Witch's Marsh Oh [m]y God, she looks so helpless, and her body's saying: "Hell yes."

She sat in stunned silence for a moment, mulling the thought over and over in her head. As Xan begged her not to tell a soul, her shoulders sagged, relaxing as she sighed, releasing the tension. Cicero, her brother, the calm philosopher, was a rapist. It was a simple, hurtful truth that she could not deny any longer. Xan would not lie about such a thing (would he?), especially not with such passion. She had not known the boy for being very deceitful, or knew him to hate Cicero for any other reason. This had to be the truth.

The matter settled in her brain, it returned to its primal desires. A wave of heat passed through her once more, and she looked at Xan in a new light; no longer pity, but lust. She moved forward, pressing her lips to his forehead. I promise, She said earnestly, before she moved her lips to his neck, licking there gently.