"Okay... How do I look?"

Pasche steps out from behind the curtain, giving a little twirl in her flowy white dress. She looks like a beautiful, wistful creature wearing it, but that might just be her smile... Xena's treatments really have been treating Pasche well, a small but noticeable bust has formed on her chest, and there is a certain softness evident in her features. She was already pretty, I wonder how she could have become so much more beautiful in only two short months... Maybe it's simply that she's happier? That might be why she's able to shine like this... I want her to be happy. I want her to be beautiful. I want-

"Uhhh, Serena? You're ummm, you're not saying anything." Pasche looks over me with concern, her smile briefly absent.

"Ah! S... Sorry." I try to compose myself, I feel like I’ve walked right into a brick wall having lost Pasche’s smile. "I was simply struggling to find the words. You are gorgeous, Pasche."

Pasche squeaks, it’s a bizarre contrast to her occasional flashes of very competent violence. Flusterable and vulnerable here, and apparently bulletproof on a battlefield... It's that weakening again, isn't it? That the Marshal warned me of. That my presence leads her to be so susceptible to these little flusterings, that she would get shot for my sake, that she would burn just to burn with me. I’ve been letting myself get carried away, I’m hurting her again.

... Dear Gods I hope Our Tailor today won't try to kill us.

"Hmmm... I don't think white is your color, darling." Our Tailor doesn't seem interested in killing us right this second, mind you, merely offering more honest critiques than we would be able to come up with on our own. "It just doesn't do much with your lovely pale skin!"

"O... Oh..." Pasche looks down at the flowing skirt of her tested dress, and gives it another little rustle. "I think I see what you mean, madam."

"I know enough Avernian to know that 'madam' is for old ladies." Our Tailor laughs, but there is definitely something of a threat in there. "Hmm... I'm not sure if flowing is precisely the best fit for you either. I mean, it certainly works, buuuuuuut I think you could do so much more with something a little more... Flattering."

"Umm... Madam- Sorry, Mademoiselle. Are you sure-"

"I think I have something for you to try, Mademoiselle Pasche. You just get behind that curtain, I'll grab you something that will make that friend of yours swoon."

Our Tailor is all smiles and mischievous enthusiasm as she goes to her rack of dresses to find something that will apparently 'make me swoon'. Something that could conceptually make Pasche even more attractive. Pasche gives me a nervous look before slipping back behind the curtain, apparently a bit skeptical about what might follow. I almost feel tempted to give her my heart for a moment, to catch her in my magic to give her courage... But I don't. I shouldn't. It would just hurt her.

The dress is picked out, but Our Tailor blocks my vision of it with her body, apparently relishing the surprise I am to experience. So I simply wait... But not for long. Pasche emerges in a little black dress, of a sort I've never seen before. Its hem cuts off before the knees, its neck is low and seems designed to flatter the chest to the point of utterly annihilating all sense of propriety or public morals. Its straps are thin, which shows off the sinewy muscle of Pasche's arms, and the tightness of the dress makes the outline of her form very apparent to me. Pasche isn't smiling this time, she is consumed by embarrassment. She’s vulnerable…

"I... I can't go outside in this!"

Her protest is entirely accurate. She cannot go outside in that dress. I don't think I can allow anyone but me to see her in that dress.

"Hehehe! Hah, your face is so precious, darling!" Our Tailor is clapping her hands in utter glee, having apparently gotten the reaction she wanted out of Pasche. "Haaaah, I know that this garment is simply too scandalous to ever wear outside, but it warms my heart to see young ladies shock and startle their friends in it. I figured it would be a good look for you."

"Well you've certainly scandalized me!" Pasche shifts uncomfortably, there isn't really a way for her to stand that doesn't put far more of her on display than is decent or acceptable. "I... I'm so sorry Serena, I- Huh?"

I want to tear that dress off her. I want to hear her squeal. I want her to be vulnerable under my touch. I want to be rough, I want to drink my fill of Pasche just like I had dreamed, with claws and teeth and moans and squeals. I don’t care about weakening her, I want to possess her heart. I want to make her mine- I suddenly look away, covering my eyes with a hand, feeling warm in every corner of my body. With some horror I realize that I am salivating…

"It's... It's certainly scandalous, that's to be sure." I can't keep the excitement and animation out of my voice... The imagining of taste. "You look very good in it!"

"Th... Thank you, Serena." She’s still horribly embarrassed and vulnerable, but I can hear a smile wedged between those two feelings that carries in her voice.

