Mirrorland bySolarRay©

The following story has been submitted to the 2020 National Nude Day contest.

Many, many thanks to AwkwardMD for beta reading this whimsical tale and offering her constructive insights!

***

My name is Gisele d'Évreux‎, born of nobility to Auguste and Jeanne d'Évreux in the grand apartments of the Château de Versailles‎ at the time of King Louis XIV's reign. I have been told that on that day the phlox began to burst with their clusters of golden-yellow flowers as the sun drew near to its highest point in the sky, thus marking the commencement of midsummer. It was a time when the sun appeared to pause in the sky and a period of transition was at hand.

My family spent many summers at Versailles, along with several other families and government officials. The palace complex had various amenities: elaborate gardens, a hall of mirrors, extravagant fountains, a private zoo, and a great many other remarkable things. What I rarely had at my disposal, however, were my mother and father. Father was often off busying himself with diplomatic concerns. My mother and I had been close growing up while she ensured that I was well-educated and disciplined. Though, as I grew older, my mother distanced herself more and more, handing me over to my growing independence and the emerging duties of womanhood. She expected me to marry well and raise my own family.

If it weren't for my best friend, Antoinette, I would have greatly suffered at the cruel hand of loneliness. Antoinette and I had grown up in the palace together, spending the warmer months there when we were not busying ourselves with our studies in Paris. From the start, she was like a sister to me... or something more. Together we ran through the sprawling gardens and played by the reflecting pools telling stories to our wavering images. We picked flowers and assembled them in our hair before running off to the cool shade of the groves to lounge about eating grapes and stolen truffles that the bakers carelessly left unattended in the kitchen... until someone caught us red-handed, faces messy with chocolate.

Antoinette and I naively imagined that our lives would remain this way indefinitely; forever playmates making merry in a world of constant whimsy. However, as we reached the age of eighteen a sadness grew inside us. Antoinette was preparing to be wed to Lord Morris, Earl of Chester and would soon leave France, moving far away to England to remain by his side, perhaps never to be seen by me again. It was no secret that neither of them was in love; such unions were highly political and to be anything more than that required a stroke of luck so rarely heralded by the Fates. I, too, would be subject to such a fate; left alone to review my suitors one by one, considering which would be the most strategic partner to serve.

I would rather have flung myself into the wide, cold sea.

No -- I would rather have spent the rest of my life with Antoinette, skipping out on the extravagant balls to go frolicking in the gardens under the twinkling stars with the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine and other exotic imported plants from the greenhouses filling the night air. As the date of Antoinette's union to the Earl grew closer, she and I spent more and more time by each other's side, desperate to cling to our last moments together before fate cruelly tore us apart.

One evening, Antoinette and I had run off to my private quarters to indulge in a hot bath, a treat we occasionally shared. I had a room all to myself at the end of a long hallway in the east wing of the palace where many of the wealthy children were raised together. Laughing and making silly, we ducked inside and carefully locked the door behind us, relieved to return to a comforting sanctum where two girls such as us could do as we pleased.

"I will say, though, that if running is to not be permitted in the gallery then it should not have been constructed at such a tempting length!" Antoinette declared, collapsing at the edge of my bed.

I began giggling. "Did you see Madame Bouthillette's face when you nearly collided with his Red Eminence?!"

"Ugh, I've always detested that painting," she replied.

"I will tell you one thing -- if I were made to suffer under as many robes as Cardinal Richelieu, I am quite sure I would not have been able to remain on my feet long enough to pose for a portrait such as that."

"It is made all the more silly with that absurd mustache!"

I grinned at Antoinette as she made a brief mockery of him. "At least he was a patron of the arts," I added thoughtfully.

"Yes, I suppose one must give him that. He gave us Diana at the Bath, after all."

"The bath!" I exclaimed. "I shall check on it."

I ran into the bathroom; a private domain which only Antoinette and the maids had access to. No one could bother me there as I whiled away the hours in the fantasy of my mind, gazing at myself in the mirror and conducting experiments with a selection of paints and powders. Most of all, I cherished my collection of rare scents gathered from the farthest-flung corners of the world.

My perfumes took me places, whether it was to the Amalfi coast with its salty ocean spray and fresh lemon tang, or the hot baked earth of the desert with its spices and myrrh, warm breezes fragrant with sandalwood and jasmine. Oakmoss and musk opened a door one day, marine accords and bergamot the next, filling my mind with images of intrepid expeditions through many an exotic land. And then there were the bottles. -- Oh, the bottles! Some sculpted like spindly sandcastles, others gaunt and sleek, still others squat and fat like oversized, ornamental dewdrops, each of them translucent and glittering on my counter, filled with all the colors of the rainbow.

I confirmed that the hot water I had summoned was awaiting us in my large, clawfoot tub. It was a long, porcelain vessel with four heavy paws at the base, achieving a stylized look. I recalled how, as a small child, I imagined my tub was a powerful lioness. I would sink into the warm water, giving myself a soapy beard to pretend I was a military general. I would imagine the tub springing to life, hoisting itself up onto its paws and then marching out of my private quarters. There I would be, giggling and sloshing about inside as it marched right out the door to my room and down the hallway as I barked orders to imaginary soldiers.

I left the water to cool to the right temperature and rejoined Antoinette who had already wrestled out of the tight bodice of her dress before breathing a sigh of relief. She and I stood by the windows, undressing in the moonlight. Upon removing her corset, the glow from the windows cast her skin in a silvery sheen, splashing across the flat plane of her stomach and deepening her silhouette. Antoinette's rosy nipples caught the light and drew tiny shadows upon her breasts as they firmed up in the evening air.

I had watched Antoinette's body transform, emerging from youth to blossom into an elegant woman, so full of unparalleled feminine charm and grace. Her entire body was a wonder and I could not help but covertly admire the majesty of it as we undressed. Being so curious about the unspoken tracts of the female body, I was especially intrigued by the secret garden between her legs. It was a place I only explored on my own body in private; a complex world unto itself that only another woman could really know. I felt I had only just begun to unlock its hidden potentials for pleasure, knowing instinctively that there was a world beyond this which my body was somehow a gateway to.

Antoinette's mons was covered with a fine, smooth layer of light brown hair, much like the silky fur of the rabbits I enjoyed petting at the palace zoo before I discovered, to my horror, that they were only deposited there until suppertime. Beneath this fur were two delicate lips, pinkish with the loveliest blush. I adored them and wondered if her body would respond as mine did when it was touched there.

I looked down at my own body, mildly embarrassed that the hair between my legs was thicker, darker, and more tangled with unruly curls. However, I posited that my rosy lips were just as dainty and worthy of Antoinette's adoration. I wondered if Antoinette ravished my body with the same secret, subtle glances as I did hers.

Antoinette laid back on the bed, the splendors of her proud womanhood on full display without any shame, for if we could not trust each other together in that room then we could trust no one. I joined her there, excited by the softness of her skin as she accepted me in her arms, and I in hers. Antoinette sighed, wiping a tear from her eye. I knew what depressing matter she suddenly dwelled upon but I wanted to be her escape. I embraced her more vigorously, our bodies cocooned together, sharing each other's warmth, innocence, and nudity. There I consoled her by playing with the long, wavy locks showering across her shoulders like a waterfall curling into small ringlets at the tips. They flowed across her lively breasts where small nipples blushed like rosebuds, ripe to be plucked.

After some time, Antoinette turned her head, smiled, and squeezed my hand. "Come, let us bathe," she said, surmising that the water had sufficiently come to temperature.

She leaped from the bed and made swift progress across the room. I laughed and chased after her with my arms out, scheming to snatch her up in my arms and tickle her all over. Antoinette squealed; her happy breasts dancing about her chest as she fled to the bathroom. When she reached the tub, she bent over the edge, thrusting her fingers into the water and exposing her round bum, soft and flecked with downy hair, which I could not help but be tempted to pinch with devilish enthusiasm. Antoinette squeaked, then hopped back onto her feet to announce that the water temperature was suitable for bathing.

Excited by the prospect of a warm, soothing bath together, we scrambled over the high walls of the old tub and abandoned ourselves to the heated depths. I lay back against one end of the tub. Instead of claiming the other side, Antoinette crawled into my arms and we lay there, one nested in the other, sticking our painted toes out of the water at the other end to admire them.

From time to time, I tenderly observed Antoinette as she took long, slow breaths in my embrace. The swell of her body caused my sensitive nipples to harden and slide gently against the slippery flesh of her back. She was so beautiful -- in all the ways I wished I was. I squeezed her tightly and sunk further into the warm bubbles scented with rose, taking her with me. She giggled as I watched the soapy water rise and fall through the deep chasm between her breasts, leaving them shiny and glistening. We snuggled like that, sighing happily at the sensation of each other's body resting against our own.

"After this," Antoinette said with an air of sadness, "I shall only bathe alone. It will not be the same without you."

Intending to lighten the mood, I said, "Oh? Would you rob your future husband of a tender kiss in the bath?" I gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Ha! If only his kisses were as sweet," she replied, blushing.

"What? Does he not kiss you like this?" I said, playfully kissing her on the cheek again and then on the tip of her nose. Antoinette giggled. "I suppose he does it like this," I continued, kissing her little ear and her neck. "And then here and here. Saying, 'Oh, Antoinette, how lovely you are! How exquisite and beautiful! A perfect flower!'"

I mimicked the Earl's voice, rough and cumbersome as it was. "How sweet you are!" I continued. "The finest specimen of French charm and elegance an Englishman has ever seen!" The two of us entered a fit of laughter as I continued to cover her with playful kisses. She squealed and squirmed in my arms, suffering my indulgences until suddenly she turned to look up at me. A kiss I had intended to land on her round chin instead landed squarely upon her red lips.

