? She had to get back to the Lighthouse, even the Veil Jumpers, until this all passed and she could be extricated from the spirits and get her head back.
‘There’s no need to doubt me, Miss Lutare,’ Johanna said, finally looking up. ‘Strip your pants off and wait for me in that room.’
Bellara moaned at the command, and this was silly. Did she even want this, herself? She was certain didn’t want to do anything if it would make Johanna unhappy. And she’d get to have sex, if she did what she was told. Cobwebs still clinging to the edges of Bellara’s thoughts, she dropped her boots, pants, and underwear onto the floor and stepped onto the cool metal of the alcove. A glance down showed that the floor mirror was equally untarnished, and she blushed to see her own lower body from such an obscene angle. Her tunic left her some modicum of modesty as she sat, cross-legged, in the centre of the room, facing outward. Waiting for Johanna. Anticipation thrummed through her, and she let her thoughts wander.
While she waited, Bellara pushed against the thought and feelings flooding her system, just to see how much control she still had. Possessed by one wisp was bad enough; two would be a challenge. They didn’t seem to have enough power, even combined, to fully take control of her, though. It was reassuring. I want to leave, but that’s a lot of effort. I’d have to get dressed, explain to Johanna, walk down the stairs, go all the way back to the Veil Jumper camp, not to mention getting into the Lighthouse and explaining why Johanna isn’t with me. Probably just better to ride out the wisps.
She pressed her palms to the silver floor, breathing deeply, letting the chill of the metal clear her head.
I hope.
It was only a moment later that Johanna followed her in, notebook tucked under one arm. She glanced around, taking in the myriad half-naked Bellaras that looked back at her from the walls and ceiling.
Johanna sighed in dramatic disappointment. ‘How am I supposed to fuck you if you don't spread your legs for me, Miss Lutare?’
Bellara clenched her hands, nails digging into her palms.
‘Do you… want this?’ She asked. Do you want me?
‘I don’t do anything I don’t want to,’ Johanna said.
‘You know I’m possessed,’ Bellara said. She wasn’t sure if it was a warning, or a plea, or a challenge.
‘By wisps. Volkarin’s little pet skeleton has as much impetus.’
‘Are you saying they have no influence?’ Bellara grinned madly, anticipation and anxiety warring within her.
‘So does alcohol, and money, and family, and a thousand other little things. Life is about being influenced. Whether you see it or not, it is always happening to you.’
‘Are you a good influence?’ Bellara asked.
‘The best,’ Johanna said with a grin. ‘Now. Are we doing this?’
With a thrill, Bellara uncrossed her legs, spreading them, knees bent, feet flat on the floor. Johanna approached and kneeled in front of Bellara, and flipped her book open to a fresh page.
She met Bellara’s eyes as she reached out her right hand, the one not holding her pen, fingers wrapping first around Bellara’s ankle and then sliding up her calf, massaging the muscle there. Bellara hummed in satisfaction, maintaining eye contact. Johanna skated her fingers up and down Bellara’s thighs, and Bellara shivered, legs shaking with the effort of holding still. She wanted to ask Johanna what her plans were, but Passivity urged her to be silent, to wait and see, and she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
My mind is still my own. Oh, I hope nobody comes by with a search party right now. I wonder if… Has Johanna done this before, with women? Did she and Emmrich ever- No. No thank you. Bellara flexed one foot, the cold threatening to bring in a cramp, although the floor was warming up quickly enough she wasn’t too worried.
Finally, Johanna pressed one fingertip to Bellara’s clit, for the barest moment, and Bellara’s breath hitched.
‘You should have come to me from the beginning,’ Johanna was saying. ‘Volkarin doesn’t have the intellectual curiosity and… eagerness to match what you need, Miss Lutare.’
Eager, huh? Easy to say when I’m possessed. But a little voice whispered to Bellara that she wasn’t possessed when she let Johanna help at the Chamber of the Unbound—and wasn’t that a fitting name, now—or when she unlocked Johanna’s cuffs again earlier today. Fine. Call it curiosity. A passing thought, I have plenty of those without wisps in my head.
‘What do I need, Johanna?’ Bellara asked. She was rolling her hips in little circles as Johanna drew her fingers in lazy spirals up and down Bellara’s thighs, far too far away from where Bellara wanted them.
‘You need me. Say it,’ Johanna said. She punctuated her command by pressing her fingertips to Bellara’s clit again, circling and rubbing.
Bellara moaned, grateful beyond words. ‘I want. I… I need you,’ Bellara stuttered out between the press and flick of Johanna’s fingers. Still she hadn’t entered Bellara, and what she needed as much as Johanna was to know how Johanna’s fingers felt, curling and thrusting inside her. ‘Johanna.’
