Starglow Basin but your arrogance disturbed [m]y solitude

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funny thing, biology.

continuing a lineage often calls for desperate measures, many of these beyond conscious control. the ancient rites of creation rise up within us all—even when we least expect it. failure to procreate leads to redundancy, death, destruction.

women killed for not bearing fruit. . .or birthing children not of her husband's seed. fiamma knew that all too well, anyway.

in her first heat, she'd been sequestered away from the rest, kept only among women. female servants brought her food and comfort as she paced and bled and hungered for embrace. it did eventually pass, though, and she remained of the utmost value to a future mate—pure and pristine, a womb fit for future kings.

that destiny was dead, now; those luxuries gone. fiamma dwelt here among men and women alike—

and when the pale-furred leto entered estrus, her body followed suit.

the days grew longer, and spring was coming. she rolled frequently upon the cool, dusty ground, driven mad by the changes within and the cloying scent of her flesh. the princess was ripe and ready for plucking, and though she knew children would leave her vulnerable to shifts in hierarchy and responsibility, she was heedless to stop the forces of nature.

fiamma sat upright, legs sprawled, and thought she might die if left untouched.