from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Like the many lovers Dævara had taken in the says since learning she was becoming an elf, flying was a glorious sensory revel.
Air driven past with gale force furrowed the skin of her teats, tummy, and thighs like the fingers of a sadistic masseur.
The air chilled her to the marrow, forced her limbs to splay behind her.
The wind pushed its thumbs into her eyes, squeezing tears out.
Her hair flogged her back.
It felt wonderful.