I quickly scramble to unwrap my gloves, letting them fall to the ground, but pause when my fingers are in view.

They are more slender now. Long and elegant where before they had felt brutish, the nails cut short, yet manicured into a pleasant shape. At the same time they are still my hands. The calluses of long hours practicing with the sword are still present, as are the scars on the backs of my hands from accidents in the same. Only now the flesh is subtle and soft between these features and no less powerful for it.

I blink, then gently take my face in my hands. My cheeks are now much fuller. The grainy texture of stubble replaced by silky skin. My chin seems shorter, just a fraction, creating a more rounded feel to my jaw line. And my nose...well, I have no idea how it’s different, other than that it is definitely smaller.

Smaller and cleaner. I had struggled to breath through it since breaking it as a child, but that seemed no longer to be the case, air flowing freely and easily into my nostrils and out again.

Experimenting with my breathing reveals two things. The first is my hair, a long lavender tress falling in front of my eyes. I pull on it to examine it, gently to make sure I don’t upset my scalp. The hair’s colour seems to fade somewhat as it goes outward and appears to be lighter at the tip than it is nearer to my head.

The second thing I notice is the uncomfortable rubbing of my shirt and gambeson against my breast.

Against my breasts?

I seem to be sensitive there where I had not been before and it is a little uncomfortable, beyond the discomfort of wearing clothing which are suddenly wildly miss-sized to me, if far from debilitating. I consider the merits of shedding some layers to address that discomfort and, perhaps, even further explore my body, but I decide against it on account of the still unknown desires of the Fae.

Another quick blink.

I scan the clearing looking for my debtor and find her, some extra meters above the ground, staring at me with a look of studious fascination in her eyes and barely constrained mirth on her lips. It’s actually quite the attractive combination. I felt my cheeks flushing once more, that heat in my core gently pulsing, just once. A reminder that it’s still there.

I break eye contact, looking away to examine intently the flowers of the clearing, the sound of bees and hummingbirds laughing as I very deliberately think about flowers and absolutely nothing else.

The clearing had been full of flowers when I’d entered it, though it seems with night’s arrival many have closed until the next day. What surprises me is the flowers which haven’t closed, or rather those that are opening. Even as colourful pinks and blues and yellows all seal up, delicate whites and purples take their place, releasing a perfume of their own which is unique from that of the day’s.

“Though a flower is beautiful without; I would still have your name before our bout.”

I return my attention to the Fae. How rude of her to interrupt my flower viewing! Though the smile on her lips suggests she knows all too well what she’s doing…

I will myself down to only a gentle blush, reminding myself all the while that this is a dangerous and unpredictable Fae who would be fully in her rights to have her way with me tonight...whatever that way might be…

Pulse.

AHEM. 

I try to give her my best glare, though I fear she remains unintimidated by it. 

“I suppose my old name doesn’t suit me anymore…” It never did, really. I always disliked it. I don’t have a replacement in mind though.

Unless…

Well, she is Fae after all. Why not?

“I’m-” Wait! Oof. That was a close one.

She grins all the wider at my stumble.

“You may call me Amarantha, after my favourite flower.” I finish with an unstated ‘you may not have it’, which she is all too happy to acknowledge with a nod and a particularly mischievous smile.

“I would only have borrowed it anyway; And given it back come next morrow’s day.”

“Amarantha,” she says, tasting the name like a sweet treat, “is a summercourt’s name; but I find that it suits you all the same.”

My body is betraying me and as far as I know the Fae hasn’t yet even bewitched me. Whatever benefits of my change, for which there are many and more than enough to justify tonight’s perils, it is clear that I haven’t considered just how much they would also leave me wearing my heart on my sleeve.

Or my blushing, traitorous cheeks, as the case may be.

“Though I do so enjoy your flustered face; might I suggest a more vigorous pace?”

A vigorous pace? What does that even mean in this context?

Oh.

I look around to find a place where I won’t trample too many flowers underneath. The whole clearing is carpeted with them, but there seems to be a place near the center where they give way to thicker patches of clover and mint. I carefully step over to the space, or try to at least. I take no more than a handful of steps before I need to stop and, regretfully, remove my sabatons. While I can make due with most of my gear being ill fitting, shoes so much larger than I need are more liable to trip me than protect me. Fortunately the ground is soft and even comfortable under my shoeless feet, though I’d likely need to throw away my socks by the time the night is done.

Once I reach my chosen spot, I do some basic stretches before turning to Lily. She clearly knows my intention, because she holds in one hand a thin, scabbarded rapier of Fae make. I can’t make out the weapons’ details, but it is clearly not iron from the way the light bounces off of it, expected enough for Fae weaponry. The hilt seems plain, with a much smaller crossguard than typical on human weapons of that style, while the scabbard appears to be embroidered with colourful depictions of flowers of all sorts, the only common theme between them that they all are flowers of spring.

I palm my own blade, pulling it from the straps on my back, and chew my lower lip while mulling over my options.

“My sword is steel. Will that be fine?”

“You are unaccustomed to your body; The handicap will make this more sport-dy”

“That’s the third time...” I only whisper the words under my breath, but Lily must have heard them, because she shoots me a questioning look. That’s Fae ears for you, I suppose.

