[Is that… is that how that worked? Hayame almost insists that it is silly to like something more simply because she fancied it, that she certainly would not let her own opinions be influenced so, but… That’s not true anymore, is it. She found herself now taking his and a few others’ tastes into consideration, there had been moments when she had thought that his reaction to something was even better than the thing itself…
So she can only blush a bit redder, tempted to close the gap between them to fuss at how he had layered the robe, except… he had something for her, too? Claude moves to the bookshelf and Hayame feels a bit of apprehension spring up in her chests. She had begun lessons with Yuri Leclerc but surely he had not gotten her one of those intimidating looking volumes of text? It would be so embarrassing to reveal that at this point the only thing she can really do is write some letters…
But it’s not that. The sight of the ribbon is… ironic, a little sad, a reminder of what she had given up to the Oracle effigy… But her mane had only made a worthy sacrifice because of Claude. Because over time spent with him… she had begun to cease resenting her hair for marking her as a woman, and begun to love instead the feeling of his fingers gently carding through the heavy, inky black strands, the shiver of excitement she felt when she would take it down from the tight style she wore it up in to subtly invite him to her bed.]
Oh…
[She reaches for the ribbon to let her fingertips brush over the material. It was soft and fine… and it would have looked lovely in the pitch black mane she no longer had, the remnants still tied up as best she could in a short, sad knot. It would look a bit pathetic there on her head now, but…]
I could… wear it in my tail.
[The tail that swished slightly when she was happy, that arched high when she desired him. That… he would probably need to tie for her, because she could not easily reach.]
Until my mane grows back… ?
[In the nebulous future she almost never spoke about. But in that future- she apparently imagines that yellow ribbon in her hair.]
no subject
So she can only blush a bit redder, tempted to close the gap between them to fuss at how he had layered the robe, except… he had something for her, too? Claude moves to the bookshelf and Hayame feels a bit of apprehension spring up in her chests. She had begun lessons with Yuri Leclerc but surely he had not gotten her one of those intimidating looking volumes of text? It would be so embarrassing to reveal that at this point the only thing she can really do is write some letters…
But it’s not that. The sight of the ribbon is… ironic, a little sad, a reminder of what she had given up to the Oracle effigy… But her mane had only made a worthy sacrifice because of Claude. Because over time spent with him… she had begun to cease resenting her hair for marking her as a woman, and begun to love instead the feeling of his fingers gently carding through the heavy, inky black strands, the shiver of excitement she felt when she would take it down from the tight style she wore it up in to subtly invite him to her bed.]
Oh…
[She reaches for the ribbon to let her fingertips brush over the material. It was soft and fine… and it would have looked lovely in the pitch black mane she no longer had, the remnants still tied up as best she could in a short, sad knot. It would look a bit pathetic there on her head now, but…]
I could… wear it in my tail.
[The tail that swished slightly when she was happy, that arched high when she desired him. That… he would probably need to tie for her, because she could not easily reach.]
Until my mane grows back… ?
[In the nebulous future she almost never spoke about. But in that future- she apparently imagines that yellow ribbon in her hair.]