The new city was a cacophony of neon and rain, a place called Penacony where dreams were currency and reality had a bitter, metallic taste. For Stelle, it was just another stop on the Trailblaze, and another opportunity for her sacred ritual. The trash cans here were different sleek, pneumatic, and filled with the discarded ephemera of a thousand forgotten fantasies. It was in the alley behind a particularly opulent dream casino, sifting through discarded reverie tokens for anything of value, that she saw her.
It was just a glimpse. A flash of familiar pink hair under the relentless, strobing advertisements. A posture, a way of holding her head, that was so deeply ingrained in Stelle's memory it was like a part of her own reflection.
"March?"
The name was a ghost on her lips. It couldn't be. The Astral Express had docked for repairs, but March had been confined to her room, suffering from a severe bout of memory sickness after their last encounter with the Garden of Recollection. A side effect of her unique condition, Himeko had said. She needed rest.
But the figure moved with a purpose that was anything but restful. Stelle abandoned her half full trash bag, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. She followed, a shadow in the rain slicked streets, her mind racing. It was March. It had to be. But something was wrong. Her usual bubbly, energetic walk was replaced by a slow, gliding grace that was unnervingly deliberate, almost soulless.
The trail led her to a part of the city that didn't appear on the official tourist maps, a district of red lanterns and hushed promises called the Reverie's End. The name was a cruel joke. This was where dreams came to die. And to her dawning horror, the pink haired figure slipped through a beaded curtain into a building marked with the sign of a stylized, sleeping moon. A brothel.
Stelle's blood ran cold. This was impossible. Wrong. She pushed through the curtain, her entrance causing a brief ripple in the room's cloying, perfumed atmosphere. A bored looking attendant at a lacquered desk looked up, their eyes scanning her with a practiced, transactional gaze.
"Welcome to the Lunar Cradle. Are you seeking a specific dream tonight?"
Stelle's throat was dry. "I'm looking for someone. Pink hair, about this tall, a mix of pink and blue eyes… her name is March."
The attendant's expression didn't change, but a flicker of recognition lit their eyes. They consulted a data slate. "Ah, yes. The new girl. Calls herself 'Evernight.' A rare beauty. You have good taste. And you're lucky. She has an opening." The attendant named a price that was so astronomically high it was clearly meant for the city's elite. It was a price that could fund a small expedition.
This wasn't a transaction. It was a ransom. Without a word, Stelle produced her wallet, her hands shaking slightly as she transferred the credits. The attendant's eyebrows rose in surprise, but they simply nodded. "The Serenity Room. Down the hall. She is waiting for you."
The room was small, decorated in deep blues and silvers, meant to evoke a sense of calm. But there was no calm in Stelle's heart. There was only a cold, screaming dread. And then, a side door opened, and she walked in.
It was March. And it wasn't. Her hair was the same, her face was the same, but the life was gone from it. Her usual bright, expressive a mix of pink and blue eyes were a flat, cold, crimson red. Her smile was a perfect, practiced, empty curve. She was a flawless, cold replica.
"Stelle?" Evernight's voice was a soft, melodic hum, a distorted echo of March's usual cheerful tone. She approached, her movements fluid, and wrapped her arms around Stelle in a hug that held no warmth. "I… I wasn't expecting you."
For a single, hopeful second, Stelle hugged her back, burying her face in the familiar scent of her hair. "March, thank god. What are you doing here? We need to get you out of this place."
Evernight pulled back, her red eyes holding a flicker of something that might have been pity. "I am not March," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I am Evernight. March is… sleeping. She was in too much pain. The memories were too loud. So, I am here to protect her. To keep her safe until she is ready to wake up."
"By doing this?" Stelle's voice was a ragged whisper of disbelief.
"This is a transaction," Evernight explained, her tone maddeningly reasonable. "There is no emotion. No connection. No one gets hurt. It is the safest form of intimacy. It is my job. And you are a customer."
Before Stelle could protest, Evernight's lips were on hers. The kiss was technically perfect, but utterly soulless. Her hands moved with a practiced efficiency, unfastening the clasps of Stelle's jacket.
"No," Stelle said, pushing her away, her hands on Evernight's shoulders. "No, March, stop. I'm here to take you home."
"I told you," Evernight's voice was still soft, but a hard, unyielding edge crept into it. "I am not March. And I am simply doing my job. Now, let me serve you."
