Excerpts Without Context

I remember now.

Isabel wore a white dress with a blue corset; her voice like the friction of turning pages to the next beautiful word. 

“Do you think Sol'Mano and the rest only fear loss?” asked Isabel. Corwyn threw herself over her partner’s arm.

Corwyn enjoyed showing skin: a black ruffled blouse trimmed to reveal her navel. The sound from her lips was as if the ears learned the experience of taste; impossible and begging the listener’s attention: the smoothness of sweetest vanilla.

“It’s as if his followers have made monsters of us," said Corwyn. Isabel held her for a moment, then returned her to her feet.

“And the rest are jealous they cannot have this.” And the two, together, were the resurrection, the animation of the Bound Solace. But bound to that curse they were: their company providing no relief from their fate.