I take a deep breath, letting the night air settle in my lungs before responding. “That’s the third time you’ve cheated on a rhyme to maintain your rule of discourse.”

“...”

The forest clearing grows quiet. The breeze seems to still, killing the rustling of flowers and trees. Any animal noises, faint but present in the forest at night, all seem to stop with the stillness. Even the moon above, the major source of light within the glade, seems to dim.

“Enguard.”

I’m well enough trained that her attack doesn’t catch me off guard, though I am put off by the sheer speed of it. The Fae closes the space between us in a moment, grasping the hilt of her sword in another, and by the time a third moment has passed the blade flashes out from its scabbard in a brilliant strike. It’s all I can do to get my own sword between me and hers. It isn’t a particularly strong defense either, leaving me no options from which to counter-attack.

Lily’s sword whips around again from the extended position of her first cut, seemingly without any of the usual tells of preparing a proper strike, and only a hasty step back spares me from another scar. As it is my gambeson is left with a large slice where before there had been none, the Faerie sword caring not for the padding that would have mucked up the cut of a more mundane blade.

The Rapier has returned to its scabbard, still held in the off hand, while its wielder eyes me with a pensive glare. I test my arm. The cut did not reach skin, and the shearing of my gabeson is not complete enough to hinder my movements. Then I take proper hold of my sword in both hands and nod to my opponent.

Continue.

Lily once more holds nothing back in her approach, to the point where I doubt my ability to track her, should she adopt a less straight-forward tact. This time I fully block her blade, turning in towards it to ensure it meets the flat of my own and travels no further. My fingers rattle with the impact, but the rapier is light enough that it can’t steal my grip. I counter-attack by pivoting my body, shifting away from my receiving leg to the other and leveraging my sword around the defense that the Fae’s own sword made.

She meets it easily with her scabbard, which withstands the admittedly ill-practiced attack as though it were a thick shield and not a thin, hollow rod of...whatever it is that it’s made from. She then follows up with a counter of her own, leveraging her sword over mine as her body lifts up, stepping higher into the air and straight over my guard. She makes a flipping slash over my opposite shoulder and lands, blade once more sheathed.

And the undamaged sleeve of my gambeson, as well as the top half of the sleeve of the undershirt below that, all fall down to pool around my forearm.

I rip off what few seams remain of the sleeves with a grunt, then take hold of my sword and turn with purpose, my sword flashing out.

It isn’t a particularly sporting move, but I am unused to lacking the initiative and I loath to feel as though I’m being played with.

The swing meets nothing but air. She’s nowhere to be seen. Then, as it comes to a stop on my far side, I feel an extra weight, surprisingly light all things considered, but still uncomfortably much. 

I turn to find the Fae standing on tip-toes on the flat of my blade. 

She waits there only long enough for me to realize she’s there before following up with another slash, her rapier so quickly in and out that I don’t even see the blade but for its flash. And quite suddenly my shoulders fells lighter. My gambeson, though thankfully not the shirt underneath, falling off my back as new holes in the front and shoulders rob it of its perch.

I’m down to only trousers, socks, some padding around mid leg and an under-shirt with one sleeve. Meanwhile the Fae hasn’t even been touched.

Perhaps she had intended to hold back before I opened my mouth, but it’s clear that I am badly outmatched by the woman. My face feels flush from our short yet all too rapid dance and my breasts...well, they actually feel better now that the gambeson’s gone. There’s still an uncomfortable rubbing there, but without the added pressure of the armour it’s much more slight than before.

I adopt a new stance, sword held high at the shoulder, tip pointing down to just below my opponent’s center of mass. A more aggressive version of this posture might have it directed straight to the center, allowing for immediate stabs which could take your target out of the fight, but I desire a better position to bring my blade around for defense, something I’m all too unused to doing, and am far more practiced with this than a more appropriate position.

This time when Lily comes I attempt to meet her before she has the chance to draw her sword. I lunge forward, into her attack, leveraging my greatsword outward and up. She steps around my lunge, but the extra move forces her into an awkward position to counterattack. I commit to my own momentum, allowing it to carry the weight of my blade for a moment while my off hand comes loose of the hilt. I take another step forward, around the side of my blade opposite Lily, and slam it back down on the dull back edge, driving my sword down and once more towards the Fae.

I’ll probably have a bruised palm for doing this without proper gloves, but it seems to work.

My opponent is forced to block with her scabbard, rapier still inside and away from a position she’s likely practiced with her swift draw technique.

Unfortunately, I also lack a follow up. I can’t let up the pressure on this attack without giving her the time to counter, but I also have no real hope of breaking her defenses from my position.

Then the next thing I know, I’m on the ground.

Lily defended with her scabbard pressed tightly against her forearm, not unlike a buckler, if one that should reasonably break her wrist from any significant blow, and her last block was no different in this regard. She reached her sword hand for her hilt, still held awkwardly close to her chest, drew it back along her body in an impressive display of flexibility, then stabbed immediately outwards. It lacked the finesse of some of her earlier displays of extreme speed, meaning it was only humanly fast, and I had no choice but to fall to the ground, or else be impaled.

I look up into her springtime eyes. A smirk graces her face, and her sword glimmers in moonlight as its tip presses up against the bottom of my chin.

“Oh.”