As if specifically to taunt her, and probably for exactly that reason, Johanna pulled her hand back entirely and sat back on her heels. She held her arm out, staring with mild interest at her fingers, coated in Bellara’s wetness. ‘I’ve decided I don’t want to get my hands dirty anymore,’ Johanna said. ‘Clean your mess off.’ And she held her hand out to Bellara, who sat up from where she had reclined.
Eagerly, she reached for Johanna’s hand, feeling the tendons in her wrist flex as she pulled the other woman’s hand towards her face. She took a moment to look at the combined work of Johanna and herself, and she thought back to the way it felt, to be so exposed and turned on and embarrassed all at once. But mostly turned on.
She pulled Johanna’s fingers into her mouth and closed her eyes, tongue swirling around the acrid fluid, savoring the twitch of Johanna’s fingers in response. How warm her mouth must be compared to the cool air up here in the tower. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, simply feeling, but at some point Johanna pulled her hand back, and Bellara opened her eyes to see her making yet more notes in her book. Bellara couldn’t see what she was writing, upside down as it was.
‘You’re going to want to lie back for this one,’ Johanna said, turning around and shuffling to the edge of the room’s boundary.
‘What is it?’
‘Let’s see how much you really love these artefacts.’ Johanna said, turning back around, hefting the control rod from before. Even with the wisp of passivity clouding her mind, Bellara felt a stirring of apprehension. It was about a foot long and had a kind of sword hilt, with a dull golden stick, too wide and blunt to be a blade, for which Bellara was grateful. It did have a globe of lyrium in the end of it, and lyrium strands ran down into an intricate inscription upon the handle. Not the safest of implements, but plenty exciting. Maybe it will do something exciting. Groundbreaking.
‘I have a lot of faith in you, Miss Lutare,’ Johanna said, eyes picking her apart.
‘Okay,’ Bellara whispered. She lay back as Johanna had instructed, watching as Johanna repositioned herself between Bellara’s obediently spread legs.
Johanna ran the tip of the crystal up and then down Bellara’s stomach, under the fabric of her shirt, and Bellara relaxed back with a sign of satisfaction at the warmth.
The rod wasn’t Johanna herself, but she was in control of it. She slid it from Bellara’s stomach to her between her legs, and the heat and firmness of the lyrium tip filled her with anticipation. Her previous hesitations seemed unwarranted, and she let herself feel the desire slowly melting into her bones and slackening her muscles. Johanna’s spectacles shone from the light of the crystal as she tilted her head to inspect her work, looking down to make another note on this. She pressed the rod in a half inch more, and the chill of the metal had Bellara clenching her thighs and gasping. She felt the first sense of pressure against her walls, and no Passivity could stop her glancing at Johanna for reassurance.
‘How did that feel?’ Johanna asked, not even fully looking at Bellara as she watched herself split the other woman open.
Bellara wanted to roll her hips up against the pressure, but every time she tried she came up against the impossibility of taking in any more of the rod. Imagine if some golem or other construct comes lumbering in because I accidentally woke it with my… my… Bellara had a ridiculous mental image of Johanna waving the control rod around, Bellara still sitting on it, until the golem or other construct went away to give them some peace again. She giggled to herself. ‘Warm, then cold. Large,’ Bellara said with emphasis.
‘Warm from the sunlight, or from the magic?’
‘The mag-ic.’ Johanna twisted the rod, not pushing, just letting Bellara feel the curve of it slide around inside her, and the last syllable came out on a squeak. ‘The interaction between the magic and the control rod. It’s not actually lyrium. Probably a pure quartz, citrine or even amethyst. The resistance… the resistance of the crystal matrix causes heat to diffuse out.’
‘Good, a useful observation. A shame I’ve never had an eye for art. I really should be including diagrams.’
‘I could…’ Bellara gasped. The desire to please, to follow even implied instruction, to record the lost knowledge, briefly overrode the humiliation of putting herself out there like this.
‘No. You’re already helping enough with this research. Perhaps we could bring someone else in? Any of your little Veilguard fiends have a steady hand? Beside Volkarin, of course. I wouldn’t want him taking claim for this discovery.’
Bellara clamped her mouth shut around a moan at the thought of so many people she knew seeing her laid out like this.
She felt her head loll back, and it brought the ceiling mirror into her view. From her vantage, she could see herself, her hair spilling loose from its customary bun, legs and arms splayed out on the dusty mirror floor; the silver scuffed, but still providing the impression of an infinite array of Bellaras being split open by infinite, clinical Johannas.
She breathed deeply as Johanna pressed the rod in further, the metal long since warmed up by her body. She would have thought there would be an issue of lubrication, but her body welcomed the sensations. An errant breeze made her shiver as it cooled her thighs where her arousal welled out, dripping from between her legs.
Johanna pressed the rod up again, rocking it backwards and forwards, and Bellara swore at her.
