Jenny: A Swan In Her Feathers

"Soon - soon!" The Guttersnipe cast back her head, feeling the loose tumble of her hair sweep across the gaping emptiness of her back. The stones of the clasps were cool against her skin, and she felt as one of the Epidii girls, the moon-girls, who moved like mares and saw what the stars can see... Tush! That's pagan talk, she chided herself. But as she turned and turned about, looking at what figure she cut, she had the overwhelming urge to catch up a knife and need to use it, if only to relieve the burning excitement in her chest. "Mm, sah!" she murmured, baring her teeth in a wolfish grin. "So? And does it look beautiful to your eyes?" She put down her arms, palms gazing at the floor, the gown snug across her hips. "It is in the old style," she added hastily, suddenly afraid Domitia was only saying it was beautiful because she did not understand. She could envision with her inner eye Jason's easy, smiling face warming to a foxy, cunning expression at the sight of her. "So - " she turned, " - and so..."