(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

now a brilliant, perfect white, the lips with just a hint of red. She had Grace's
sweet voice, musical as the sound of chimes. "So cultured and
breathtaking?" She motioned me to come closer. "Come, my precious man,
my lips do not burn with Abyssal torments. Lay your lips upon mine."
"No, Ravel."
"Mayhap... is it the rougher woman that you crave, the one of passionate
fire?" Ravel glanced at Annah, who stiffened as Ravel's gaze pinned her.
"Mayhap it is HER that whets your appetite..."
"Ravel, stop this. I've no more time for your g-"
And then Ravel melted into Annah's shape, taking on her demeanor, her
features, her leather vest... "Is it the rough-edged woman that you crave,
the one for whom age has not yet tempered her passions?" Annah's...
Ravel's... tail flicked, as if in anticipation. "Come, caress my lips with your
own, and I shall please you."
"Ravel, stop these games... I have neither time nor patience for them.
Resume your form."
I blinked, and Ravel had twisted back into her original form. "A difficult man
to please are you! Pah! And wonder do they why there are no males of our
kind!"
"What other shapes can you... have you turned yourself into?"
"Maybe some, Mebbeth none." Ravel seemed confused by the question.
"I've not a-membered such, I've neen, I-vene, Ei-Vene, mayhap? Neither
smarta nor Marta... so many threads and branchings, so many Ravels...
always stitching and mending and growing are my forms."
"Mebbeth? You were Mebbeth?" I asked in shock. It couldn't have been...
"That may have been one of my names... yes?" Ravel looked more confused,
her black-veined eyes becoming misty. "Names are difficult to remember..."
Her voice became faint. "Like calling across a great distance..."
"Mebbeth was kind to me and helped me, Ravel. That means YOU helped
me. I thank you."
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