‘Too much,’ she begged, but the moan she let out refuted her words.
‘Where’s your intellectual spirit gone?’ Johanna asked. ‘Scared?’
‘No.’ Bellara was a mage, possessed by not one but two spirits. She wasn’t afraid. Wary, perhaps. They’re not spirits of… of Flexibility, if that’s even a thing.
‘Good.’ Johanna grinned, shoving hard on the rod and twisting it. Bellara cried out, but her limbs felt heavy and slow to reply. Passivity. If she gave in and let herself enjoy it, desire would be satisfied, too. Being filled up by Johanna, by the ancient magics, the thought of what a privileged position she was in right now, made Bellara moan, gasping for air.
With effort, she lifted her head to look up at Johanna. Over Johanna’s shoulder, she met her own eyes, stared at her own face. She was a wreck. Face flushed down to her neck, shirt mostly open, hair splayed around her, sweat sticking it to her skin in blight-dark tendrils.
‘Distracting yourself, are you? We can’t have any diversions from your studies.’ Johanna grinned wickedly, the light shining off her spectacles. For the first time in a while, Bellara was reminded that Johanna was halfway to being an otherworldly creature.
Johanna drew the rod back, crystal tip rubbing against her the whole way out. and Bellara felt empty, exposed, legs propped up wide for Johanna to inspect at her leisure. The rod rolled away, its curving path sending it to a stop against one mirrored wall. The urge to pull the rod back into her, just to feel that warm pressure again, rose and then subsided within her. What next? None of the other things on the tables look at all good for this kind of thing. I hope Johanna wants to get more hands-on with this experiment. Someone, thinking of it in the same terms Johanna used, stopped Bellara from becoming overwhelmed by doubts and second guesses and the many, many valid reasons this was a terrible idea. Least of all that she could get very used to this.
‘Finger yourself,’ Johanna said.
‘Huh?’ Preoccupied with savoring the haze of pleasure that left her floating in her own mind, Bellara was slow to comprehend.
‘I need a control group. I can’t compare notes if I don’t know how you respond to your own touch.’
With her recent activities, and Johanna kneeling over her like that, Bellara didn’t think she’d have any trouble at all “responding to her own touch.” This entire time, Johanna had kept her clothes on, not even removing the heavy outer coat. Her only concession had been keeping her sleeves rolled up. And if Bellara had only been going off her facial expressions and the sound of her voice, she might not have known this was anything other than a true study opportunity. But she saw the way Johanna reached for her time and time again, instead of locking her up in the cell to wait the wisps out. She must have been getting something out of this. And Bellara was determined to break her composure by whatever means necessary.
Bellara reached forward and down her own body, running her fingers through her arousal and letting the built up tension ease from her shoulders. She circled her clit, teasing herself, and dipped first one finger, then two, inside, crooking them to press on that spot that made her twitch her hips up. Her breathing grew ragged, and despite her earlier intentions, her awareness of Johanna faded away, so focussed was she on chasing her own pleasure. The freedom to play and tease and stroke in whatever manner occurred to her in the moment drew her back into her own head.
She was close, so close, when a hand reached out and grasped her wrist, stilling her movements.
Bellara whined, too desperate to be angry, but Johanna shook her head and pulled Bellara’s hand away.
‘Don’t want the experiment to end too soon, do we?’ Johanna clicked her tongue.
‘Please?’ Bellara asked. It would be better if it was Johanna who made her come, but at this point, she would turn to Anaris himself just to be able to orgasm. Ew. Maybe not. Desire can’t control me that badly.
‘Hmm. I don’t need your friends coming out to look for us and poisoning the data. You’re right. Roll over, on your hands and knees.’
Bellara complied, feeling her passive waiting fade briefly under the instruction. Despite her earlier words, clearly Johanna wasn’t so willing to let just anyone observe this experiment. In this position, Bellara could watch herself freely, hair entirely undone now, trailing over her back and shoulders and onto the floor, breasts swaying and bared to her view between the open laces of her shirt as she shifted on her knees.
She let her head hang low as Johanna moved closer, one hand reaching out to steady them both, nails digging into her hip.
‘Head up,’ Johanna said. ‘As poor as your own skills are, please try to be a little analytical about this.’ This apparently being Johanna finally abandoning the pen again to reach her free hand out and press the pads of her fingers to Bellara’s clit, thumb and forefinger pinching, nails biting into the over sensitive flesh. Bellara cried out, overwhelmed by the pleasure and pain of it.
‘I said head. Up. Look at yourself, Miss Lutare. When I publish this data, your name will be written all over it, so be proud.’ The hand at Bellara’s hip let go, and Johanna wound her fingers into Bellara’s hair, yanking back so Bellara’s neck was bared, her scalp prickling and aching. Johanna drove her fingers straight into Bellara, using her grip on her hair to pull the other woman back at the same time. Bellara felt herself slam into Johanna’s crooked knuckles. Fingers stroking from inside, and then again, and again. Still, that casual, surveying expression remained on Johanna’s face.
