YaneUra

Motes of dust sired in the beams of light that slanted through the round attic window, golden spears which pierced the grey abode, the air up here was warmer, closer, scented thick of old paper and wood. A breath held too long. Shapes that bended with the slant of the sun. Golden morning shine. Waiting. A resting place for the discarded copies that weighed it down with a sag.

Twilight loved it here, not just for the books, but for the quiet, the way the air was of a space none cared to disturb and because Celestia came here, her presence the filling the room needed. Faint scent of salt and tinsy flakes of snow that clung to her long pink mane. They sat in the center, a scattering of books opened between them, pages worn dry and yellow.

A tome of spells which claimed nothing new, nothing real.

Purple hoof brushing, gaze flickering upwards.

Caught by way of light which played across the face of Celestia. Sharpest of lines that were softened by the shadows, heir mane clutched and catches by the sun in threads of pale fire.

"Why do you come here?" Twilight asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Celestia glanced up, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if the question was a test. "Why do you?"

Pause.

"I asked you first," Twilight said, leaning forward.

Celestia's lips quirked, a hint of a smile appearing. "Because it's even quieter then down there, and the books don't ask for anything."

Twilight titled her head, studying her. "And I don't ask for anything?"

Slip.

Celestia didn't answer right away. Her hoof moved absently, tracing a faint line in the dust that had settled and built on the floorboards. The light shifted as a cloud passed outside, dimming the room, and so when she spoke again, her voice was more hesitant, quiet. "Not yet."

Twilight laughed softly, the sound sharp and unexpected, and Celestia's gaze snapped to her, a bit startled. "What's funny?"

"You," Twilight said, shaking her head. "You make everything sound so serious. It's like the world's going to crack open if you say the wrong thing."

Pause.

Warp.

"Maybe it will," Celestia said, and there was something in her tone, her eyes remained steady.

The Wheel.

Twilight's smile faded slightly, replaced by a softness, which lingered, distant, a piece of the sky floated in, fractures of the back of her feature etched in gold and shadow, thrwated of course by the blocking of Twilight meant for Celestia. Twilight leaned forward, slow and deliberate, Celestia didn't move, didn't breathe, her gaze locked on Twilight's. Following of the eyes. Gifted motion. And then Twilight's hoof reached out, and pressed against Celestia's cheek, a touch so light like it had been imagined.

"Celestia."

Thread pulled taut.

Ready to snap.

All at once. Shattered the stillness. Twilight closed the space and her lips found Celestia's with force. Abrupt. Inevitable. Collision. Breath and warmth. Tasted of salt and ink. Smell of snow, frozen. Blur of fragments. Mingling. Celestia moved. Hooves reaching to pull her closer. Reduced to this. Kiss. Not gentle. Searching, desperate. Turning of a wheel, pull of a river, opening of a door.

The air hummed.

When they broke, they were inches apart. Still mingling in the space between them. Raw and trembling. Celestia lunged for more, wrapping hooves around Twilight's neck and forcing her gently down onto a stack of opened books that sprawled on the floor.

Moans.

Stealing exhales.

Inhaling.

Tongue.

Her cunt gripped her like a warm friendly hoof.

A chilling exploration of erotic consumption.

With a hoof across the torso
Face on the pages
With a hoof across the torso
Face on the yellowed parchments

Charging in
Are charging in
Charging into fields of white roses

Charging

So paint me

With a halo

Etched out

The flesh, the image, the reflection

Those who dwell in scarlet darkness

Frenzy

Vivid

Blind and hypnotizing

Ulcer

Sacred crimson rose

Bathed in fragrance

Verdigris

Ochre, amber, mauve

Over the snows

To nowhere