and the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing bright

Brighid's thighs blister at the bridge between flesh and blue, and they crackle brighter still at the core point where Mòrag eagerly laps. The sounds she makes in response, too, are perfection. So effortless.

She is such an utterly well-formed woman that Mòrag ascends beyond her envy - perhaps even her jealousy, fearing sidewise push out of staked, presented territory - and reaches heady, untouchable joy.

"You are so beautiful," she murmurs, but there are high notes in her usually so low voice.

"Me?" Brighid scoffs with amusement. "I'm just a woman. But you...you are everything that I am and more."