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Betilla sighed. She sighed as she came down from her high, as Ales rolled off her, as he tucked his snout under her chin and hummed in satisfaction. Her breaths still felt warm, loved, shaky. The only bliss more comfortable than making love was laying down on it, feeling it beat under your skin as you came back down from cloud nine. It was the nymph’s favorite part. The quiet settled in. The lovers basked in their company, hands intertwining and squeezing together to relish in the presence of the other. The fairy turned her head to the side, watching dazed as she squeezed the magician’s fingers to extend his claws. They were nicely manicured, cut down short and dulled, with a nice coat of iridescent black painted over them to give them a subtle glimmer. She hummed, comparing his claws with those of the many tinamajiks that had sprouted over the centuries, all thicker and unable to retract like his. Glamours were rarely perfect, and it made Betilla think. “Ales,” she whispered, “are you still there?” “Hm?” The Teensy droned, its vibrations feeling more like a purr under his darling’s jaw. “So soon you want this to end? What a drag~ you usually want me to stay a little longer–“ “Why do you keep your glamour up around me?” She asked, interrupting Ales’ languid musing. “Even when we sleep together. Isn’t it exhausting?” Ales chuckled, twirling his free finger around his earring. “Not with the right tools, it isn’t.” The dangling disk was bright, a lovely silver that reflected the moon’s beams at the right angles. If one hadn’t known its origins, they’d assume his jewelry was meant to directly mimic the Glade’s pale satellite, but Betilla knew better. “Ah, well, it’s a little bit funny to me,” she whispered, seemingly to herself. “Why’s that?” “Because I can still tell it’s you.” The Magician laughed again, this time a loud squawk. His cackles were incredulous, and he tried to stifle them by burying his nose into Betilla’s chest. His snorting tickled. “Baby, I’m not trying to hide that it’s me,” he finally blurted out, when he had finally found enough air to speak. “I swear, you’re a riot sometimes. Can’t I just want to look pretty around you?” Betilla had smiled at Ales’ amusement, but his offhand comment about his appearance tightened her lips. She wished her words could hold more than what they did now. She wished they could dig themselves into his mind and plant her exact thought process into it so he could better understand. “I don’t think I’m making enough sense,” the nymph admitted with a sigh. She tried again, her smile loosening once more. “I mean, despite your fancy disguises and what not, I can still see every part of you.” Before Ales could ask her what she meant, her hand gripping his let go, carefully tracing a ring around his snout. The Magician tensed up at the sudden intimacy. “I know your spot stops exactly here,” she muttered affectionately, fingers gingerly rising to draw invisible lines around the circumference of the ‘spot’. “And you have four stripes, all of them slightly different lengths. I believe the one nearest to your bridge is the longest.” The Teensy’s eyelids fluttered. His mind relished in the affection, and his heart ached at the kindness in his fairy’s words, in her touch, in her smile. He refused to let them delve too deep inside, only wanting to focus on the attention, pretending he’s getting it because he deserved it. They shifted enough for Betilla to land her palm on his chest, and Ales realized she was far too close to hear his heart beg for more. “Careful now,” he mumbled, his grin too wide and insincere. “You might rile me up again, and then you won’t be able to get rid of me.” He laughed again, but it rang wrong in Betilla’s ears. She bit the inside of her cheek, irritated. “Hush now, I’m trying to speak to you–“ “I’m not the one fondling my own breast, hun,” Ales continued carelessly. His tone was poisoned with irony, with a need to be detached, even when he physically wasn’t. Even with skin pressed against skin, he wanted to act like he was behind glass. It began to get on the nymph’s nerves. “Maybe you should keep your lustful wiles chained a little better.” Betilla flipped him to his back, pining his hand to the mattress as she loomed over the smaller limbless. “I’m trying to be sincere with you, Magician. I expect you to show me the same amount of grace.”
Ales froze in place. His face burned with embarrassment; not the same kind of warmth as if he were just being coy, if this situation were a bit more playful. It was redder, indignant, but not necessarily angry. Maybe he did want to be mad at the nymph, mad at her prodding, but he knew he was just upset at his failing glamour. He scoffed. ”Maybe I should get a better disguise then,” Ales spat his words out quietly, quickly regretting their harsh tone. He didn’t dare to face the fairy. “That way, it’d be harder for you to focus on those utterly garish stripes.” “Please,” Betilla pleaded sternly, yet carefully. “Focus on my words.” She swallowed saliva as she ran over her words, over and over again, wanting her intent to be clear, concise, and difficult to avoid. “I don't just see your stripes. This is what I’m trying to say. Regardless of what you look like, I can only focus on you, on everything that makes you Ales.” With a quick flick of her pointer against the earring, the glamour dissipated as if it were nothing. Soap suds easily brushed away. Blond hair became silver, and brown skin became blue fur. The Magician shuddered at how quickly Betilla collapsed his own magic, a violent hurricane against a stick house. It didn’t ravage him, though, it landed on his cheek with tenderness. “You’re handsome in all forms,” the nymph continued, her smile returning under the soft light of the moon, “because you’re handsome to me. I adore your style.” She gently moved the Teensy’s locs about, slipping her free hand under the ones covering his face to move them aside. They revealed fox eyes, misty with emotion. “And I adore your gaze. They’re like pools of the night sky, with stars and constellations and two round moons for me to stare at.” Betilla’s palm returned to his chest. “I adore your heart, it beats so loudly for so many things, and I am honored to be one of them.” She felt long winded, but what else could she do? She needed to clarify, to explain, to pour her soul out until every single detail submerged The Magician and washed away any silly needs to mask for her at all times. “I’m sorry, does that make more sense?” Ales wanted to cry. He wanted to be as sincere as she was, and tell her it was no mere self deprecation. He didn’t want to be associated with dark eyes, or blue stripes, or anything connecting him to the miserable old beasts insisting he was a joke of a Teensy. But he couldn’t explain something so cruel to Betilla, she’d be disgusted. She’d think his heart was full of tar. Even so, a part of him felt comfort that his love thought of these attributes as his and his alone, no relation to any of the creatures walking the Glade of Dreams. His style, his gaze, his stripes and his heart were all exclusive to Ales Mansay. The Teensy dragged his other hand to the fairy’s face, retractable claws glimmering iridescent as his paw gently pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He tried imagining her as one of his kind, small and blue and big nosed, with a gaze that could still see past any glamours and only stare at the person underneath with nothing but love. He wondered if he could be kind enough to just see Betilla as well. “Don’t be sorry,” The Magician whispered, and lied as honestly as he could, “I think I get it.”