In an instant, a kiss made merely in jest became something quite real.

I felt something stir inside me as I lingered there for a moment. Finally, our lips parted and I saw her expression; it was suddenly serious and full of want. As I savored the sweet memory of her mouth, not wishing it to fade from my mind nor my lips, I felt a warm tingling; the special tingling that always seemed to lace our friendship with momentary sparks of bliss. The same one that visited me at night as I lay quietly in bed, recalling the time we'd spent together that day.

Neither of us spoke for a moment but our eyes were so telling; we both wanted to try it again. It was not even a matter that warranted discussion. We both leaned in and returned our lips to one another.

Antoinette repositioned herself as we ventured to do more. I felt her hands sliding over me, then the flutter of butterflies; it felt strange, exciting. Not that we hadn't made contact with each other's bodies in so many ways as we spent long hours enjoying each other's naked embrace. However, this was the first time Antoinette had ever touched me so boldly and directly; with such purpose. I felt my legs wedge apart as her fingers moved between my thighs.

I felt a shiver of pleasure and gasped. She had touched me where I had only ever touched myself... and it felt a thousand times more thrilling.

Antoinette stopped suddenly and gave me a look of concern. "What's wrong?" she asked, her face breaking into a panic.

"Nothing," I said quickly, brushing the damp hair away from her limpid eyes.

There was only silence as I felt a confusing mix of emotions. I loved Antoinette with all my heart, more than I could ever love any of the suitors that would be presented to me. I felt terrible that she had stopped and I wanted to restore her hand to the place where it had been. However, I also felt a tinge of unease.

"Do you think what we're doing is wrong?" I asked, filled with fear and uncertainty, despite what my body screamed for.

"No!" Antoinette replied, sharply.

Antoinette seemed to be mulling something. After several moments of silence, she requested that I rinse off, dry myself, and wait for her on the bed. She quickly climbed out of the tub, patted herself with a towel, and hastily threw on a simple tunic. Antoinette hurried out and was gone for a few minutes, leaving me alone to wonder what mischief she might be up to without me.

I climbed out of the tub, wrung my hair out, and tied it back. After drying myself, I powdered my body with lilac so that I would smell lovely for Antoinette. I exited the bathroom and reclined patiently on the bed, void of any desire to be dressed in anything except for the tender embrace of my close friend. After several minutes, Antoinette returned holding something wrapped in a discolored heap of her grandmother's old lace. She threw off her tunic and crawled onto the bed, depositing herself by my side. I watched as she unwrapped the package carefully.

Inside was a long, smooth object, shiny and white, gleaming like a piece of ivory. It was striped at both ends with thin bands of mother of pearl inlay, interspersed with tiny designs that were reminiscent of the finest examples of Chinoiserie that could only be found in the palace theatre. To my unaccustomed eyes, the thing looked positively magical.

"What is it?" I wondered aloud.

"This," Antoinette explained, "is used by women in order to achieve love together." My eyes widened. "I once spied two young women using it in the company of men. I have heard some say it is not right, but I saw it right there, through the keyhole of the library one evening. There were ten or twenty men standing about drinking, smoking, and making merry. However, on the floor amongst them were two young women, their faces flush with heat and sweat."

I gazed at Antoinette's face as she described the scene, feeling flush myself.

"Their bottoms were together," she continued. "Apart and together again. Back and forth. I did not immediately know why they did this, nor why they remained there on their hands and knees wearing nothing but delicate bands of lace about their necks. However, I then saw that they shared this, between them -- as if both of them were men!"

Antoinette laughed so heartily at this comic image that I couldn't help but join in, given the exceptional thought of that amusing scene. However, our smiles soon gave way to a quiet sense of wonder and curiosity.

"I should like to try it, I suppose," Antoinette said with a shrug.

"But those girls are not like us," I said, my breath quickening. "What if someone found out?"

"But they were like us! I saw how much they cared for one another, even when made to perform like that. -- I will tell you something; we are not the only ones like this at Versailles."

"Oh? Who?"

"Madame Charpentier for one, I suspect." She paused for a moment. "Oh! I once spied on one of the footmen. Frédéric. He was laying with a stableman in secret while the donkeys brayed nearby. The two of them sounded very much the same!"

"He lay with another man? How?" I gasped.

Antoinette threw her head back and howled with laughter. "They had found a way... but the image will put you off so I shall explain some other day." I scratched my head. "The important thing is," she continued, "if men have their methods, then why should not we women, as well?"

I nodded quickly at her. "But how did you obtain the object for yourself?" I asked, burning with curiosity.

I could see Antoinette suddenly growing serious, her voice gently trembling. "I waited until they left the room and approached one of the men outside in the hallway," Antoinette explained. "While they negotiated some payment, they briefly set their things down. The object was stashed in a small pouch which I've since lost. I snatched it as I walked innocently by, took it back to my room, and turned it over and over in my hands."

I imagined Antoinette sitting there alone in her bedroom, curiously examining this object, scandalized at what she had just seen it used for.

"Oh, Gisele!" she cried, collapsing into my arms. "Their scent was still on it! It smelled lovely." I smiled down at Antoinette. Her eyes became wet as they shone up at me. "I have only smelled that kind of scent from a woman once, since then."

"Where? Who?" I quickly asked.

"It was when we--" Antoinette cut her statement short. Her eyes widened up at me and I held her close. Antoinette turned and wrapped herself in me, crying softly against my breast. My heart broke seeing her like that. I ran my fingers through her hair and rocked her in my arms.

"It was you!" she blurted. "It was you! It was you!" she sobbed. Between tears, she explained, "We had fallen asleep together, just like this. You were dreaming. I heard you sighing my name in your sleep. I rested my head on your thigh. I was damp... I turned to look. You were glistening -- and I could smell you. Not the kind of scents we apply in the bath, which are also lovely. This one is lovelier still. Your true, natural scent. The scent of Gisele!"

She continued crying, her tears streaming down my breasts until they began to pool in the hollow curl of my navel. I shivered; never before had I felt so close to Antoinette, so drawn to her body, so feverish for her touch. I felt that tingling again, the one that always overwhelms me, only in her presence or in the mere memory of it.

"Do I... have that scent now?" I asked, trembling in her embrace.

Antoinette stopped crying and gazed up at me. Tears trembled at the edge of her eyelids, then broke free and streamed down her soft red cheeks. I saw her eyes searching mine. I smiled at her and saw her sadness and frustration give way to tenderness and wonder. Slowly, she lowered herself between my legs as I began to widen them.
 "Do I?" I asked again, anxious for her answer.

Antoinette's face vanished between my open hips. I heard her inhale deeply and whimper. Without looking up, she nodded slowly, her face buried in the remote regions of my body. I began to stroke her hair as she nuzzled the inside of my thigh, bathed in my private scent. I felt like the ocean was moving through me, a constant ebb and flow of tremendous power, like a growing storm surge, and just as wet.

Moments later, it happened.

Antoinette and I had kissed countless times, always innocently, save for that special kiss in the bath earlier. However, this was a different thing, entirely. I felt her warm lips upon me; not on my cheek, or my neck, or even my mouth -- I felt them in the most intimate place imaginable. A place where my body opened up to her like a flower. She kissed my petals, so wet as if with morning dew, and then she kissed them some more.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sensation. I could feel every desperate indulging of Antoinette's curiosity, animating her fingers, spreading me open and gazing in wonder at my widened delta before covering it with more sweet kisses. However, I soon learned that it was not merely my scent that she so desired. I felt Antoinette's warm tongue begin to explore me, parting my delicate folds and tasting the result of my fresh pleasure as it flowed freely from my body. She sucked gently at my lips with such curiosity, enamored by my silken flesh made creamier by the second in response to her affections.

In an instant that changed my world forever, she found my little budding nub, quite sensitive and eager for her lips. With a simple lash of her tiny tongue, I felt as if Atlas had batted the globe of the Earth and sent it spinning about on its axis.

I moaned loudly, feeling as though the stars had just fallen from heaven and were now flowing through my body. Antoinette became delighted by my pleasure and suddenly grew more confident. I squirmed, widening my hips even further and offering my intimacy to her. With a joyous excitement, she became like the ravenous kittens lapping at bowls of milk that I so often saw outside the dairy at the edge of the palace grounds.

"Antoinette!" I screamed, panting uncontrollably, my eyes twinkling with excitement. I had never felt such pleasure in my life. That gateway to another world was surely there -- and she had skillfully found the means of transport. Unable to withstand any more, I wrestled back control of my body. "Please! Let me try!" I cried out after catching my breath.

She rose from my hips, her eyes wide and full of life, her mouth glistening and messy with me. It was the most delicious look I had ever seen; captivated by what we had just achieved so unexpectedly and impressed with herself for what she had done to me. Antoinette threw herself onto the pillows beside me and threw her legs apart.

In all the times I had admired the soft folds of her delicate outer labia, I never quite imagined the exquisite riches of her body that they hid. I ran my fingers through her fine-spun hair and parted her eagerly. She split open like an exotic fruit, juicy inside with pink flesh that seemed so full of sweetness. I had admired her for so long -- and yet all the while there was so much more of her to admire!

"I want you to know me intimately..." she meekly admitted, both of us eager, yet hesitant, to speak precisely the way we were told ladies should not.

Without haste, I crawled between her open thighs and began to cover her sweet, wet flesh with loving kisses. I inhaled the deep, earthy scent of her body, I gently nibbled at her loose, pliant flesh, and I drew my tongue through her quivering depths. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts that could not seem to form a coherent thread for very long.

