Priscilla's eyes opened to a blinding light that made her groan. She turned her head to the right, but the light followed. She turned to the left, and the light faded. She slid her right hand up to rub the sleep from her eyes but felt something feathery rubbing against her small breasts.
She took a breath of warm air and lifted her head to inspect what was touching her. She found herself covered by a large white feathery wing. It covered her entire upper body, its feathers as soft as clouds and as white as snow. Priscilla giggled stupidly to herself and slid her hand across the top. Her memories were hazy, and she didn't remember how she got here, but the feathers felt good.
She laid her head back against the soft pillow but found that accursed light was still there. She groaned as she tilted her head back up to stare at the source. It was a derelict curtain that hadn't been closed all the way, its creak gutted a razor-thin line of light across the pillows. She threw her head back to angle in such a way the light no longer bothered her. She continued to pet the wing.
She then discovered something. The wing was attached to something. This discovery swept a little of the haze aside. She felt soft, warm skin on her fingers. It was inviting and welcoming. She turned her head to see who was next to her. She found a delicate white face, framed by snowy silk hair. Her eyes were shut and her long eyelashes guarding the pools of gold beneath like elegantly made gatekeepers.
Just below her small nose, were those soft plump lips she had kissed, by accident, in the field. She smiled to herself as she remembered that, her heart fluttering. She didn't know how she was so calm as she tried to turn over. Her lower body felt like dead weight, but she didn't pay it any mind. Her crush was beside her, and that took up all her hazy thoughts.
After some effort, she managed to get on her side, no thanks to her numb legs. In the act, her stomach protested, along with her back. She didn't care though - Cyril was beside her. Naked. She had found this when she shuffled onto her side. To soft white mounts had been pressed against her arm. She had mistaken them for something else, for what, she didn't know. She paid it no mind.
She looked down, comparing them to hers, and felt insecure about her small perky breasts. Hers were tipped in pink, small and cone-shaped. The other girl's breast was far larger. Her nipples were hidden out of sight, guarded by her breasts that were three times the size of hers. They were like... She couldn't think of an example. They just were.
A few moments later, she saw both their hair swirl amongst each other. Rivers of white mingled with thick streams of raven black. Crisscrossing each other before separating. A naughty thought, one she had never had before, reared its head. Priscilla's hand began to glide its way towards Cyril's breasts. Priscilla's face was flushed, her inky eyes, flecked with silver, reflected her desire.
"I don't think that'd be a good idea," Layla spoke up. "Fondling a sleeping person is a crime in most places."
Priscilla's hand froze, the desire still burning in her eyes. But the voice was not one she recognized. Annoyed, she turned her head over to see who interrupted her moments from bliss. What she saw in the dim light, was a rather mature woman with dark almond hair and matching eyes - flecked with silver.
She wasn't as pretty as me, so why does she get to stop me? Priscilla's hazy mind cursed. She couldn't understand how looks came into play, but it was the first insult she could think of. She didn't know why she felt the need to insult the woman. The small flags sent up by the thoughts were quickly forgotten, burned on their poles, when she remembered she'd been interrupted.
As if reading the thoughts on her expression, Layla smiled. "Don't give me that look, young girl. Molesting another girl, especially your savior, isn't a good look for you."
"I.. Did nothing wrong," Pricilla said while pouting. The words strangely heavy on her tongue. Her mouth felt like cotton.
"Not yet at least," Layla reminded her of what she was about to do. The gravity of it was slowly beginning to set in when Layla continued. "You've been heavily sedated for the last two days. You took the worst hit out of everyone still alive, or so Bishop Luis says."
To prove it, Layla held up a large girl that looked like milk, but not milk. It had a small tag with unreadable writing.
"Poppy milk," Layla told her. "Your injury was bad enough to warrant large doses to keep you under so you didn't hurt yourself."
"Wwwhy--" Priscilla's tongue wasn't working well, maybe from being dry. Layla was quick to hand her a small glass cup that must have cost several gold coins. Priscilla looked at it, found it was water and almost gulped it all down.
"Sip at it," Layla held the cup firmly until Priscilla acknowledged the command. She let go afterward and Priscilla tried to sit up. A hand slid under her bareback and pushed her up, and the wing moved away. "Good morning, Lady Cyril."
"Good morning to you too, Miss Layla." Cyril didn't honor her with a smile. Her focus entirely on Priscilla.
Priscilla blushed as she felt the hand, pressed against her mid-back, helped her. Butterflies took flight in her belly. The conversation was quickly forgotten as she sipped at the water, and looked at Cyril.
"Drink slower," Cyril said softly.
Priscilla did so while sizing up Cyril's body as she sat up. Her wings folded back, revealing just how... Fit it was. It wasn't a hulking mass of muscles, but neither was there any fat that didn't add to her appeal. Layla coughed, bringing Priscilla's slow mind back into the moment. More aware of herself, she realized she had the glass to her lips, but she hadn't drunk anything. Both the women were staring at her now.
"To answer your question," Layla began. "When that monster 'stabbed' you -"