The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[Zevran]

"Mi'bela," Zevran murmurs, their foreheads almost touching as he stares into her eyes. "Isabela of the beautiful heart." He brushes her lips again with his, the kiss unruined by the smile preventing him from applying any real technique to it. "Together then, to a better us."

[Coquette Blacquin]

She is drowning, and the lake is hot

a cock thrusting into her again and again, ruthlessly

and she can't catch her breath, her breathing is labored

pain like being split open, like her pelvis will snap apart, then the contraction eases

and she's so hot, so very hot

pain like being split open, being thrust into roughly, not so much by a cock as a boulder

but she has to focus because....

drowning, water flooding her lungs, filling her

because...

drowning, semen flooding her lungs, filling her

because someone needed her.

screaming her throat hoarse and still the nightmare won't end

Someone needed her. 

covered in her own blood and her back barely working but she gets to her feet

Someone... Mel? Shisou? Gold? It was all a blur

bits of brain and skull splattered on the floor, Mother staring at it blankly

Someone takes her hand gently, and it feels more solid, more real than anything else in the past several hours. The assault of visions slows, the curtain rising enough for her to open her feverish eyes, struggling to get them to focus. 

[Zevran]

"Little child, be not afraid. Though wind makes creatures of our trees."

The words don't make sense, not entirely, but the voice is pleasing. Not polished, not the equal of... of others she's heard. She thinks. But warm and soothing. Familiar; a good familiar, one that brings to mind comfort and pleasure. A budding trust that springs from...

"And their branches to hands; they're not real, understand."

Respect she thinks. And compassion. Real compassion, that offers more than formulaic words or easy gestures. A trust that was returned, warily, hesitantly, and all the more precious for that reserve. 

"And I am here tonight."

There's a pause in the singing, a soft sigh, a brush of cool cloth against her forehead that contrasts with the bundle of heavy, vibrating warmth pressed against her shoulder. Also a familiar sensation, though she can't place it just yet. It feels off though, as if she expects it to be just the same as it is but elsewhere. Her stomach?

[Coquette Blacquin]

There's one person in the world she wants that weight to be, one person she calls out for, the name a whimper from her parched lips:

"Bull?"

[Zevran]

No. No, the weight is far too small for Bull. Still, her voice causes the singer to break off from the first few words of the next stanza. Instead, the bed shifts underneath her as they move, then a damp cloth wipes across her lips. "Coquette? Are you with us, Coquette?" the singer asks in a low, hopeful voice. A few drops of water come next, slipping between her lips slowly.

[Coquette Blacquin]

She is silent for a while, a long while -- almost long enough to give up. Finally, when she speaks, it's in a low, almost threatening voice: "This body is dying."

[Zevran]

That also gets a pause. "Trying to fix that actually," is the cautious response. "Also... 'this body?'"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"It is not my body." That's said with disgust. "I am far superior to this sullied flesh. But it is the body I seem to inhabit." 

Another pause. "I have been informed I should tell you I am not a possessing force."

[Zevran]

"Lovely to know," the voice replied, a healthy note of caution joining the gentle, soothing tone. "What are you then? And... who gave that advice?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I am called Xyrrim." 

[Zevran]

I've heard that name before, I think. "I see. And... how did you end up in Coquette's body exactly?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

There is silence, as Coquette's eyes close once more. 

[Zevran]

Almost despite himself, Zevran's free hand snaps out to poke her right on the tit, intending to jar her back awake.

[Coquette Blacquin]

Her eyes snap awake, but her expression changes -- neither the sneer from before, nor the placid blankness it was slipping back into, but a fearful expression. "Bull," she whispers. "Where is he?" she demands, a bit stronger. "What have you done with him?!"

[Zevran]

Cursing himself, Zevran shows both of his hands, a faint smile fixed firmly in place. "Coquette? Do you recognize me?" he asks gently.