All I could hear was the gossip of the boys out behind the stables, at the far side of the parade grounds, whom I spied upon as they flipped through a book they were naughty to have been in possession of. One of them referred to a woman's parts, using terms such as "humid" and "grotto", allusions I found so odd and distasteful. And yet now I suddenly understood, buried in the heat and humidity of Antoinette's sacred offering, listening to her cry out, squirm and jerk her hips with a strange new pleasure.

I sought her nub, just as she did mine. My tongue danced across her clit, I felt her body convulse as if a violent earthquake had been summoned from within.

"Gisele!" Antoinette exclaimed, frantic for my embrace. I threw myself in her arms and we kissed feverishly, our lips laced with the taste of one another; a flavor only made complete by their luscious admixture. "I want to try the object!" she cried out, desperately seeking the little pile of lace that rested on the bed, hiding its secret treasure inside.

Antoinette unearthed the ivory phallus and held it between us, her hands trembling from a rush of adrenaline. We exchanged a look of excitement for what we were about to share, then we flipped onto our hands and knees as the young women Antoinette had described had done, placing our bottoms close to one another. I felt her reaching between us with the strange object, aligning it to our hips. I heard her moan, then fish for my body. Her fingers made contact with my sex and she guided the other end of the object inside me.

We pressed our hips back and I felt the smooth object penetrate my body. Immediately, I shivered with discomfort. The object felt alien to me, so hard and cold, and I wondered at first why such a thing should ever be used. However, as our bodies began to gently warm the object and render it increasingly slippery, I felt my first beautiful sensation of bliss from sharing a skillfully abducted dildo with Antoinette.

The sensation was incredibly intimate; I felt at once seamlessly connected to her body but at the same time a recipient of her feverish want. Awkwardly, we issued our bottoms forward and back, letting the smooth object glide through our bodies. I felt myself expanding from the inside, growing increasingly wet with pleasure. The position was not altogether one I was used to. I let my head hang low, my hair whipping about my face as our buttocks began to slap together more rapidly. I could not tell if the moisture I was feeling was from my body or hers but I did not care. I felt we were one, connected as if by a cord, our passion and pleasure flowing back and forth from one to the other.

But something was missing; I was desperate to see her face, to be lost in those eyes as they expressed such longing for me -- desperate to know the joy of one another's bliss, shared in perfect unison.

"I want to see you!" I blurted, and it could not have been more true. I so badly wanted to witness her pleasure.

The dildo slid from our vaginas as we drew forward and flipped over onto our bums. Antoinette wasted no time in snatching it up again, finding it already creamy and viscous from our mutual delight. There we sat across from each other, our legs interlocked and hips as close as possible after she inserted the object back into our bodies.

As we began jerking our hips back and forth, finding a comfortable rhythm together, I remember being enthralled with the sight of each other's pussy, scandalously naked and intimate as they were. With each helpless thrust of our hips, they widened like deep pink portals, encircled by little rings of soft hair, yawning like hungry mouths as they received the shared object which connected one of us to the other, its slick ivory surface increasingly glossy with our intermingling fluids.

Antoinette's face was reddish and I could feel the heat radiating from her body, her deep, heady odor lingering all around us, her cries and whimpers filling the air with the sweet music of an incredible pleasure. I watched as we thrust our hairy mounds together, our sensitive flesh ruddy from friction, back and forth toward each other, each time venturing to go deeper, further, bringing our bodies closer until finally, we connected, having swallowed that object whole.

She looked at me in a way she'd never looked at me before; her secret affections graduating into a raw, visible lust. I suddenly wanted to laugh; her fragrant sex looked to me like one of the whiskered clams that were brought in from the coast at banquet times. My mother had once demonstrated the correct way to enjoy them. Inside, their savory, coral pink flesh waited to be feasted upon and I remembered having become intoxicated with their briny liquors.

In fact, Antoinette's entire body was a sumptuous feast. Her breasts were two mounds of fruited gelatin, her nipples like small cherries. I thought of all those banquets, held in honor of some victory or another, and reasoned that they should dispense with the whole affair and serve only her. For all the exotic and rare delicacies they brought in, for all the riches of gastronomy they laid out on those long tables with the promise that I could taste anything my heart desired -- the rarest and most exquisite delicacy had grown right there, surrounded by the familiar walls and sprawling gardens of Versailles itself. It was Antoinette herself!

With each urgent thrust, our sopping mounds kissed, then parted, spawning sticky strands as evidence of a frantic desire to remain as united through passion as humanly possible. Our bodies came so perfectly together.

"Gisele!" Antoinette whined. "I love you!"

I suffered her pleasure willingly -- and I moaned, listening to her anguished plaints. "I love you so much, Antoinette!"

She began to shed tears of happiness and I followed. We shared that object for so long and with such eagerness that Antoinette was soon a magnificent mess. Her skin was clammy, her hair clung to her face, her lips frequently parted with an excess of labored breath. Antoinette's mirthful, erect nipples seemed to beg for my touch as her small breasts jittered about her chest, subject to the whims of her exhausted, heaving body. She looked at me with such devotion, such vulnerability, such devastation, and I her, as the two of us invested every last bit of energy we could summon to frantically explore, for the very first time, what kind of magic our bodies could conjure together.

As I reached the limit of our indulgent excess, I felt suddenly like the two of us were portals to distant oceans, sometimes calm and placid, sometimes moved to huge swells. A storm now raged inside me, my body about to bear a crashing wave. As I listened to Antoinette's screams rent the air, I felt it rumbling through me. We threw ourselves into each other's arms and I clutched her helplessly, our bosoms tightly bound. I felt like the enchanted figurehead of some adventuresome pirate ship, bursting over the tops of high waves. Our bodies crashed together in fits and spasms, spitting seafoam, I felt her quaking in my arms.

I thought perhaps I would die and, if I did, it would be the sweetest death one had ever known.

Instead of dying, however, I felt the roll of thunder pass through me and the seas returned to relative calm. We collapsed in each other's arms, our chests still heaving and gasping for air. Having lost all our senses and drained of all our strength, we soon fell victim to the mountain of soft pillows at the head of my bed.

Arm in arm, forehead to forehead, we felt our eyelids growing heavy, weighed down with the thoughts of what we had just shared until it lulled as away into a beautiful, perfect slumber.

***

After the first night we lay together, it became like that one day to the next. As if having just solved the great mystery of our bodies, we could not get enough of it -- or each other. We traveled to the depths of one another and back. I left no inch of her body without the simple gift of my kiss. I gave her my scent and taste she so enjoyed over and over, as she offered me her own. After days of excitement and exploration, I felt I knew Antoinette's body better and more intimately than even my own.

This kind of passion proved a suitable distraction to the great black cloud which constantly hung over us, but it was growing. In the back of my mind, I knew it would soon consume us...

On the day Antoinette's wedding finally arrived, I found myself struggling to fit into a dress designed to grant me a body I did not have, even with the help of several attendants. "This is what my love for Antoinette feels like," I thought, "Something too nebulous, too personal in shape and form to be fit into a mold dictated by ancient customs."

Later, I watched the procession as Antoinette, dressed in a white and gold-embroidered satin dress with her face obscured behind a veil, approached the priest in his more somber vestments. I observed the tragedy from afar, eager to hide my tears which began to flood my face during the blessing of the ring. I stood there frozen like a dead thing, turning blue, the knife still lodged deep in my chest.

After the sad deed was done, we gathered in the salon to commence a typically lavish dinner. Such weddings were amongst the most extravagant affairs at Versailles, requiring terrific preparations -- yet I wanted no part of it. I felt insulted by the long tables brought out and plentifully bestrewn with all the elements of a grand feast. To be surrounded by such things -- fresh vegetables from the kitchen garden of the king, so well-celebrated at Versailles, seemed like some cruel joke. For the first time I looked at those colorful tomatoes and eggplants, dimpled strawberries and melons normally as sweet as sugar, and could only imagine they all tasted like the dirt they grew from.

I had only happy memories to haunt me, since Antoinette and I typically raided such offerings, dining on oysters, eggs, sweet peas, artichokes, and our famous oranges. How many times we had exploited an ingenious technique, invented at Versailles itself by the great Jean-Baptiste de La Quintinie, allowing us to indulge in the most delicious figs come mid-June. He had produced fifty varieties of pear and no less than twenty types of apple! And yet, I felt as if those delicacies had all gone to rot.

Lamb was served, studded with garlic and fresh chervil, parsley, mint, or tarragon -- but it just turned my stomach. I could not even bear to look at the entire small pigs roasted whole, as well as ducks cooked slowly in their own juices and other small birds that had been encountered on a ceremonial hunt. My heart ached when I recalled how Antoinette and I had so often gorged ourselves on pickled and jellied meats as well as a thick pottage of potatoes and leeks which had always been my favorite. All along, it was none of these things that I had a taste for -- it had been Antoinette's presence alone which permitted me to enjoy that world of excess!

That night I lay in bed alone, naked and sad, wishful for Antoinette's touch and for her to lay by my side. The dildo we had shared was suddenly my prized possession, being the only thing I possessed that still smelled of her. I had discovered it upon returning from the evening ceremonies, tucked beneath my pillow with a little note card that contained nothing but the red imprint of Antoinette's kiss, thus commemorating the fact that she first offered me her sweet lips -- long before arriving at the ceremony where she would offer them to another.

Even then, the card was still stained and damp with her tears.

I wondered if the few words we exchanged that evening would be our last, knowing that the Earl of Chester planned to promptly leave for England, taking her with him and robbing Antoinette of the days of traditional celebrations which she so deserved. I lay there with the full awareness that elsewhere in the palace, on that very night they were wed, he would try to take Antoinette's virginity.

