"Queen Titania has requested to see you."

That is just great.

She sighs and stands. ,, Okay. ,,

Moonlight now filtered through the branches, dappling the path with silver shadows. The night was warm, and faint strings of music drifted on the breeze. In the darkness, the satyr's face looked less human and more staring-black-goat. A strand of moonlight fell over her, and she was normal again. Smiling, she took their hands and led them forward.


The bramble tunnel seemed longer this time, filled with twists and turns. If they bothered to look back, they would see that the thorns were closing behind them, the tunnel vanishing from sight.

Lise didn't look back and simply followed the other satyr girl.

She doesnt comment on it.

The tunnel opened into a moonlit grove. Music drifted on the breeze, played by a willowy green girl on an elegant golden harp. A small group of elven girls clustered around a tall, vine-backed chair with white roses growing out of the arms.

Sitting at the foot of the chair was a human. A young man with curly blond hair, his eyes blank and bemused. He was shirtless, and a golden collar encircled his neck, attached to a thin silver chain. The group of fey girls swarmed around him, kissing his bare shoulders, rubbing their hands over his chest, whispering things in his ear. One of them ran a pink tongue up his neck, her fingernails drawing bloody gouges down his back, making him arch with ecstasy.

On the throne was a woman of such otherworldly beauty. Her long hair shifted colors in the moonlight, sometimes silver, sometimes brightest gold. Arrogance warred with the aura of power surrounding her. As the satyr pulled them forward and bowed, the woman narrowed glittering blue eyes and regarded the girls as though examining a slug found beneath a log.

Lise stared up at the woman, then shifted her gaze elsewhere. That was a habit that she definitely had to fix. The entirely of the scene in front of her made her uncomfortable, more than she had been in oberons presence.

Isiea stares up at her, wiping the soot off of her face.

"So," she said at last, her voice dripping poisoned icicles, "these are Oberons little ******s."