On the tranquil surface of the endless and yet enclosed ocean of Sera’s mind, there was a disturbance. After many hours, many days of trying she had sunken into a meditative state, nourished by her connection to the goddess, Elune, and little else, and so she had sat for uncounted moons, seeing and hearing nothing, feeling nothing, time washing over her not without being felt, but without being registered. It changed. Something changed. The air in her quiet enclosure, her cell, was disturbed. There was a foreign presence, someone else, who brought unwelcome novelty to her. No longer was the air in equilibrium, precisely as warm as she desired it, no longer was the silence total, and no longer was she free of any scent.

Sera took the first conscious breath of many nights, and the honey-lavender scent of Erys assaulted her nostrils, and spread in her mind. Thoughts sprouted in the wake of that sensation, bringing her closer to the self that had laid dormant and now, at last, rose to inhabit her body again. How long had she been sat there, in meditative trance, waiting to be called upon?

Without success, she tried to vocalize that thought. Nothing but crackling sounds and breath came out. Sera inhaled, and blinked. Slowly. A single slit in the spherical, druid-grown coccoon of wood in which she sat allowed moonlight in, and by that light, she saw her own hands. Purple skin. Strong. As she had left them. Placed upon her knees, her legs crossed. Another breath. She was once a sentinel, now a kind of knight. Blessed, brought out to handle one crisis or another, otherwise remaining in trance, cared for by Erys. The priestess. Her priestess. Caretaker. The one who laid her to rest, lulled her to something not quite sleep, but a dissociation so profound and all-encompassing that she understood and registered nothing. Not until she was brought back. Sera tried again, after swallowing. Her throat was dry, but it still helped. Somehow.

“Why am I back? Why have you called me?”

“We need your help, sister,” Erys said.

Sera closed her eyes, trying, with ethereal thought-fingers, to capture that voice, to entomb the words within her mind, so that she could keep them as hers, forever. She breathed deep, focused inwards, but nevertheless felt the memory of Erys’ delicate voice slip her mind again.

“When will I be free of this debt?”

“What debt, sister?”

“Is that ... not why I sit here,” Sera said, halting herself. “Why am I here, if not to repay some debt?”

“You have chosen this, Sera,” Erys said.

Still, they had not seen each other. Sera remained on the floor of the little wooden bulb. Cell. Facing the arrow-slit window, her senses still settling in her. Competing for attention. She saw a sliver of the midnight blue, star-studded sky. She scented the priestess’ clean, perfumed form, the earth and vegetation outside, the rock giving off the heat it had absorbed throughout the day. She felt the cloth upon which she sat, the pliant wood below. Her own hands upon her knees. The temperature slowly falling, the humidity lowering. Erys had to have left a door open behind her.

“I chose this?”

“You looked upon me, looked me in the eyes, and nodded, when I asked, last, if you still wished to serve the order as you have for decades,” Erys said. “So, I set you here. Again. Agreed that, when next there was a need for you, I would call upon you.”

“And now there is a need?”

“You ought to wake properly, first. To be blessed, to have your connection with the goddess reforged.”

“Elune,” Sera said. She breathed in again, and tore her eyes from the little slice of the outside, to instead look at her arms. Bare, up to the middle of each upper arm. Strong. She was strong. Thick, blue-white, dimly shining bands of what seemed like luminescent paint coiled up and down, around, occasionally branching off into spirals. In the desert-ocean nothingness of her mind, soft moonlight came to her, wreathed her in its glow, and comfort. Again, she breathed in, deep. Closed her eyes, and allowed the feeling to encompass her, allowed the little, faint prickling dots to run their course across her skin. To her shoulders, her chest and back, her thighs.

Sera sensed the graceful footstep of her priestess, her sister in the faith, by her side. Standing there for a moment, then advancing to stand before her, turning in place to face her. Opening her eyes, she looked up, and saw her caretaker. Unbidden, Sera’s right hand, its fingers, rose from her knee just half an inch. There was an urge for it to rise further still, to find Erys’ cheek, and caress it. But she knew, as well, that this would be wrong. Unwise, somehow. Too familiar, too close. Closer than they were. Had been.