No, he would not. He could not! It was not his to take, for I had already taken it and would treasure it forever.

I cried for some time, then I consoled myself with my own touch, closing my eyes in order to pretend it was Antoinette entertaining herself with the lively presence of my raised nipples, slipping her fingers between my thighs to explore my secrets with tenderness and affection. I widened my legs further, feeling the warm, tingling currents flowing through my body again, like waves from a distant ocean. Soon they were threatening to burst through me, to be born right there upon my bedsheets.

I gazed across the room at the tall oval mirror where Antoinette and I had so often stood, bravely examining our changing bodies like explorers surveying the exotic landscapes of a newly discovered civilization. I watched my own reflection there, my hand zipping back and forth between my legs, moving faster and faster until I jerked and spasmed, suffering a private pleasure that I wished I could share with Antoinette again, even if only once more.

As I sunk back into my pillows, breathless and renewed with a sense of deep sadness, I caught sight of something strange; a pair of green eyes shone back at me as if from within the mirror! They were faint at first, then took on a deeper, more jewel-like tone, emerging from the hazy duplication of my room.

I gasped and threw a sheet over my body, clutching it close to my breasts, and sat upright. I remained there, my heart racing, staring back at those eyes which did not move. They seemed to simply acknowledge that they had been spotted. After a few moments, a body slowly began to emerge around them as if drifting upward from the depths of a deep well. It took shape, crudely at first, then became increasingly more distinct until it resembled a young lady.

The girl, strange as she was for inhabiting a dusty old mirror, seemed to me the very personification of innocence and beauty. Her lithe, nude form resembled that of the sprightly nymphs I was so fond of reading about as a child; the ones that inhabited the fountains, rivers, and streams throughout the idyllic wilds of an Arcadian countryside. The girl raised her hand and, pressing it to the surface of the mirror, caused it to waver and briefly disturb the expression of longing that seemed to linger on her face.

Driven by curiosity, and feeling safe enough to expose myself to a young woman as naked as I was, I slowly removed the sheet I had wrapped myself in, then slid onto my feet beside the bed. I tiptoed across the room and approached the girl in the mirror until we stood face to face. Her soft expression gazed intently back at me, studying my eyes, reading my expression. There was something wondrous and otherworldly about her face like it belonged to a fairy tale.

I dared to reach out but instead of pressing against the hard, reflective surface of the mirror, my hand seemed to move straight through the glass as if passing through cool bathwater. On the other side, I felt the smooth, soft cheek of the strange girl. When I made contact with warm flesh, I was shocked.

With a loud gasp, I withdrew my hand immediately.

The girl was startled by my reaction. She quickly stepped backward, her face drifting into the obscurity of the shadows until it vanished completely, leaving only my own image behind staring back at myself in amazement and confusion. I wanted to tell myself this was a dream, but it was not a dream.

No dream at all.

***

Days passed, which turned into weeks. Through it all, I found myself engulfed in a deep malaise that I could not seem to extract myself from. I mourned Antoinette endlessly, despite being told that mourning the separation from a friend for so long was strictly beneath my status. Nevertheless, I spent long hours not wishing to leave my room; crying so long and hard that my poor little pillow soon tasted distinctly salty and held far more tears than it did downy feathers.

The only thing capable of delivering a brief respite from heartache, however, was the memory of that strange girl who had appeared in my mirror. From time to time, I recalled those eyes staring back at me and the odd figure that had emerged around them. I began to ponder this endlessly, finding her to be a simple distraction from my woes.
 I wondered: Who was she? Why had she come? Would I ever see her again?

I remember the morning of our second encounter vividly. The gentle breeze poured in from the windows, tickling my cheeks and gently lifting the sleep from my eyelids. It carried with it the scent of violets and white lilies, the soothing grinding sound of carriage wheels on crushed stones, and the disjointed voices of footmen conducting the first business of the day. Like most days, I wished to sleep in -- not quite in a full slumber but navigating the middle lands between sleep and wakefulness where dreams mixed with reality and I could linger safely in the special influence my imagination seemed it could have on the world.

Eventually, my body ventured a stretch and I tossed aside the fluffy mound of blankets I had ensconced myself in. My eyes blinked open and focused on a tiny bee tapping aimlessly about the window panes as if attempting to grant me a spontaneous morning visit. However, it was not the only presence I felt; somehow I knew I was not alone.

I raised my eyes and peeked over the rumpled bedding, surprised to discover the same pair of green eyes twinkling back at me from the haze of my old mirror. I sat up quickly, instantly alert and roused from the dreamy state that had so intoxicated me. Those bodiless eyes flitted about the mirror's reflection, reacting to my surprise. I knew that if I did not speak up they would vanish into nothingness, just as they had done before.

"Wait, don't go!" I exclaimed.

The girl's eyes paused and grew more vivid. Her indistinct figure slowly emerged from the shadows. I threw off the sheets and rushed to greet her at the mirror, this time no longer bashful at my state of undress. I stopped a few feet away from the mirror to observe the strange girl staring back at me, not having had a chance to sufficiently absorb who I was looking at before.

The girl was ethereal and pretty; her long hair was the color of straw, albeit tangled and curly, with small flecks of gold and bronze. Her green eyes were as verdant as the hills, her cherry-red lips full and pouty, and her nose was as small and cute as the ones found on the ill-fated bunnies that I so adored. I plainly observed that she was quite busty, with dense, mauve nipples, and that she possessed a surprising wilderness of untamed thatch at the apex of her ruddy thighs as if she had been living in the forest for some time.

She reminded me of a story I once enjoyed as a child of a little girl raised and nursed by she-wolves. I had wished that it happened to me; ready to abandon all the luxuries of my privileged life if it were for a freedom so rarely afforded me. The idea of going feral in defiance of the world held a decidedly special appeal to me -- and here was a girl who seemed to have managed it all by herself!

I placed my hand to the mirror but only felt the hard, cold surface greet my open palm. She seemed to be studying me curiously, intrigued by my actions, and placed her own hand against mine. As before, I saw the reflection wobble and distort the reflection of the world around me. Suddenly, there she was, flesh and blood, her warmth pressed securely upon me.

I had little time to process the strangeness of the situation before I felt the girl's fingers curl around mine. No longer was there a thin barrier between her strange existence and mine; we were connected. I felt a gentle pull and instinctively I stepped forward.

As I passed through the mirror, I felt as if I'd left the whole world behind. There was a spangle of light and the hair at the base of my neck stood on end as I felt a new world surround me. It was as if a gossamer veil flowed in and brushed across my skin.

When my foot touched the floor on the other side, I found myself standing in my own room. However, the room felt strange and different; everything was reversed as if I were now living within that very mirror reflection. This left me disoriented for a few moments until got my bearings.

Although it was my very own bedroom, it felt somehow quieter and ephemeral. The girl watched me with great interest as I wandered through the room, running my fingers across the frame of my bed, the sun-drenched windowsill, and over the knobs of my dresser drawers. I lifted an otherwise familiar hairbrush and twirled it in my hand, almost expecting it to feel lighter than I was so accustomed to.

The girl cocked her head at me and smiled, seemingly amused by my state of confusion and wonder. "It looks just like your bedroom, does it not?" she asked proudly.

"Well, yes..." I replied. "But what it?"

"Your bedroom," she replied with a cryptic smile. The girl stepped forward and held her hand out. "My name is Mireille," she said.

I gladly shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you. I am Gisele," I replied. "But how is it that I seemed to have stepped through my bedroom mirror?"

"Because I invited you," Mireille said matter-of-factly as if this alone would resolve my confusion.

As much as I wanted to pursue the matter further, I found myself instead captivated by the simple confidence and pride with which she so briefly addressed my question. There was a certain innocence about Mireille; I watched as she entertained herself with the streaks cast by the sunlight as it gushed through my windows, whistling happily to herself. She looked at me briefly, as if wondering if I would join her at play. I deduced that she probably spent quite a bit of time alone and was excited by the prospect of a new friend. It was an invitation I gladly accepted.

I gave her a tour of my bedroom, showing off all the nice things that I owned, despite the fact that she seemed perfectly familiar with them all. In exchange for my brief stories and company, Mireille finally said, "Come! I want to show you something." She tugged my hand toward the door to my bedroom as if ready to whisk me away through the palace.

Before she could turn the knob, I squealed loudly, throwing one hand across my chest and cupping my mons with the other in shame. "Out there?!" I exclaimed. "Oh, we must dress first!"

Mireille glanced down at my body all of a sudden, studying it thoughtfully. "You needn't worry about that," she said, returning her large eyes to mine and placing a hand upon my shoulder. Inexplicably, I knew that I should trust her. I did not yet understand where I was or what I would find outside that door but this lack of awareness was somehow replaced with a strange sense of absolute trust in Mireille's words. It was as if the present situation held some enchantment over me.

The door opened and I was met with pin-drop silence such as I had never before heard in the labyrinthine halls of the Palace of Versailles. Still, I feared that at any moment a resident would emerge from the nearby apartments, casting one look at me and calling immediately for disciplinary measures to be carried out until my bare bottom was as raw and red as a ripe summer tomato.

I shuffled along, tiptoeing through the wide hallway with my cheeks in full flush, my hands still protecting the unfrequented parts of my body from those who would wish to assault them with their prying eyes. Strangely, Mireille expressed a total lack of concern in regards to her scandalous exposure, waltzing through the hall as freely as one moved about one's private domain after a bath.

As we moved along the ornate balustrade that crossed the grand terraced eaves, I discovered that the stairwell, normally bustling with activity at that hour, was as vacant as the halls had been. I couldn't explain it -- but not a soul could be found moving from room to room, up and down the grand staircases, no echoing voices rising up from the bowels of the grand palace; just perfect silence.

