She felt his body, fingers curling into the thick double-pelt of his black form. He was like her but so different, even in the way he felt. To touch the night was to touch this boy, though his body hardly resembled that of one. Reluctantly she pulled away from him, green eyes gleaming hungrily with each word. Oh what wonders he had seen; how she envied him in a way that would forever linger. One day she would go, but he had been first—he had seen and knew what world lived outside of their own.
While she envied this, a smaller, childish part of her feared the world outside. Perhaps it was best to hide here, where power was understood. She did not liked the idea of a universe where she had no power. Salsola was home; Salsola was safe.
She felt another hot rush in her belly at his low, rumbling voice. Quite suddenly she pulled her body close, her hips pressing against his own while she leaned her torso back to look up at him. “More than the sun,” she purred, tilting her head in a way that would have been seductive were she older and aware of it. “Did you miss me, Pan?” Her pupils grew, imitating those of their father. Desperation lived in her blood.
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