Northstar Vale and we weren't even married (dmn?)

Preying, again;
some seasonswell, some tug; some spiced tang of power and the sight of another strewn beneath her has a wretched simper winking at the ruined edges of lips.  “You are right, eälótë,”  the fairylight muses, studies the selkie’s features with a faraway cant of her head that is not unlike that of Astynome’s trial beneath the willows and looking thereafter to the siren’s seat far above. Glamour brewing within loins, further, for the revelence in such displays that she had never been prone to or partaken in; breathing so soft and sifting  (searing the grecian snout)  that she might not be at all. Lilting tones fallen into a dusked timbre—  “it does feel good.”

In a heartbeat, her teeth blunt ‘round the greyling muzzle, creature-churring as before as before as before; pressing paw to breast and leaning as told; staring with silvered halfsights into shore’s sapphire.