Slowly, I lowered my guards and stood there on the landing, in full reveal of my nudity, feeling the strange sensation of the cool air on my body and the soft red carpet tickling the soles of my bare feet. Mireille took my hand gently in hers and led me to descend the staircase. With each step I took, my nimble breasts skipped about as if celebrating the delicious sense of freedom that I was experiencing, for the first time, free to move about in that state like a ghost and unconcerned with those who would have taken advantage of my physical vulnerabilities.

"Do you always go about like this?" I asked her, "Without even a single undergarment to hide your shame?"

"What shame? There is no one here!" she giggled suddenly. "Besides, even if there were, what business should it be of theirs how I show myself. That is my decision and mine alone."

"I suppose you are right," I laughed.

Mireille added, "I feel closer to nature like this. I want to wear only the beauty of the world itself, not protect myself from it. And I don't like being told what is wrong."

This statement rang true for me as well. I realized that as shocking as her behavior seemed to be, it was, in fact, perfectly reasonable and something that I myself deemed as a worthy pursuit of ideals.

As we moved through the palace, skin-to-skin and tightly bound to Mireille out of the last vestiges of my nervousness, I noticed that she had a strange smell; lovely, although not like Antoinette's at all. It reminded me of some freshly picked flowers that I once bound and hung upside down in my bedroom window to dry. By the following morning, they hadn't quite lost their beautiful bouquet. However, the scent became earthier, their colors less saturated. Mireille's scent was feminine and lovely but also made me think of growing things and the soil.

As she led me briskly out the main gate into the Court of Honor, I found that the world outside appeared to be exactly the same as the one I knew so well. However, at the same time, it seemed somehow replete with a particular emptiness. There were no people milling about, no carriages rumbling by, no gardeners at work shearing the tall hedges, nor footmen departing with official letters. It felt as if I was truly inhabiting a grand reflection -- but one that I invaded with my flesh and blood as a stranger from another realm.

This Mirrorland, as I took to calling it, was nevertheless a welcome mystery and a happy escape from the real world with all its duties and responsibilities to those I was expected to humbly serve.

It was thus no surprise that the moment Mireille found herself out in the whimsical landscapes of the palace grounds, her sprightly body became such a comical sight to behold! Despite being built as demurely as both Antoinette and I, Mireille's breasts had developed much larger than ours. I entertained myself with the expressiveness of them; the way they swayed when she sighed, their quick, happy movement when she began to laugh. I observed with amusement as she skipped along the garden paths interspersed with flower beds, her unwieldy bosoms tumbling about her chest as if they had never known proper support of any kind. I admired this unawareness, this total lack of sophistication, the effortless way she felt at equilibrium with the natural world.

Antoinette and I had often complained about the oppressive, lonely world in which we were raised; a world where every word we spoke, every gesture we produced, was deliberate and studied, reflective of our status and strict upbringing. Now here was a girl who cared not how she looked as she trotted about without shame about her body, with such lack of grooming between her legs, hair even sprouting in the small hollows of her armpits. I thought how wonderful it must feel to not be governed by the rules of ladylike behavior!

It was endlessly surprising to me how shockingly uncomplicated Mireille's behavior was. When my new friend had to pee, she did not go inside the palace to use one of the many private bathrooms filled with luxurious soaps, scented mists, and solid gold fixtures. Rather, she simply strolled off into the sweeping, intricately arranged lawns and squatted down in a spot that seemed welcoming enough. I watched with bewilderment as she reached down to spread herself wide, a thick forest of hair giving way to the soft pink valley it hid so well. Moments later, I could freely observe a steady stream of urine hissing into the grass, accented by her deep sighs.

That kind of freedom excited me; her body did what it wanted, she did what she wanted -- and I reveled in every moment of observation as she embraced that freedom.

I spent hours there with Mireille, lost in a world which was so familiar but felt so new. Not only that, but I returned the next day, and then the next, our friendship deepening, our explorations of the palace grounds unrestricted and suffused with the many conjurings of our imaginations. We had three-and-a-half hectares of embellished gardens all to ourselves to run amok through the odorous green expanses alive with honeybees and musical insects.

Mireille shared my appreciation for the Orangerie, so it quickly became our favorite haunt. It was filled not just with a variety of orange trees from Portugal, Spain, and Italy, but also an array of lemon trees, palms, and pomegranates, some of them quite old and performing with superiority over all others in their ability to bear delicious fruit in abundance. Located below the south parterre, it was flanked by a pair of great bronze sphinxes which had always been suitable for riding during games of make-believe when no one was looking. In Mirrorland, they became our loyal subjects in a kingdom ruled by two mighty queens.

However, the statue that was most treasured by the both of us, the one presence in the garden that was rivaled by no other, was the glorious statue of fair Venus, resplendent in her unparalleled beauty. If we were the queens of that land, she was the goddess whose grace and sovereignty filled the universe, bringing color to the flowers, sweetness to the honey in the apiary, and melodiousness to the songbirds of the gardens that surrounded us.

For hours, we lingered by her dainty feet, treating ourselves to the milk-white gleam of her soft thighs, the bounty of her full breasts, the braided locks of her lustrous hair, tied back as if to form a regal crown. She had all the answers to our troubles, despite not saying a thing, and no matter how far we strayed we always returned to her stately companionship, standing there in the personification of everything we wished ourselves to be.

Amongst my favorite activities with Mireille were the cherished bathing rituals that I had so enjoyed conducting with Antoinette. As with most things, she dismissed the thought of going back to the palace to complete such a task. The high, thundering fountains of the palace grounds were plenty for her, preferring their dancing waters to a sponge and the gentle, warming rays of the sun in place of a towel. Many a time we visited mighty Neptune, commanding over his fleet of tritons and nimble dolphins spurting sun-sparking water from their tiny mouths.

After becoming clean, we charged through the splashing water together, full of laughter, emerging on the other side looking like small animals caught up in a rainstorm. There we waded off to the placid waters at the edge of the rippling basin and submerged ourselves, resting our heads on the smooth, polished rim and lounged there for a time. It was there, as the water gently lapped at our breasts and the warm breeze swept through our hair, that Mireille first placed her arms around me, offering the sweet affections of our budding friendship in a way that filled me with happiness for the first time since I last felt the tender embrace of Antoinette.

The comfort of that embrace spread and, in time, I found myself preferring to spend more time in Mirrorland than the real world. Every minute of the day I spent on my own side of the mirror, I felt her world calling to me. Everyone minute I spent with Mireille on her side, I felt the desire to remain and never go back home again. After all, what purpose did going back serve when a cruel fate awaited me there?

Still...

That world I grew up in, despite all of its horrid people and rampant unfairness, was nevertheless the one that contained Antoinette. Far away though she was, simply knowing that we shared the same air, the same sunlight, stood under the same sky, gave me comfort and was something I could not let go of no matter how strong the temptation was for permanent escape.

In this way, no matter how much Mireille and I enjoyed ourselves, there was always a lingering sadness that returned time and time again as surely as the sun always set in the sky.

***

One evening, after an afternoon of reverie that followed one of my frequent visits to Mirrorland, a fit of mischievousness came over me. I thought myself clever for having the wicked idea at all. You see, with no one to stop us or even offer the slightest protest, I fancied myself deserving of a trip to the Queen's private apartments -- a mysterious domain that precious few had access to and whose features were but the subject of many whispers and speculation due to the rarity of being granted an audience in her antechambers.

Indeed, as the guard room was empty, I found myself doing the unthinkable: ascending the grand marble staircase to those secretive rooms, dripping in riches and excess. Familiar though I was with the luxuries of Versailles, nothing had compared to what I subsequently discovered in her own quarters. The Queen's apartments were laid out across several rooms. Much like the rest of Versailles, gilded accents abounded there but were accompanied by various expensive objects such as a set of porcelain vases with classical nude figures representing each of the four seasons. I found dramatically painted ceilings, intricate clocks, and opulent trinket boxes. There were mirror cases and combs, Parisian ivories, even small bejeweled figurines representing a panoply of important saints.

I waltzed from room to room, admiring the various commodes and cupboards which dazzled the eye with their elaborate marquetry. I raided the alcoves and entertained myself at the many jewelry cabinets. I reclined on every piece of elaborate furniture that suited my fancy and then stood before the grand fireplace, held aloft by stoic caryatids, and brashly proclaimed myself the new queen.

However, in time, as Mireille and I sat in the nobles' room, surrounded by those walls of apple-green damask and wide gold striping, I found myself yearning for the simple beauty of nature again. For all the love I had for the many comforts I had grown up with, I had now seen the world through Mireille's eyes and all was changed. I wondered if those frivolous things were worth the price of my sheltered, stifling life and all that came with it -- including the cost of having any chance at love.

Mireille led me out onto an elaborate private balcony which I knew existed only by spying it from the gardens below. On those high terraces, she showed me a breathtaking view of the world outside my usual domain. There were hills abundant with grapevines and the woods beyond, full of secreted glades stocked with wild game, as well as idyllic clearings, glittering ponds, and tracts of pastureland dotted with the indistinct presence of sheep and goats. There we lounged about on the terrace as the sun began to descend through the rosy sky in pursuit of its nightly rest.

Mireille's long hair swept into the air, blown aloft by the passing breezes. It floated behind her shoulders as if she were standing underwater, her locks teased this way and that by the meandering ocean currents. Her body shone brightly with a deep amber glow as if she were clothed only in the sunset. She looked almost like our beloved Venus standing there, her winsome breasts catching the last caresses of the sun.