Instead, Sera watched Erys, framed by the pale moonlight, find a seat on her knees. White, simple robe, white tresses controlled by a ponytail nevertheless reaching so far down her back as to make it impossible for Sera to see where it ended. Faded, lilac wings painted on her face. Erys’ eyes were unusual, and until Sera had been sent far south, and had come upon a lagoon with unfathomably clear, turqoise-blue water, she had not had a natural thing with which to compare them. When had she been sent south? What had she done, there?

Erys, who seemed much more calm and comfortable with the situation than Sera, offered an understanding, pleasant smile. Rising from her seat on her own heels just so, she did not hesitate to reach her right hand out, cupping Sera’s cheek. Warm, and soft, and ... why was it fine for her to do it, if it was too familiar for Sera to do it? She looked into Erys’ eyes, and then lowered her gaze, as well as her brows.

“You have been torn out of nothing, and everything is very confusing right now, Sera, my knight. I know. I understand. But it will come back to you,” Erys said. She stroked Sera’s cheek, just so. “If you will only be patient, and let me work.”

“Work? On me?”

“Yes, sister,” Erys said.

Sera nodded. She raised her eyes again. Erys was a head smaller than her, and easily noted as so when sat where she was. Smaller, but confident in her smooth movements. Confident in the hand that remained, for another few seconds, on Sera’s cheek. Withdrawn, then, and dipped into a small pot that the priestess had produced from somewhere. From a sack, which she had brought in with her. Sera’s attention focused on the two extended fingers, index and middle, which emerged outstretched from the container, their tips aglow with azure-white material. Clinging to them. Sticky, and thick. Sera leaned backwards a few inches as Erys’ fingers approached her face.

“Be still, sister. I am touching up your markings, nothing more. Or less.”

“Markings,” Sera said. She took a breath, eyes sinking to her arms. The bands snaking around and over her skin had to be on her face, too. She exhaled audibly through lips only just parted, and then nodded, leaning back into her former position. “Fine.”

Erys’ fingers, beneath the sticky, cool material being carefully smeared against Sera’s skin, were warm. Comfortable. She wanted their touch, and a thought, at once her own and feeling an intrusion, came to her, a reminder of who Erys was. They worked together before. Many times. They had been here, in just this position, many times. And when Sera went into the trance state, Erys’ fingers had been there. A soft humming. The knight – that was what she was – had thought to herself that she hoped and wanted those fingers to be in place again when she woke. Even knowing, as she knew, that she would be confused when emerging again from slumber.

Those digits traced two curving lines down either side of Sera’s face. Jagged, in places. Glaives. Her markings were glaives. She raised her right hand, curling her fingers around Erys’ wrist, not to crush, not really even to stop, just to hold.

“We ... were close,” Sera said.

A wry smile creased Erys’ lips. “Were we?”

“I think we were.”

“I think you wanted us to be, sister,” Erys said. She wiped her hand thoroughly in a piece of cloth, and then laid her fingers against Sera’s cheek once again. For a little while. “What do you remember?”

“You were with me when I went into this trance. And I hoped you would be here, too, when I woke,” Sera said. “We have worked together for a long time. Known each other for a long time. You wake me when there is a need for me, and otherwise, I sit here. It is safer that way. Though I know not why.”

Erys caressed Sera’s cheek, and then withdrew her hand. Dipping its fingers into the pot once more, she indicated the vest and shirt that Sera wore with her head. “Remove those.”

As commanded, Sera removed her clothes. It was, for a moment, a mystery to her how she maintained the physique she still had, given she had remained still as a statue for days. Weeks. Months? But then, as she had not needed to eat or drink thanks to the power that flowed through her, neither had her body deteriorated at all. She was precisely carved from marble, as she had been when she entered the trance state, chiseled abs, muscle, on display. The swirling, thick bands of power coiled up over her torso, across one heavy breast, splitting then to reach shoulders and arms.

With a slow movement, one Sera had difficulty parsing, Erys pressed her fingers against some of that muscle, taking in a deep breath as she smeared the same azure-white, glowing substance into place, atop the already luminous lines. The priestess whispered nothings under her breath, words that Sera could not hear, little other than the occasional fragment recognized more from a pattern of breath expelled and lips moved than because the coherent sound reached her ears. The name of the goddess. Elune. She was being blessed, invested with power.