She leaned in again, and in that moment, looking into those cold, red eyes, Stelle understood. Arguing was pointless. This persona, this 'Evernight,' was a fortress. She couldn't break it down with logic. She would have to excavate it, carefully, piece by piece, until she found the girl trapped inside.
"Alright," Stelle whispered, her heart breaking. "If this is your job… then do it." She let her hands fall, a gesture of surrender. But in her mind, a desperate, defiant plan was forming. She would not be a customer. She would be an archeologist.
Evernight's smile returned, still empty, and she resumed her work. She kissed Stelle again, and this time, Stelle did not resist. Evernight's hands moved over her body, massaging her breasts through her shirt, her touch skilled but detached.
"This is wrong," Stelle whispered against her lips, a final, desperate gambit. "Let me do you instead. I know March will remember me."
The words seemed to cause a flicker in the system. Evernight paused, her red eyes clouded with a flicker of confusion. The mention of March's name, the suggestion of a memory, was a crack in the fortress wall.
Stelle didn't wait for an answer. She took control.
Her kiss changed. It was no longer a passive acceptance. It was a tender, desperate plea. She poured every memory, every shared laugh, every quiet moment on the Express into it. It was a kiss that was not for Evernight, but for the girl sleeping underneath.
Evernight shuddered, a small, involuntary tremor. Stelle took it as a victory. Her hands, no longer limp, came up to cup Evernight's face, then moved lower, her touch a stark contrast to the soulless efficiency she had just experienced. Her fingers were reverent, tracing the lines of the body she knew so well.
"Do you remember, March?" Stelle whispered, her voice a low, hypnotic murmur as she began to slowly unbutton Evernight's gaudy, borrowed dress. "Do you remember when we first met? On the Space Station? You were the first person I saw. You were so bright, so full of life. You took my picture. You gave me a name."
She pushed the dress from Evernight's shoulders, her hands caressing the soft skin, her thumbs brushing over her collarbones. She left a soft, desperate kiss on her neck. Evernight's breath hitched.
Stelle moved lower, her lips and hands a cartography of memory. She kissed the soft curve of her breast, her touch worshipful. She gently pinched a nipple, and a soft, surprised moan escaped Evernight's lips. It was the first genuine sound she had made.
"Do you remember Jarilo VI?" Stelle continued, her voice thick with emotion as she took a taut nipple into her mouth, sucking gently. "It was so cold. We were fighting for our lives in the snow. But you were always there, a little spark of warmth in the darkness. You never gave up hope." She left a small, possessive mark on the pale skin, a brand of ownership that was not about control, but about remembrance. "I think… I think that's when I started to fall in love with you, March. Watching you shine in the darkest place in the universe."
She moved from one breast to the other, her mouth a vessel for her memories, her hands a testament to her devotion. With every touch, every whispered story, she could feel the rigid, practiced composure of Evernight beginning to tremble.
Stelle's hands moved lower, over the soft expanse of her stomach, finally reaching the waistband of her thin panties. Her fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding the hard, sensitive nub of her clit. She rubbed it gently, a slow, circling pressure. "Please remember me, March," Stelle pleaded, her voice a broken thing. She looked up, and saw that Evernight's eyes were squeezed shut, her face a mask of conflict and overwhelming sensation.
"Can I go down?" Stelle asked, her voice a raw whisper.
A choked, desperate sound that might have been a sob or a 'yes' was the only reply.
Stelle knelt, a supplicant before her lost goddess. She gently removed the final barrier of clothing. "You might not remember me, Evernight," she whispered, her heart aching. "But surely your body does. You're still so wet for me."
Then, her worship began in earnest. This was not a transaction. This was an excavation of the soul. Her tongue was a careful brush, dusting away the layers of pain and forgetting. She started with the slick, wet folds, her movements slow, reverent, tasting the salt and the sorrow. She nibbled gently at her clit, a soft, teasing pressure that made Evernight arch off the bed with a sharp cry. She kissed it, a deep, possessive kiss, before biting down just a little, a shock of pleasure pain that made the red eyed woman sob.
While her mouth worked its desperate, loving magic, her fingers slid inside. One, then two. She moved with a purpose, a memory of her own, searching. She was looking for a specific place, a hidden memory, a pressure point of the soul. And then she found it.