However, there was a certain sadness lingering on her face as she gazed out upon the world. Her eyes flitted about as if aware of things unseen.
 "What is it?" I asked, taking her hand tenderly in mine.

A small tear escaped her eye and slid slowly down her cheek. "Time is a curious thing here. Its passage feels almost like a mystery to me now that I have been here for so long."

"What do you mean?"

"I have seen so many come and go through the halls of this palace, and other places, watching from the shadows, from the mirrored reflections beyond. I remember seeing you as a small child, so many years ago, gazing dreamily into your own eyes at the edge of the fountains. So full of youth! Dreaming of so many things..."

"I don't understand. You appear to be no older than I..."

"This is true. However, age has left me, as it does any who stay here," she explained.

It was at that moment that I began to comprehend the story of my new friend. There, in Mirrorland, Mireille had not aged one day since her arrival. I dared not ask her how long she'd been hiding out in that strange domain, quieting crossing through time as it sped by on the other side of the mirror, nor from which city, town, or village she had escaped there from. I dared not ask how many like me she'd offered her friendship to and attempted to rescue from heartbreak, or if she'd instead spent so many years in seclusion with not a soul by her side. I did not even ask who had invited her into Mirrorland, just as she had first invited me.

As much as I wanted to know, I felt that the answers to those questions would only offer me such sorrow and this was something I already possessed in excess.

"I see distant things here. Glimpses of other times. I have seen visions of men in strange costumes marching in long lines. Metal birds roaring through the sky. Pillars of fire in the distance, rising from the earth like geysers," she continued.

I stared out across the vast landscape, as of yet unable to see the things that she had become attuned to. Unable to fully understand, all I could do was offer her my sympathetic affections, wrapping her in my arms and traversing a few quiet moments together in reflection until finally she surrendered to the simple delight of my embrace and let go of her troubles.

Mireille turned to me and smiled, her eyes becoming the vivid green that had so captivated me each time I found her quietly observing from afar. She seemed lost in my eyes and I wished her to stay there, to escape in them just as we had escaped to Mirrorland.

Tugging Mireille's hand, I led her back inside, returning to the Queen's bedchamber. There I abandoned myself to the immensity of her bed, inviting my friend for a snuggle in the sheets together. The royal blankets were soft and silky as if spun from the finest silks and yet they were no rival to the sensation of Mireille's warm body against mine.

It was there, in that snug cocoon, that she and I finally made love together in a cozy retreat fit for a queen.

I offered my body to Mireille as if knowing instinctively that she was more accustomed to the manners of love than I and Antoinette had been, awkwardly performing that initial process of discovery together some time ago. I closed my eyes and embraced the sweet abandon, enjoying the sensation of my nipples between her forefingers as she rubbed and tugged at them gently. I felt her kisses there; her adoration grew as she licked and suckled at my body as it swelled against her eager lips.

I felt her fingers' smooth glide across my stomach and over my mons. All at once, my body came alive! I opened to her, craving her touch. She knew just how to please me, slowly rubbing my outer lips, building speed and pressure. The things she whispered into my ear... no one had ever expressed such desire for me -- and in such a way! So many things reached my ears which turned me red in the face that I thought perhaps I needed only the words alone to satisfy my cravings. They were words I'd never used before; it was a vocabulary of passion and I was her pupil, eager to know how to communicate what I felt and what I needed.

She taught me so many other things, too!

We offered our bodies to one another in manners I knew not even existed, just as I had been so astonished by the scene that Antoinette had once described to me. We knelt there, our legs intertwined and breasts delighting in brief touches, moving our hips together as we kissed. When I lay back, she threw my legs over my head as I let her have her fill of me. She stood over me, with one knee upon my shoulder, offering her fragrant sex to my lips, and then she even lowered herself upon my face! Oh -- I savored her body like that, I drank of her passions as if intoxicated and yet still parched.

Mireille cried with such pleasure, such longing, such desperation for the audacious enactment of my hunger that I was briefly tempted to think her pleasure had become too much for her delicate body to contain.

"Mireille... I would give up all sweet things for you!" I cried out, anxious to share with her my thoughts and feelings with a boldness that I'd never felt before. She put her hand to her mouth and started laughing. "All the cakes and coated pralines, even the crème glacées!" I giggled.

It was well-known that I had a sweet-tooth. However, I'd found a pleasure all the more sweeter than those things.

She continued to laugh heartily and, at first, I feared she was laughing at me but then she wrapped her long arms around me and showered me with reassuring kisses. I felt ashamed and embarrassed for having said it. To be sure, I knew not what I was saying, nor how to say it -- and yet I was still yearning to tell her what power she had over me, how my body had produced such astonishing wetness, and how badly I wanted her to indulge herself in it.

Mireille took my face in her hands. "You have all the stars in your eyes! I want to kiss them all," she mused before lightly kissing my eyelids.

"I adore every part of you!" I replied. She laughed so hard that she quaked in my arms. "I am greedy!" I confessed with great enthusiasm.

"Then be greedy!" she exclaimed. "Leave not a single place unexplored by your lips!"

For a long stretch of time, we lay there, offering up our intimacy with eagerness and jubilation; our happy fingers moving briskly between each other's legs and taking turns at one another's bosoms. My small fingers sunk inside her body, coaxing her nectar as she moaned softly into my neck. I felt her naked body shivering with joyous discomposure as she turned to liquid in my embrace, my hands becoming perfectly drenched. Her body squelched and spit like the grand fountains of Versailles.

I was not satisfied until her smell was all over me, until I bathed in her divine essence, transporting me to a land of pleasure just like one of my evocative perfumes. It made me miss Antoinette and wish that I could have bottled her scent, which had long since faded from the sacred object that had once united our hips so intimately.

My body responded in kind as Mireille explored my depths. So deliciously cruel was she, that I the moment I felt as if I would die of over-indulgence she stopped and offered me only a wicked grin and teasing eyes. I had to beg! We laughed and resumed with gusto until begging was useless, for I could no longer even speak. I felt I was gushing and could not stop until the Queen's sheets were already quite soaked and ruined with our love.

Together in crisis, our cries rent the air and echoed through the empty hallways of the palace, announcing our bliss to the world, and at the same time, to no one at all. Finally, Mireille threw herself back into my arms, exhausted and retreating to the comfort of my breasts where she entertained herself with the soft curl of my navel until the hypnotic call of sleep began to heavy our eyelids.

Having little intention of leaving that spot to return home, I soon drifted into a deep slumber myself as the warm summer breezes floated in from the terrace to lull us into a night of perfect sleep.

***

I remember my dream that night, quite vividly. It was as if the Queen's bed were a magical oracle, capable of showing the sleeper such profound things, revealing truths about the world, revelations, even warnings.

It was not so unusual at first; I had been crossing the royal courtyard with the usual assortment of characters milling about that grand space under the sky. There were nobles, visitors, and staff going about their business; figures foggy and indistinct in my mind's eye served up from the fragments of my memories.

One of them caught my eye, however -- a young woman weaving through the crowds.

As I grew closer, I saw that it was Mireille, only she seemed somehow different in a way I could not quite work out. In the next moment, I had lost her. I rushed after my friend, calling her name, but she was nowhere to be found. Finally, after an exhaustive search, I caught a glimpse of her silhouette at the entrance to the west wing and darted after her.

"Mireille! Mireille!" I shouted, wondering why she did not stop at the familiar sound of my voice.

I pursued her through the palace, trying so hard to catch up but only able to catch a brief sighting of her long, flowing hair as she slipped from one room to the next, always evading my presence. Before long, I came upon the Hall of Mirrors and saw her slip inside.

"Wait!" I cried out. I ran inside and found it empty but for a familiar, royal sun flanked by two Gallic roosters that seemed to laugh and make a mockery of my misfortunes.

The Hall of Mirrors had long been my favorite room in the palace, with its tall pilasters topped with gilded bronze. It was full of marble and silver pieces, high chandeliers, and alcoves filled with trophies, busts, vases, and other antiques. It was a place where so many important figures were received by the king including, not so long ago, the ambassadors of Siam who crossed the gallery in their pyramid-shaped hats, aiming to form an eternal alliance between our two nations.

However, the room was most famous for its seventeen mirror-clad arches that reflected seventeen arcaded windows above the gardens below. It was there that I stood, my image reproduced many times over yet so very alone with myself.

"Mireille! Don't leave me!" I shouted, listening to my echo sweep through the gallery, rattling against the tall mirrored archways.

Suddenly, one of my reflections changed; I thought my eyes were glowing bright green -- but it was not me, it was Mireille!

"Wait, don't go!" I repeated. However, she sunk back into the muddled reflection, becoming briefly obscured until her image reformed. I gasped... for standing there in her place was Antoinette.

Without hesitation, I ran toward her. Alas, it was just a trick reflection. Colliding with the mirror, I caused it to fall, crashing down around me and shattering into a thousand shards. Reflections of my beloved friend lay strewn about everywhere.

In a panic, I swept them up into my arms as if desperate to put the pieces back together again -- but each shiny fragment was altered by my very touch. The moment I scooped one up, Antoinette's image vanished in a dazzling flash of light. I sat there sobbing, working like mad but in vain, each and every piece a singular reminder of my persistent sadness.

***

Early the following morning, just as the sun began to creep across the horizon, I awoke with a start.

Mireille was still beside me and her presence instantly soothed my mind. She still smelled of sleep laced with the faint traces of our love the night before. Her warm body lay there curled up like a nautilus shell and brimming with sweet dreams which bubbled up from her subconscious to bring a glimmer of amusement to her lips.

I wondered if back home there was commotion over my absence, having stayed the night in Mirrorland for the first time -- but then I told myself I should not care; that they deserved every bit of concern they felt if they even noticed I was gone at all.