Our Tailor whispers something to Pasche, something which makes her squeak before she hurriedly disappears behind the curtain again. I swear, there's something almost gleefully sinful about Our Tailor here, but I can't quite place it.

"So, what did you want to try, Mademoiselle Serena? ... I think you would look rather fetching in green."

I can't help but be a little suspicious of Our Tailor's casual inquiry, seeing as any second now she could try to inflict a dress like that upon me. I'm nothing special after all, surely such a thing would be wasted on me. Scandalously revealing my skin could only show just how little I have worth showing off.

I realize that she's staring at me now, I appear to have gone off into my own little world again while she was waiting for an answer. "Ah! I have heard people say before that green would be a good color for me-"

"But do you like it?"

"I... I never really gave it much thought before-"

"Alright darling, then what we're going to have to do is bombard you with colors until you find something you like. Not something someone would suggest for you. If it turns out green is your color then all the better, but no-one else can decide what suits you best. Take it from me, darling."

She's being sincere. Having been so obviously and blatantly mischievous seems to come with the advantage that her sincerity is obvious to spot... My own color, huh... What suits me... I'd never really thought about it before-

"Umm... Serena?" Pasche's voice filters in weakly from behind the curtain.

"Yes, Pasche?"

"I ummm... I'm struggling with one of these hooks. Could you come in and help me out of this dress?"

"Sure, I'll-" The words catch in my throat as I remember the overwhelming carnal hunger that had possessed me at the sight of her in that dress. "... I'll be right in!"

"Thanks!"

And there's the mischief. Our Tailor is grinning like an idiot, and I have to wonder if she knows what exactly I'm going through, or if she underestimates the sheer bentness of the girl in her midst. She can’t possibly know my capacity for blasphemy, right? ... I have to be good. I have to be on my best behavior. I have to be as rigid as Steel. I take a deep breath and slip past the curtain.

... I want to bite Pasche so much.

I try to take deep breaths, and to keep my hands to my sides as best as I am able. But I am very aware of the wetness of my mouth, and the softness of Pasche’s skin. Of just how close the girl is to me, and of the slight ache in my now motionless hands. All I have to do is accomplish my task and get out from behind the curtain. My task, of... Undressing Pasche. And then leaving after. Oww.

"S... So uhhh... Where's the... The..." My words are failing me, my brain is failing me really, all my attention was on resisting my urges, and on obsessing over them.

"The hook?" Pasche nervously points out a particularly elusive looking fastener, the last thing keeping that dress on her body. "It's... It's right here. Thank you.

Naturally it has to be at her hip... I have seen Pasche naked before, how is this so different? I think it must be down to the things I can't yet see, the anticipation. Or maybe I am simply more shameless without Her Majesty's grace... Why the guilt makes me want to touch Pasche more is something I don't understand or can even begin to comprehend. Knowing it's wrong makes it the only thing I can think about.

I try to keep my hands steady, to precisely remove the hook as quickly as possible. I fail. My hands shake at the task, and fumble in their attempts to remove Pasche's garment. I curse under my breath and lean in closer. Every inch of me is wracked in hungry, quivering warmth.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I want to just tear the thing off and throw Pasche to the ground, and follow her soon after.

... The hook comes loose. And the dress slides off of Pasche's form, leaving her in some undyed cotton underthings... Admittedly she did just come from deployment, and it's not as if I ever wore anything special but I want to see her in lace. I want to see her briefly wearing lace, before I leave her wearing tatters. With her undressed I can see every scar she has obtained in my service, the reminders of bullet wounds and slashes she has been subjected to... I hate that she took these scars in my service, that I would be the thing to bring her pain. But a twisted part of me wants to add to that tapestry with my teeth.

Pasche is clearly able to feel my eyes on her as the dress descends... And she turns to face me, closing her eyes. An invitation? ... No. No, it can’t be that. Because if it’s an invitation I would not be able to resist, and even if it is one I cannot allow myself to indulge. So it mustn't be an invitation. I am simply too shameless, too sinful for this to be an invitation to press Pasche up against that wall and sate this sinful hunger. So instead I retreat past the curtain, a pathetic little whimper on my lips. Why do I want such wrong things? ... Why are the things I want so wrong?

Our Tailor pats me on the back when she sees me again, giving me a small smile. "It's okay. You'll work up to it."

I... What?!

Our Tailor doesn’t elaborate on what she meant by that, she simply brings another dress to the curtain for Pasche to try on. A nice, modest red number. Something pretty, she'll look nice in it... I want to cry as the hunger disappears and sharp guilt takes its place… This is what I’m meant to do, right? It hurts, it has to be the right thing to do. But it isn't supposed to hurt like this.

