Northstar Vale with parted lips in fragrancy of prayer: unearth everything that’s in me

The siren's words were as oiled water against the velvet fringe of seelie's quivering ear; with a pinch to the tender bulb that near elicited a squeak from the faerie, Kalika swept away, garbed in the finery of her own personal practice. She listens with dark lashes fluttery a bit dazedly, though her rubied brow weaves in momentary bewilderment to the riddle-ish words—
( act as though you are the man, and that I am you )
—but comprehension soon alights upon scarification, and with a curl of little delight to her lips, Andraste rises from stone's edge and orbits for the saitayérë with an eager, prentice feathering of tail at boney hocks. Wonders aloud, all the while seeking a way to be nearer:  “To make your pursuer come undone themselves, with your words, when... chasing  –  have you done that?”

After another heartbeat's hesitation, the moon-maid surges; hoping to clip fangs along the siren's shoulder  —  or rib, or haunch, whether she's whirled from her assault early enough.