amichan: from DA by strayedclimaca (Remy)
Prologue: NSFW

Content: Lesbian sex. 

Full story is set around age seventeen when Remy is sent with her sister-in-law Mercy to Paris to recover a necklace called L'etoile du tricherie, (The treacherous star). 


Prologue NSFW )

amichan: from DA by strayedclimaca (Remy)
[Around age 14 or so. After a fateful tithing where Remy's cousin Etienne has died it's becoming apparent that her mutation is more than just eyes and charm. Be warned of all Cajun dialect speech o.O I forgot how much of that there was. Yay Nawlins :p]

Belle knocks on the window then opens it and climbs on through. I’m sitting on the bed throwing marbles at a large plastic bowl I took from the kitchen. I want to see if I can make them disappear or whatever it was like the bars on the ship, or explode like the soapy brush or the cards or the planks as we were throwing ourselves over the side.
“What you be playin’ at?” she asks, “Half expected you to be all curled up and mopey.”
“Won’t bring him back.” I say.
She sits down next to me and hugs me sideways, leaning her head on my shoulder, “You didn’ answer me. What you tryin’ to do?”
“Sometin weird happened.” I tell her, “tryin’ to see if I can make it happen again.”
“What you mean?”
“It’s weird.”
“You said dat.”
“When we were stuck I tink I made the jail bars...well, wid dem it was different...dey dissolve but...”
“Dissolve?”
“Yeah and some udder stuff—it blow up. I don’ know. It just--.”
“Weird?”
“Yeah. Dat.”
She turns slightly so her feet are against my hip and looks at me sideways. Her hair slides across and flops off her shoulder, “Cherie hate to say it but you always bin weird.” She flicks my temple.
I push her and she tucks, rolls, and jumps back on the bed, kicking me off the other side. I spring towards her and she dodges sideways. I manage not to stumble and take my turn rolling off the bed. I pick up one of the books on my shelf and as I throw it at her my arm tingles like I’ve been sitting on it for a while and she pushes herself backwards in time that the book doesn't hit her in the face. Just beyond where her face would have been it explodes, tiny bits of charred paper and cardboard scatter around us in the breeze from the ceiling fan.
“Hope you be finish readin’ dat,” she says, out of breath.
“See what I bin sayin’.” I answer, waving some of the ash away from my face.
“You be a might weird,” she says.

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