Savigny: I will become her vessel, her passage to bloom.

Note:The article is from an official character story by Master4Fancy.

I failed to recall the enchanted tales of the Sacred River when the fog rolled in. The scent of water lilies led me, as if bewitched, into the depths of the jungle. It was my first time sleeping under open skies. In search of a moment’s peace, I arrived at a shallow lake said to be blessed—

and then I saw her: Savigny.

Savigny, like a blue lotus in full bloom.

She faced away from me. Her black hair trailed into the water, and her limb-like paddles stirred the surface in slow, delicate motions. The silence was unnatural—no chirping of insects, no rustling of leaves. Only Savigny and I remained in this stillness. I covered my mouth, barely breathing.

And yet, she noticed me.

She turned.

The pale moonlight revealed her face—a closed bloom of sepals, ghastly and soft, like a flower burning with fever.

I was afraid—yes.

But her slender shoulders, the curve of her arms, the soft gleam of her breasts—

they called to me.

I stepped into the lake. The water was cold, but it calmed me. It felt as if the beginning of life itself was flowing between my legs, between me and Savigny.

Leaves floated and scattered as I approached. Tiny tendrils brushed my skin, then quickly slipped back into the dark, like shy whispers.

She had been waiting for me—

for me to come close,

for the mist and water to soak through my thin dress.

I looked at her.

Savigny waited with quiet devotion, then gently took my hand and guided it across the glistening surface of her membrane.

Her forelimbs embraced me. Her sepals opened slightly, whispering in hushed tones. Beneath the water, vines coiled around my calves like the kisses of curious fish.

I looked up. Her neck, so like a woman’s, was close to mine.

She smelled like deep springs and silent forests.

Savigny lifted a handful of water to bathe us, her tendrils curling around me like lovers.

We moved closer.

The fog thickened.

The scent of sandalwood and the bitterness of river weeds clouded my senses.

Savigny held me—

her tendrils caressing my shoulder.

My awe and fear dulled into something dreamlike.

Then numbness.

Then surrender.

She pressed her waist against mine.

Her petal-lips opened, swallowing my vision, my fear.

Darkness descended.

And in the black, her nectar flowed into my mouth—

Savigny was kissing me, soothing my nerves, softening my body.

The mist veiled her bare back and belly.

My skirt floated in the water,

and her vines slipped beneath it.

I could feel myself becoming Savigny,

a blooming flower at the river’s edge.

Her breasts were like fledgling birds—

gentle things that lured faithful girls.

And in exchange for her fragrant, boneless embrace,

I would become her passage to bloom,

her vessel for life.