Evernight screamed, her back bowing off the bed as Stelle's fingers found her g spot, pressing and rubbing in a steady, relentless rhythm. It was a symphony of overwhelming sensation, her mouth at her clit, her fingers deep inside her, Stelle's whispered memories a constant, heartbreaking chorus.
"Remember the Luofu, March? How scared we were? But we had each other. Please, March. Come back to me."
Evernight was sobbing now, tears streaming from her tightly shut eyes. "It's too good… please…" she begged, though she didn't know who she was begging, or for what.
"Just a little more," Stelle whispered, her own tears blurring her vision. "Just come back."
She continued her relentless, loving assault for what felt like an eternity, until finally, Evernight's body went rigid.
"Something is… coming… ahh, Stelle!"
The name was a prayer, a key, a release. Evernight's climax was a cataclysm, a violent, shuddering wave that was more than just physical. It was a psychic storm, a breaking of the dam. Her fluids gushed out, a hot, cleansing release, and her body collapsed back onto the bed, trembling and spent.
For a moment, there was only the sound of her ragged, panting breaths. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes.
They were not red.
They were a soft, familiar, beautiful amber, wide with confusion and a dawning, heartbreaking recognition.
"Stelle?" March whispered, her voice her own, laced with sleep and disbelief.
Stelle looked up, her face a mess of tears and her lover's release. It was her. It was really her. With a sob of her own, she scrambled onto the bed, gathering March into her arms, holding her as if she might fade away.
"I missed you, March," Stelle cried, her voice thick with a week of terror and a lifetime of unspoken feelings. "Where have you been?" She kissed her, a real kiss this time, full of desperation and relief and so, so much love.
March clung to her, her mind a fog. "I… I don't know. It was dark. And I was so scared." She looked around the gaudy room, at her own state of undress, and a flicker of fear crossed her face.
"Shh, it's okay," Stelle soothed, holding her tighter. "You're safe now. I've got you. I'm never letting you go again." She pulled back just enough to look into those beautiful, familiar eyes. "I love you, March. I love you so much."
March's own eyes filled with tears, tears of confusion and relief and a deep, dawning understanding. She didn't have all the answers. She didn't know who Evernight was, or how she had gotten here. But she knew the woman holding her. She knew the feel of her arms, the taste of her tears, the unwavering, unshakable truth in her voice.
"I love you, too, Stelle," she whispered, her voice small but certain.
And then, as if to seal the confession, to make it real in the most primal way, Stelle was kissing her again. This time, there was no desperation, only a slow, burning need to reconnect, to reaffirm. Her hands roamed March's body, no longer as an archaeologist, but as a lover reclaiming her territory.
"I missed this," Stelle breathed against her lips, her voice husky. "I missed the way you sigh when I touch you here." Her fingers found their way between March's legs again, slipping easily into her wetness, making March gasp and arch into her touch. "I missed the taste of you." She whispered sweet nothings into March's ear, promises and adorations, as her fingers moved inside her, a gentle, familiar rhythm that had March mewling and clutching at her shoulders. They kissed until they were breathless, until the world outside the Serenity Room ceased to exist.
When March came this time, it was with Stelle's name on her lips, a soft, keening cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure. She shuddered in Stelle's arms, her body pliant and boneless.
Stelle held her, a soft, triumphant smile on her face. After a few moments of contented silence, she shifted. "Wait here."
She moved to the corner of the room where her travel pack lay. She unzipped a hidden compartment and pulled out a sleek, black harness and a silicone strap on, polished and well cared for.
March's eyes widened, then softened with a deep, fond recognition. A blush crept up her cheeks. "You… you remember that? You kept it clean?"
Stelle fastened the harness around her hips with practiced ease. "Of course I did," she said, her voice warm. "It's ours, after all. It kinda missed its co owner." She ran a hand over the toy. "Can I use this on you?"
March's shy nod was all the answer she needed. As Stelle adjusted the straps, March's gaze traveled over her body the defined muscles of her stomach, the powerful curve of her shoulders.
"Oh," March breathed, her blush deepening. "Your body is still fine as ever. But you have more muscles now. Did you work out?"
Stelle chuckled, a low, affectionate sound. "Of course. I needed to be ready for anything, especially since I was looking for you. And I had to look good just in case I found you again." She knelt on the bed, crawling towards March with a predatory grace that made March's breath catch. "And I did."
She positioned herself between March's legs, the tip of the strap pressing gently against her slick, waiting entrance. March was already wet again, her body thrumming with anticipation.
