Ishamael slowly follows her with silent footsteps. His blue eyes watching her with barely restrained pleasure.

Loitering just off of her left shoulder, he smiled softly at her as she walked.

What strength and determination! The beauty of a flower was in its transcience, and transient she was, but the beauty of a sculpture was in its strength, and in this way, she was a flower of white elstone-a rose of soft, white curves and intricate, shimmering folds of stone.

Even now, she would still fight him, and the friction was intoxicating. Skin against skin, a passion of words, and an act of love in a glance.

With a smile, he shut the door behind them, before returning his attentions to her.