Pasche eventually reappears in the newly offered dress, and looks appropriately beautiful. But I am more focused on her eyes. She looks at me with a kind of betrayal that can't quite become anger, and simply lingers as sheer disappointed sadness. And I still want to touch her. Only, I want to be more gentle. I want to soothe her.

I have to look away, I can't stand these thoughts forever. Not without becoming a sinner again. Not without being selfish. Not without being Serena when I ought to be a monster. Which leaves Our Tailor with the unenviable task of talking up a very sad cuirassier.

"Marvelous, darling! Red really is your color. Are you satisfied with it?"

"Y... Yeah." Pasche's gaze is on the floor, I can't see it but I can hear it in her tone. "I think I can wear this."

"Hehe, good good... Alright now, it's your turn!" Our Tailor turns her attention to me, gesturing for me to head behind the curtain myself. "We're going to find you something stunning!"

It takes a few dresses, but eventually I found myself in lilac purple of all colors. There’s something in the color that suited my mood, that appeals to my taste at the present. It’s odd, but I feel odd... It’s also relatively modest, which is good, as I can't help but feel small behind this curtain. Moreso as I listen to Pasche and Our Tailor whispering amongst themselves, Our Tailor apparently soothing Pasche with stories of her own past. Something about being engaged to marry an Avernian noble. Something about making dresses for, and eyes at that noble's sister. Something about having to flee back to Samnia after The Convention had that noble executed for miscarriage of justice. And something about knowing what it's like to have to wait on someone to realize what they want... I emerge from behind the curtain in my lilac dress. And Pasche gives me a smile. She hasn't been crying, but she might genuinely look less sad if she had been.

"You look nice... Do you like it?" She's gentle... She's capable of such gentleness that it’s near impossible to think she’s capable of wrath.

"I think I do... Thank you, Pasche."

"Yes darling, it fits you well." Our Tailor gives me a smile as well, an understanding one. "I think I'd like to see you two leave this shop wearing these dresses."

I was left nervously playing with my hands in the awkward atmosphere. "Uhh... Yeah. Can we get a receipt on that? We were hoping we could charge it to the Avernian army-"

"Oh just take the things." She laughs, but it’s not nearly as carefree as she clearly would have liked. "I was a poor, unfortunate young girl like you two once. Any way I can help, I am happy to do so."

... Pasche and I seem to have stumbled on the strangest tailor's shop in all of Medhelanon. That or perhaps all garment makers are this bizarre, I can't say I've met many others. I almost want to insist on paying but insisting on spending money that wasn't mine is probably more than a little mean. And... This woman looks happy to offer us beautiful garments for no charge. I shouldn't deny her that. I shouldn't deny her what would make her happy-

I feel inconsistent again. I have often felt inconsistent since this campaign began, since Her Majesty cast me aside. Like I don't even know what is right or wrong anymore, and everything that I’ve been painstakingly taught is right and good is contradicted by what is natural. I hate this feeling. I want to run away. Was this why Renee ran away? Can I even run away?

Pasche puts a hand on my shoulder and gives Our Tailor a smile as we make our leave... We were making our leave? I must have been so lost in thought that I missed the part where our business was concluded… I even missed her slipping an unfamiliar package into the bag that held my officer’s dress, what did she give me? … Part of me knows I shouldn’t be opening it in front of Pasche.

We slip out into the streets of Medhelanon, Pasche looks even prettier in the sunlight. I want to take her hand. I don’t deserve it.

We don't speak, we simply wander together for a while. Eventually we find ourselves in a lovely public park, one that has no severed heads anywhere. Maybe the Samnian approach to religion had its benefits, there aren't any altars here either. Only park benches, trees and flowers, and people. And a frankly stunning fountain in the middle of it, one that was mercifully undamaged by the battle a few days ago. It is peaceful. Serene.

Pasche takes a seat on a bench, and I quickly follow her. And she puts her hand on mine. The right thing to do would be to push it away, and yet I fear the pain of guilt that would come if I did. Why is nothing I try the right answer?

"Hey, Serena..." Pasche has her attention entirely on me, and is mustering every bit of gentleness in her. "Are you okay?"

No. I am blatantly not okay. "Why do you ask, Pasche?”

"..."

I think she has to physically swallow some snarky comment to not throw a barb in my direction, this must be serious. "... It's only been about three months, you know. Usually, I think it's normal to not have such an... Affection, for people you have only known for three months. So obviously there must be something wrong with me."

