The room was modest — larger than Vespera's, but similar in style. Dark wood furniture. Enchanted windows. A bed — king-sized, heavy posts, silk sheets in deep burgundy. A vanity with a mirror. A wardrobe.
She stood in the center of the room. Her back to me. Her hands at her sides. Her breathing was audible — rapid, shallow, the breathing of a woman on the edge of a decision.
"I must tell you," she said. Her voice was thin. Careful. The voice of a woman constructing arguments in real-time. "That hole is not for sex. It is not designed for that purpose. The anatomy — the tissue is not elastic enough, the musculature is not—"
"Have you not had sex before? There."
She turned. Her face was crimson. "No. Of course not. Aldric — he never — we never—"
"Then you don't know," I said. I stepped closer. "You don't know what it feels like. You're assuming it will hurt based on ignorance."