I saw Mireille stirring. "Wake up, sleepyhead," I whispered, planting a kiss upon her forehead. She was instantly roused from sleep and rubbed her beautiful round eyes. The moment she saw me, her face lit up as brightly as the sunlight streaming in from the terrace. We kissed happily until each of us was sated with the other's affections, then scrambled out of bed.

Our happy jaunt through the palace commenced, full of gaiety and the thrill of our shared nakedness. We bolted through the opulent arcades, down the wide stairways, and then sprinted outdoors to shower ourselves in the splendor of daybreak. That morning proceeded like so many of our other adventures, albeit infused with the lingering delight of the ways we had shared ourselves so openly and lovingly the evening before.

We danced along the grand canal to the west of the gardens all the way to the Queen's Grove where we mimicked the fanciful animals depicted there from Aesop's fables. We wandered the tall green chasms of the Girandole and gathered blossoms from its wide flower baskets. I imagined the cherries were blushing at our bare-skinned passing. Eventually, we settled under the colonnades with their rustic deities and cherubs endlessly engaged in mischievous play.

As on most days, we somehow made our way back to the Orangerie, following the spiral paths to its core where the most fruited of those prized trees grew. We plucked our favorites until our arms were heaped with horticultural delights. Mireille crunched into an apple, I split a pomegranate in two, we both tore into fresh oranges, bursting with sweetness and tasting like the sun.

There we sat, our laps filled with discarded peels, our skin fragrant with a citrusy tang that perfumed the air. I grew intoxicated with the abundance of our treasure, a bounty that would have seen me banned from the gardens altogether had I indulged it on the wrong side of the mirror. We gorged ourselves until nothing was left except my growing desire to taste the honeyed liquors of Mireille's own sort of orchard.

I soon observed that her desires were very much the same. "I wish for us to make love again," she laughed, throwing her sticky arms around me. "Here, under the fruit trees. This is my favorite spot and I should like possessing the memory of us here."

I giggled and seized her with kisses. Mireille tasted bright and winey from the pomegranate seeds which stained her candied lips a deeper red. Our whole bodies were stained, in fact; breasts dripping with sweet-scented juices that rivaled the marmalades, syrups, and sorghums usually bubbling away in the palace kitchens. I found her bosoms so delectable that they may as well have sprouted like apples from one of those trees.

Squealing, she abandoned herself to the soft expanse of grass, her knees peeling open to the sides, her arms beckoning me forth to amuse myself with her body. I gazed in wonder at Mireille's cottony pubic hair, tousled by the breeze and gloriously unruly, a puff of light brown fleece softly glowing under the luminous rays of the sun. When I touched her there, her body gave way to a luscious expanse of juicy pink flesh which acquiesced so willingly to my caresses.

Each of us was impatient to give the other pleasure but Mireille had just the solution. She lay there on her back, cushioned by the soft, pillowy grass. I crawled atop her in the reverse, her sex open to my mouth and mine to hers. We achieved our feast, now indulging in each other simultaneously. Mireille was as fragrant as a rose garden; her fleshy blossoms as delicate as petals. She tasted treacly, with a hint of spice, she was a veritable confection, full of sweet cream. Oh -- her body bore such ambrosia!

We continued like this until my thighs became sore from the subtle jerks and spasms of passion. Mireille wished to suffer my touch so she placed herself on her hands and knees, anchoring herself at the foot of a tall apple tree. I approached her bottom with glee, finding it rouged and dimpled with the faint imprints of feathery grasses. Mireille rotated her hips toward me, her warm sex expanding its outer ring of soft hair to invite my fingers' entry. There I slid my coupled digits deep into her body, content to listen to her soft moans and the sticky report of her damped sex.

As I moved my spirited fingers through the dewy, pink recesses of Mireille's quivering pussy, I felt myself becoming further inflamed, full of heat and growing ardor. She began to move her body in waves, provoking the gentle swing of her breasts as her taut nipples brushed the soft blades of grass. When she was suitably messy, we switched positions, my thighs subsequently about her face and neck as she animated my body with the impish flick of her tongue. She amused herself with the exhaustive knowledge of my body, inside and out, splurging on the riches of my femininity and an expression of rapture in its purest form.

Flush with emotion and aphrodisia, we embraced, lips to lips, our bodies intertwined and still pulsing with appetition. Perspiration flowed like small pearls from the pit of her arms as she clutched me with passion under the warm sun, her breasts thick with the natural perfume of her skin. She caressed my hair as I nourished myself there, luxuriating in the wine-red coronas of her swelling nipples.

We continued to share ourselves in turn, all the while blessed by the transient breezes full of stolen aromas plucked from one part of the garden and offered up as fragrant gifts to another. Then, exhausted by our wanton ambitions, we sunk into a sweet repose, coupled like a pair of spoons. I felt Mireille's lips upon my neck, her fingers wrapped around my body, tucked in between my legs and moving in slow circles. I closed my eyes and smiled, and we remained like that, having enacted our various passions, coddled by the swaying leaves until the softest gales of wind played through the treetops like pipes to lull us into a state of sweet lethargy.

After some time gazing toward the lazy passage of clouds far above our heads, Mireille and I rose to our feet and skipped off, hand-in-hand, to visit the marble naiads hiding amongst the cascading fountains. There we rinsed off the sweet nectars of both body and fruit tree, having made a mess of ourselves twice over. As I felt the cool waters soothe the flush from my body, I became suddenly pensive.

My thoughts drifted back to Antoinette as they always did. I thought how sad it was that she could not share in the same delights as the ones I had now experienced. I felt guilty; I felt that my joys would never last, so long as she could not partake of them equally. Desperate to cling to those moments of passion I had just shared with Mireille, if only to soothe my pain, I grasped at fresh memories and sensations that only seemed to slip right through my fingers.

It was then that I understood, most assuredly, that life for me could only ever be a fruitless search to recover what I had once had but tragically lost.

Mireille observed me from afar as she sat in the basin, anointing her body with the shimmering water. She was always more perceptive than I; I felt as if she could see and hear everything, reading my thoughts as if I were an open book.

After a long stretch of silence, she smiled quietly to herself and asked with a sigh, "You love her, don't you...?"

"Madly!" I replied without needing one moment to consider her question.

Mireille nodded at me; it was a nod that was not without a touch of sadness or, perhaps, jealousy, but nevertheless full of acceptance and deep understanding.

"Then you should be together," Mireille added as if the matter were quite simple. I felt that, at any moment, my eyes would become much like the fountains with their falling waters.

"Oh, if only it were so!" I cried.

Mireille pulled herself from the water and stood there, beaming with excitement despite my woes. "Does she possess a mirror like the one in your bedchamber, equally generous in height?" she pondered.
 "I must imagine so..." I replied, surprised by her question.

"Then you must visit her."

I nearly toppled over. "What do you mean? How?!" I gasped.

"I will show you. -- Oh, I have traveled the world!" Mireille replied, sighing wistfully. "I have seen the shrine of Shah Cheragh in Iran. In truth, the whole thing is a mirror -- quite fitting for a so-called King of the Light! I have seen the Golden Temple of India, so brilliantly auspicious with all its gilding that onlookers seem to made of gold themselves. I visited the Teatro San Cassiano as the first of its public visitors arrived, anxious to hear the music of L'Andromeda without first having to satisfy the requirement of possessing noble blood. I have even toured the long halls of the Royal Site of San Lorenzo de El Escorial, with its ceiling frescos, so sweeping and dramatic that it feels as if the whole sky is bursting with life!"

"You must take me to Antoinette! I miss her dearly!" I began to sob, moved to tears both by my own sadness and at the possibility of seeing my friend who was so far away, wondering if she still thought of me as I did her.

Mireille smiled at me, no doubt understanding that as beautiful as I could imagine all of those things were, none of them would ever rival the grace and beauty of she whom I still loved with all my heart.

I felt Mireille offer her hand to me. "Close your eyes," she said. I squeezed them shut, feeling the tremble of my fingers as they lay upon hers. She did not need to instruct me to think of Antoinette, for I was doing so already. I thought of her endlessly; her face was as clear as the day. I could almost reach out and brush her cheek.

I felt a rush of air. The world seemed to rotate around me.

I felt the warmth of the sun suddenly vanish and a cool shadow washed over my skin.

Opening my eyes once again, I found myself in a strange room. It was gray and the walls were made of hard, polished stone. I did not know where I had gone but it seemed to be quite far from Versailles.

"Where are we?" I asked Mireille. "Are we still inside the mirror?"

"Yes, but elsewhere. See there," she replied, pointing at something.

I turned to look, then spied a tall mirror nearby. Through this mirror was a large bed where a girl slept softly. "Antoinette!" I gasped as tears began to stream down my cheeks. "Is she really there? Can I go through?!"

"Of course!" Mireille laughed.

"You must come with me! You must meet Antoinette!" I exclaimed, tugging at her hand.

Mireille pulled away and shook her head sadly. "Alas," she explained. "I choose to stay here." I offered her a look of confusion. "With any mirror in the world at my disposal, I have spied upon such longing and pain; a pain that I have also known. I have even witnessed the most dreadful loss."

I observed Mireille's expression soften and we connected there tenderly as she continued.

"When I came here, I decided I would not go back until the world welcomed me. Here I will remain, waiting for someone that I can love, the right place to love her, the right time to love, even -- open and freely, as all are deserving by birthright."

I threw my arms around her, aching, sharing in her sadness alongside this fresh joy that I felt.

She continued, "I told you that I saw dark things ahead -- but I also see good things! Things I will wait for, no matter how long it takes. But you, you must be with Antoinette, whether you remain here or there. Make your home not a place or a time, but each other."

