Wheeling Gull Isle tengeri só

but it was not a man who stopped the countess; her eyes fell upon the familiar and beloved features, twisted with wounds. erzsébet, though no one would ever argue she felt a thing without knowing the nuances of its benefit, held a fondness for the ugly creature. fehér was quite unlike any woman she had ever taken to her bed; no, the countess was fond of the slim, young-limbed ones, with their simpers, their blushes, their giggles. the ones who cried out the loudest when she took them beneath her special tutelage. 

fehér was none of these things; she was bulky as a man might be muscular, devoid of feminine curves or delicate beauty. she did not simper nor whinge; she was singular in herself. and yet erzsébet found herself besotted. so it was when her handmaiden stepped before her and let a flood of perfect shells fall in a cascade to the sands that the pale woman took a step forward over the pile and pressed her lips against the ragged cheek, uncaring of who might see them.