"Can I go in?" Stelle asked, her voice a husky whisper, her eyes locked on March's.
March could only nod, her voice stolen by the intensity in Stelle's gaze.
Stelle pushed in slowly, inch by excruciatingly slow inch, watching March's face intently. March's eyes fluttered closed, her back arching as she was filled perfectly, familiarly.
"Are you okay?" Stelle asked, her voice full of concern. She stilled, allowing March to adjust. "Does it hurt? Are you comfortable?"
"Yes," March gasped, her eyes opening. "I'm more than okay. I just… I missed this. Can you… can you kiss me while you thrust me?"
A slow, sensual smile spread across Stelle's face. "Anything for you."
She leaned down, capturing March's lips in a deep, passionate kiss as she began to move. Her thrusts were slow and deep at first, a rediscovery of a beloved rhythm.
"You feel incredible," Stelle murmured against her lips between kisses. "So perfect for me. You take me so well, my good girl."
March moaned into her mouth, her hands tangling in Stelle's hair. "Stelle…"
"Tell me, March," Stelle coaxed, her hips setting a steady, driving pace. "Tell me how much you missed this. Missed me."
"So much," March panted, her mind hazy with pleasure. "Every day. I felt… empty."
"You're never going to be empty again," Stelle promised, her voice fierce with love. She shifted her angle slightly, hitting a spot that made March cry out. "I'm going to take care of you. Always. Look at you, so beautiful beneath me. My beautiful, good girl."
The words, the touch, the deep, filling pressure it was all too much and not enough. March could only cling to her, her moans and whimpers a symphony of pleasure that was the only language she had left. The conversation was now one of bodies and breath, of whispered endearments and the slick, rhythmic sound of their joining, a perfect, intimate dialogue that finally, after so long apart, said everything that needed to be said. And in the heart of the place where dreams came to die, their own, real, beautiful dream was just beginning to be reborn.
It culminated in a sharp, shuddering cry as March moaned Stelle's name, a broken, beautiful sound that seemed to hang in the air long after she fell still, trembling in the circle of Stelle's arms. Stelle held her through the aftershocks, her own breathing ragged, before she leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to March's damp forehead.
"I've got you," Stelle whispered, her voice husky with emotion. "I'm gonna take you home. Our home. And we will be together always."
With a tenderness that belied the fervor of their earlier passion, Stelle carefully unstrapped the toy and set it aside. Then, she slid her arms beneath March's spent and pliant form, lifting her as if she were made of the most precious glass. March's head lolled against her shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips as Stelle carried her to the nearby bathroom.
Under the warm spray of the shower, Stelle washed her with a reverent care. Her hands, so strong and certain, moved over March's skin with a gentle sudsy cloth, rinsing away the evidence of their love.
"You know," Stelle murmured, her voice a low rumble close to March's ear, "for someone who was just so loud, you've gotten very quiet."
March, her cheeks flushed from more than just the heat of the water, hid her face against Stelle's neck. "I'm… regrouping. You're very… thorough."
Stelle's chuckle was a warm vibration against her. "I have to be. I'm handling the most important person in the universe." She tilted March's chin up, her eyes glinting with playful adoration. "And I plan to be thorough for a very, very long time."
March sputtered, her blush deepening as Stelle laughed and kissed the tip of her nose.
After drying them both with a fluffy towel, Stelle guided a wobbly March back to the bedroom and dressed her in one of her own soft, oversized sleep shirts. The fabric swam on March's frame, smelling comfortingly of Stelle.
"There," Stelle said softly, brushing March's hair back from her face. "All clean and cozy. Ready for bed."
She tucked March into the sheets and slid in beside her, pulling her close. As March's eyelids began to droop, Stelle continued to whisper against her hair, her voice painting a picture of their future.
"The first thing we'll do when we get home," Stelle murmured, "is spend a whole day in bed. I'm going to make you breakfast and feed you every bite. Then I'm going to kiss every single freckle on your body, and see if I can make you blush even harder than you did tonight."
A sleepy, flustered sound was her only reply.
"And after that," Stelle continued, her own voice growing heavy with sleep, "we'll just… be together. Always."
She felt March's breathing even out into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. A soft, unconditional love swelled in Stelle's chest. She leaned over, pressed one final, feather light kiss to March's forehead, and whispered, "Goodnight, my love."
Then, with her arms securely around her dream come true, Stelle closed her eyes and slept.