I began crying again and gave Mireille a long, deep kiss of gratitude. She squeezed me tightly then said, "Go! I wish to observe your happy reunion!"

Without haste, I made straight for the reflective portal.

I stepped through the mirror and planted my toes back on the cold floor. There I briefly observed Antoinette asleep in the wide, empty bed, perfectly alone -- no doubt often abandoned by her new husband as he executed political business in some distant locale. Despite the fact that morning was just breaking, she looked so very tired, sleeping there innocently but with a solemn look on her face.

I wondered what thoughts busied her sweet head and if they were of me.

Antoinette was surrounded by dark stone walls and the muted colors of regal tapestries hanging in her new home, such a far cry from the glittering golden hallways of Versailles. Laying there, she looked almost like an entombed heroine and princess of Arthurian lore. I wanted to resurrect her, perhaps with a kiss much like the ones so storied about in children's books.

However, Antoinette blinked her eyes open and took a moment to refocus her gaze upon the cavernous room. Upon seeing me standing there, she gasped and sat up. I was not yet sure if she knew her dreams had ceased when she rubbed her eyes and exclaimed, "Gisele! Is that you? How--?" She waited, desperate for my reply in order for my presence to become real.

"Antoinette!" I exclaimed. She inhaled sharply, then expressed pure joy as she leaped from the bed and flew into my arms.

"If this is a dream," she sobbed, "I wish not to ever awaken..."

We cried, laughed, and shed tears of joy together. Afterward, she quieted me. "Shh, the maids are about."

"Then, come where it is safe!" I whispered into her ear, tugging her toward the mirror.

Antoinette showed me a look of confusion but I cleared her mind with a reassuring kiss. I teased the gossamer straps from her shoulders, letting her bedclothes fall to the floor, and rendered her as true to herself as I was. Antoinette appeared to me like an angel, her body no less perfect than before, no curl of her long locks out of place, preserved in every way -- save for her silken fur, now trimmed back to short scruff no doubt for her bridegroom.

I led Antoinette back to the mirror and drew her straight through it, having been granted permission to invite her into Mirrorland just as it had been done for me. I watched as her expression changed in response to the marvel of it all, then we emerged on the other side at the foot of a bed just as familiar to Antoinette as the one we'd left behind, only now without the supervision of her watchful handmaids.

Still lost in my eyes and full of disbelief, I took Antoinette's hand and welcomed her into her own bed with the goal of demonstrating just how real my presence was. I covered her with happy kisses, her laughter fluttering about the hard walls with a musical echo. She lay back, the warm bed awash in a flood of her soft curls. She offered up the snug comfort of her breast, her rosy sex quivering at my slightest touch.

Just then, a gasp escaped her lips. Antoinette received a fright, believing us to have been caught red-handed. I looked over my shoulder and caught sight of Mireille, emerging from the shadows slowly and with a quiet curiosity.

"Do not be afraid," I reassured Antoinette. "She is a friend. It is she who brought me to you." Antoinette smiled at her and Mireille responded in kind before reclining upon an elaborate, cushioned chair by the window. There she rested her head on the chair back, her tangled, golden hair strewn across her otherwise unconcealed body like wandering ivy, observing with satisfaction our tender reunion. A wide smile began to break across her happy face.

I resumed my invitation to love, such as Antoinette had shared so intimately on our first night together, and on many evenings after that. With my lips, I adored Antoinette's little ear, her nose, long neck, and rubied nipples where I suckled happily like a babe desperate to receive nourishment from her life-giving body. I felt relieved as if having just crossed an arid desert without sustenance for those many, long weeks.

Everything I had once loved about Antoinette's presence by my side came rushing back to me: the scent of her hair as it tickled my nose, the feather-light kisses of her eyelashes as she tucked her blushing face into my neck, her round butt, so small and cute and soft as my pillows. Even the softness of her inner thigh was an unparalleled delight, so sensitive to the touch that her astonished eyes seemed to beg me for mercy. I relished the way we curled up together so tightly bound as if each wanting to wear the other, to drown in a lover's embrace and have it make the world go away.

As I stroked the nape of Antoinette's neck, she gave me such a look of anguish that I thought she might collapse under the weight of her own desires. As if lost in a dream, she ran her small fingers over my scalp as she had always done, twirling my hair as if it were spun from some luxurious silk thread. She worked her way downward, exploring my body after so much time away. Antoinette's visible fascination reached my areolas which she circled them with her curious fingers, then through the soft chasm of my chest, stroking the sides of my breasts. I could tell from the flush of her neck, the tremble of her hand, the unsteadiness of her eyes, how badly she wanted me.

I planted my lips upon hers, silencing her heavy breathing while I wedged her legs open wider and began to tease her with slow strokes of my fingers. They moved across her mound and through her sensitive lips. I delighted in their delicate contours and silkiness as I began to build warmth and wetness.

I slid a finger inside Antoinette while teasing her clit from the outside with my thumb. I slipped a second finger inside, feeling her body expanding to welcome my smooth penetration. She whimpered softly, her hips moving slightly, her muscles tightening. I felt a heat flood my body and the fine hairs on my body stood on end.

"I missed you so much!" she cried.

"Oh, I cannot tell you how much my body has ached in your absence!" I laughed merrily.

Our kisses became frantic and multiplied, coming almost as quickly as the beat of our hearts. Antoinette kissed my neck, my breastbone, then she indulged herself with my breasts, caressing them softly as she took my nipples in her mouth while they stiffened between her delicate lips. She reached for my body, stroking the delicate flesh of my delta in circles. The flirtatiousness of our lips became interrupted by moans, one after the other, mixing together until we were but one unified source of the sounds of pleasure. I was burning with a hot tingling sensation, my body becoming agitated with the raw pulse of desire.

Antoinette went further, kissing my stomach and then my inner thighs before reaching my pussy, parting me with her fingers until I blossomed before her eyes with the sweetest pink blush. There I offered my body to her just as openly as I had offered my heart. I cast her a look of such desperation while she gazed upon my expanding, dewy sex. Antoinette grasped my leg, her soft cheek brushing against my inner thigh as she drew near to me. I heard her inhale suddenly, roused by my sweet perfumes.

Nothing was more stirring than the sensation of her breath as it washed over my intimate parts, replete with all the signs of her lovely agitation, nothing more perfect than the satisfaction I felt as she buried her face in that expression of my womanhood -- the face I imagine I must have had as a young girl having my first taste of fresh strawberries and cream. Oh, I am quite sure that I was just as creamy and a perfect delight to her playful tongue.

When she was finished I wasted no time taking my turn. I adored the sound of her hoarse panting, I adored the way, at the peak of her pleasure, Antoinette jerked her hips, instinctively pressing her pubic mound against my face and trilling softly into my ear.

"Gisele!" she exclaimed as I saw her body rattle violently.

Astonished, she looked down at her own vulva with a mystified look, suffering a series of spasms that had her virtually squirting with pleasure. I lovingly cleaned up her juices, my chin dribbling in her feverish profusion, quite proud of how inspired I had made her. It sent my heart aflutter. I wanted to do it again and again; the reward for somehow merging our futures.

I laughed joyously for I had so many things to show her! So many techniques of love and affection that Mireille and I had tenderly shared. In the moments that followed, we coupled together in so many ways, astonished by the evidence of our mutual love intermingling where our bodies connected. Suddenly, my mind swirled with so many questions -- both alarming and exciting!

Could we really find a way to be together? I stubbornly imagined Antoinette and I escaping to the thickets beyond the grounds of Versailles to seek some ancient nymphaeum where we'd set up our home amongst the vaulted caves, forever in the presence of those sweet, immortal maidens who were content enough to amuse themselves with dance and song by the firelight.

I imagined that perhaps we would escape to the shore where we might commandeer a robust sea-faring vessel, driven far from the land of men by the wandering winds, answering only to ourselves with no country nor king to steer our ambitious travels.

These were just flights of fancy, however; all but dreams. Maybe we'd just remain on the other side of the mirror with Mireille, where there would never be anyone to bother us.

However, it did not seem unthinkable that we might even remain there in England, settling down together in some quaint village, living a secret life -- or perhaps somewhere else, far, far away, reachable only by the miraculous portals that had led me back to Antoinette. I wondered if it was our destiny to leave Mirrorland and fight for our love.

Perhaps we were seeds planted by Mireille to usher in a new world that she could not build on her own. Did she subject herself to long years of solitude and loneliness, her young mind inexplicably filled with generations of wisdom, in order to build an army across decades or even centuries? Would we stay and embrace a resistance, answering Mireille's call to build the world into a more favorable place for the purity of love? Would she one day, in some distant land and time, step from that mirror once and for all to become the recipient of our work, finally able to celebrate her love of a woman she'd traveled through the ages to find?

The future seemed so unsure, so confused, full of so many big choices and unknowns.

Antoinette held my face in her hands, her radiant eyes darting back and forth as if trying to catch hold of mine and still my busy thoughts. "I do not understand or care what magic has brought you here," she said. "I only want to know you will stay." A small tear escaped her eyelids, full of simple, pure joy.

I returned it, nodding happily and wiping the salty stream from her cheek.

For all the questions I had, for all the paths that lay before us which, in time, we would have to confront, my concerns of the future vanished in one quick instant as Antoinette leaned in close to my lips.

She dispelled all those fears with the decisive clarity of a sweet kiss. Besides... what more important and consequential choice was there to make, other than the one we had just done there, with a gesture as firm and resolute as that?

***

Thank you for reading "Mirrorland"! If you liked this story, I hope you will consider clicking a star to cast a vote for the National Nude Day Contest -- and please enjoy the rest of the submissions!