Erys stood, placed herself behind Sera, and repeated the seance there, drawing atop those lines that no doubt already existed, placing into them another measure of strength. And Sera remained, all the while, sat with her shirt and vest in her grasp, in her lap.

“We must do something about these scars,” Erys said, as she seemed to finish her work on Sera’s back. “Unless you want to keep them?”

“You have asked that before,” Sera replied. She narrowed her eyes, drawing thoughts up from an internal well she did not know she had. “And I asked you not to do anything.”

“You did.”

“Why ask now, again, then?”

“For precisely this reason,” Erys said. She placed the tips of a few fingers, spread, feather-light, against Sera’s strong back. “To make you remember.”

Sera remembered that, and more. It came back to her, like moss infiltrating and covering ruins, thoughts that were hers, a past her, returned, and covered over more and more empty space. Filled in the parts of her that were missing. She remembered, too, that she would now, at this point in proceedings, ask for the pot of sticky material herself, and that she was to touch up her lower body herself. That she did not want the priestess to have to kneel before her and do so. It was not proper. Sera reached a hand behind herself.

“You made me remember. At just the right moment, priestess. I will do the rest myself.”

“You need not.”

“I do,” Sera said. “Please, the pot.” After a few moments, it settled in her hand. A tiny thing, feeling light, and yet she knew that it would still be swimming with as much of the stuff as she needed. “I will be out in but a few moments.”

Seconds passed, and then she heard Erys rise, and walk to the door that she knew was there, even if she had yet to turn and see it. The hiss of the fabric covering the entryway moving over the priestess’ form, and then, the cloth settling, the weights at the bottom finding rest, Sera was once again alone.

Along with memories, with thoughts that told her who she was, who her friends and family and acquaintances were, alongside the glorious and terrible deeds she had accomplished in the past, had come other notions. Fragments of dreams, and desires, which she knew then that she had forbidden her past self – she should not have mentioned being close to Erys. She had not been. She had long desired to be close, but also known that she could not so denigrate the woman. Could not put in jeopardy her sacred duty, which they oversaw together. But, goddess, to be blessed, to be chosen, and then be unable to even think of using the blessing. Did Erys want it?

Sera stood. Slowly, unsteadily, for a few moments, after which she pressed open the settled buttons of her trousers, and began to work them down her hips and thighs. There were multiple aspects to being one of Elune’s chosen, the majority of them entirely chaste and well-known, but one thing in particular was kept rather more quiet, and for good reason. The reputation of any priestess working with one of the chosen would be sorely challenged – not that anyone engaged in anything untoward, but that would not stop any of the kaldorei from talking among themselves.

With an effort, she pressed her trousers another inch down, and then another, and, at last, they slackened and fell, revealing the colossal girth with which she had also been blessed. Its stirring was what had prompted her to ask whether she and Erys had been close, and though nothing but the priestess’ scent remained now, each breath let the lavender mist curl into and around Sera’s thoughts, causing the behemoth to waken a little more. She closed her eyes, breathed out, and found that it only caused her to cease, not to relax.

That colossus still remained in its place, wide, soft, flexible bands of cloth holding it against her densely muscled left thigh. There, it pulsed, very slowly. Waiting for Sera to slip up, for an errant thought to tell it to go on as it had been, and given just a few more moments, another memory came to her, arising from the murk of her mind at precisely the wrong moment. A moment’s mistake, when Sera had pushed aside the cover over the doorway to the baths, where her eyes had feasted upon Erys’ firm, peachy backside. She could not let go of that image, nor, she realized later, had there ever even been a question of control. Natural, primal, almost as if the gift she had been given by Elune set in her, encouraged in her, such behavior.

Sera took a deep breath, and sighed it out between parted lips. Tried to still her mind. Focused instead on the pot of sticky material, which she dipped twin fingers into, to then follow a slowly swirling band down her right thigh. She had to seat herself again to follow it all the way down past her knee, thrice circling her shin, tapering off into nothing as it moved past her ankle and onto the top of her foot. Much the same repeated on her other thigh. And, in that precise moment, rather more dangerously, from her hard stomach to the root of her huge, fat cock, down its smoothly-veined, weighty length, splitting into a twin-branched tree, one along its top, one curling down, repeatedly crossing over that wide, thick cumvein, as if to be sure to instill the blessing of the goddess in any load she pumped out.