She passed the notebook and pen to Bellara, who stared at it uncomprehendingly.
‘Well. Do you want to enter,’ she thrust her fingers forward on the word, ‘academia or not?’
‘What… What should I write?’ Bellara rolled her eyes down to look at the book.
‘Make some observations on the wisps. That’s one part I won’t have the same insight on as you.’
Wisps. Make notes. She could do that. She picked up the pen to write with an arm that shook from exertion and began to write.
Tower. Found by Veil Jumper scouts. Stairs leading to a single room, likely a laboratory of some as-yet-unknown purpose. Three adjacent observation chambers, all warded. Two each by wisps of Desire and Passivity.
When encountering someone, wisps do not possess, control, or speak through the host. Exhibit powerful abilities of suggestion and emotional and mental influence.
Bellara’s aim jolted at a particularly hard thrust, and ink splattered across the page. Johanna had let go of her hair so she could focus on the journal, and one hand caressed her clit while the other curled and pumped within her.
‘Miss Lutare? How are the notes coming? Hopefully faster than you. I’ve never met such a reluctant assistant.’
Bellara grit her teeth. Did Johanna want her to come or not? Professor Hezenkoss is a smug, evil, asshole, she wrote, with vicious satisfaction and only a little skittering of the nib over the paper.
‘Looks like I’m going to have to resort to drastic measures,’ Johanna said mournfully.
Bellara had only a moment to wonder what drastic measures were before Johanna pulled her back and flipped her, her back hitting the silver floor with a smack. Before she could recover her senses, she felt Johanna’s hands massaging her breasts, and her mouth, hot and wet and Creators-cursed, devouring her, tongue swirling around and dipping into her entrance, then back up to flick across her clit. She didn’t dare touch Johanna, didn’t dare move lest she change her mind, just scrabbled to follow the last instruction she had been given, pen writing something, anything, across the journal. Sounds, barely even words, escaped her mouth as Passivity gave up control and let Desire have its plaything.
‘Johanna, please, I’m sorry I’m a bad assistant, more, please, yes.’
Whatever hesitations held back Johanna seemed to have been discarded as well, for she devoured Bellara, spectacles pressing into her thighs as she looked up to watch Bellara’s face. They locked eyes, and Johanna pinched her nipples, bruisingly hard, at the same time she sucked hard on her clit, and Bellara came undone.
Song and light coursed through her, the desire wisp heightening every sensation beyond any orgasm she’d ever had before. She was gasping, and felt vaguely that she had reached down to pull at Johanna’s face and hair, pawing at her desperately, unsure if she wanted her closer or further away. Johanna continued to lick at her, tongue tracing after every drop of arousal as Bellara squeezed her thighs around her head, thrusting up after the last traces of pleasure.
She had no idea if the Desire wisp was still within her, blissed out as she felt. She let her habit of post-sex cuddling take over. She pulled Johanna up towards her, pressing sucking kisses to her neck, her face, her mouth, licking deep, chasing the taste of herself. Johanna kissed back, sharp and decisive, and Bellara would have expected nothing else. Letting Bellara snuggle up against her was a nice surprise, though.
With a final kiss, Bellara let Johanna pull away. She immediately reached around and gathered up her journal, looking over the inky mess that Bellara had made.
‘Not particularly verbose, but it has a way of speaking for itself,’ Johanna commented.
‘Yes. I can be helpful,’ Bellara murmured. Super-duper-ooper helpful.
‘And I was right. Don’t cross the blood-song and the matrix.’
Bellara gave a breathless laugh. ‘I’m getting my name in a real academic paper,’ she breathed. Crossing the blood-song and the matrix hadn’t turned out too badly, after all. And any sense of wisp possession was gone, although she would run some tests—some standard, unsexy tests—when she got back to the Lighthouse to be sure.
Johanna snorted. ‘You really are provincial, aren’t you? This is only a fraction of a research paper. No, we need a lot more notes and diversified studies on this phenomenon before it’s worthy of a paper.’
‘More experiments?’ Bellara asked hopefully. Sexual or otherwise, she looked forward to studying under- with- Johanna, in whatever capacity she would have her.
‘You were an agreeable test subject,’ Johanna conceded.
She could distrust Johanna later. For now, Bellara hauled herself up and came over to inspect her own frenzied notes, doing her best to ignore the heat still flushing around her, and the memory of Johanna’s hands and mouth on her.
ziskandra on Chapter 2 Fri 05 Sep 2025 02:37PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 05 Sep 2025 02:39PM UTC
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