"Aside from Lazierte and Antoine I haven't really known anyone I care about now for longer than three months. So if there's something wrong with you, it's something that I share."

"... Would that you did." Pasche clearly can't swallow every bit of snark in her, even if this one makes her start to cry. "I... I just can't be quiet anymore. I've tried to be, and I'm not even sure why. Maybe I just always expected that you would want to take the next step yourself, that you would want to... Have me be yours. I'm not even sure what you would call it. But clearly what you want is The Queen. Or Lazierte. Or maybe Xena. Or maybe even Katarina or Theophania, I don't even know anymore!"

She’s shaking. I hold her hand tighter, even though I can tell I’m shaking too.

"Serena, I love you. I want to be yours. I want... Something with you. And... And I really thought you did too but-"

I am choking. I am choking on all the pain and confusion that the world has thrust upon me. I’m crying. I’m crying selfishly, I have no right to fight pain that is entirely my own doing. To not want Pasche is to hurt her, and to want her is obviously to hurt her as well. For me to want anyone must hurt them, why else would Her Majesty reject me? Why else would she rather die than let me save her?

"Serena?" Pasche seems about to lean in closer, to offer my weeping self some comfort, but apparently thought better of it.

I can feel the absence of her touch on my skin… It hurts. “I’ll… I’ll hurt you. I can’t not hurt you. You have to know this.”

Pasche freezes in place, utterly taken aback by my sudden and indulgent confession. "... What makes me think you’ll hurt me?”

"... Because I love you. And because I'm no good, Pasche. I'm wrong, I'm unworthy, I'm a sinner and a blasphemer. I don’t know right from wrong and everything I do hurts because I know someday my failures will kill you all.” My voice is small, I’m not even sure I’m saying this for Pasche to hear it.

“It's because I love you that I can't allow myself to weaken you as I do. It's because I love Xena that I can't allow myself to confuse her, and because I love Lazierte that I can't allow myself to make her vulnerable. “

“Weaken me? … You think you make me weaker, Serena?”

“I do… And I care about you. I love you all. If I didn't care, if I had not a thought in the world, I'd probably have fucked Theophania by now, for gods' sake." I almost recoil in horror, I didn't expect that revelation, or that word, to come out of me.

This time Pasche does lean in, putting her arm around my shoulder and holding me closely. "Serena… You are the source of my strength. You’re the very reason that I’m alive at all. I know that the other girls feel similarly, how did you ever let yourself believe that you were unworthy? What convinced you that you were no good-"

"Because if I was any good, Her Majesty would not have rejected me!"

I am suddenly screaming... I think I might have disturbed some of the other park-goers, I’ve turned some heads with my loud, mournful, foreign gibberish. It’s easy to notice all the eyes on me, since the entire world has frozen in place as Pasche struggles to take on what I just screamed, what I just admitted. She clearly needs the time to understand just how to feel about this.

When that time is done, she’s apparently realized that she’s furious. "The Queen again?! Sweet fucking Velvet, why does that woman keep hurting you?!"

It’s enough of a shock for me to practically bounce off of her, my despair now mixed with fright... And a seed of growing anger.

Pasche gets to her feet, looking about ready to ride back to Alesia and murder my patron goddess personally. "First she tries to throw you away in exchange for a painting, then she apparently casts you aside for nothing! Serena, she is unworthy of you! I don't care what she did for you before, she's not doing it now. I don't care what gratitude you feel, you should feel furious about how she's treated you! This useless royal has exploited and undervalued you for at least as long as I have known you and you deserve better-"

"She... She was right to push me away!" I too have reached my feet, still screaming and still crying. "I... I wanted to save her! But... But I had fallen in love with Katje, I couldn't stop myself from kissing her, from holding her closely, from... She pushed me away, Pasche. I wanted too much, she deserved that right. She... She deserves the right to see that I am not good enough!"

"Serena, you know that The Queen doesn't get to decide what's true, don't you?! She's not a goddess-"

"She is my goddess, Pasche!"

... No more screams will come from me. No more standing will come from me either. My wound hurts again, my head feels light and funny. Everything hurts, and is too difficult to figure out, and is just too much of a weight to deal with. I fall forward, wondering if perhaps I'll hit the park bench with my head and finally just die and let everything be simple. Oaths be damned, I never thought that simply living would be so hard. Would be too hard for me.

Pasche catches me before I can hit the bench, and she slowly lays me down upon it, going from fury to panic in an instant. She keeps saying things, I think she’s asking if I’m okay, trying to care for me... Right after a fight too, she’s a good girl. She'll make someone worthy of her very happy someday.