Stavanger Bay you have what you have, and what you have is for you

erzulie had snapped a small, low-hanging bough from a nearby fir and now dragged it across the floor of her den. the needles she had crushed underfoot released the brightness of their fragrance into the darkened air. there, now — the harlot was content to see that at last the stagnant musk was overcome. another dragging trail of the bough and she had finished — erzulie stepped from the denmouth and tossed the tangle of fir twigs to one side. there she paused, however, brow furrowing as instinct told her of watchful eyes. and soon she swept her gaze to the left and let it rest atop a creamy figure shadowed by deeper red. a pause; erzulie smirked. "you be a bit young for dese wares, child," came her amused call from the stonebridge.