My Femboy System

The morning sun cast a dusty gold glow over the ruins of the grand council chamber. Marble pillars still stood tall, but the divine energy that once radiated through them now buzzed uncertainly, like a hymn sung off-key. Blood had dried on the dais. The council was gone, save for one unconscious figure still bound in fuchsia silk rope—our prize from last night’s impromptu mutiny.

And what a lovely mess it had been.

I adjusted my cravat and sighed, standing at the center of the dais with a goblet of consecrated wine that I’d stolen from the altar. The taste? Earthy. Slightly heretical.

"Remind me never to negotiate with zealots before breakfast," I muttered, letting the wine slosh between my teeth. Elian stood to my right, posture perfect, hair tousled from our earlier skirmish. Lysaria was lounging on a toppled cherub statue, legs crossed like he was waiting for room service.

"They’re sending the emissary," Elian said. "She’ll arrive within the hour."

"Of course she will. I offered them Hollow. He’s like divine currency to them."

Behind us, the captive moaned softly. Councilor Virel, all pomp and powdered wigs, now looked a little less omnipotent and a lot more gagged. A true shame I didn’t have time for an interrogation scene.

But alas, the exchange came first.

We waited on the outer balcony of the Sanctum, wind tugging at our cloaks. Hollow stood nearby, his frame tense, pale hands twisting nervously. He was back in his ceremonial whites, marked with a velvet sigil stitched just above the heart. Mine, of course.

"You don’t have to go through with this," he murmured softly, his voice cute and non-threating now that he was half his previous size.

"Oh but I do."