a private show
He pulls the images from the separate mirrors together with his fingers, tangling them together in patterns of bare limbs and heaving flesh, and smiles at the picture they make. They writhe to the rhythm of his hands, the beat of his pulse; the proud serpent-boy holding the Lightning Emperor, sweet Lady Poison with the artist, the animal prince with his quiet blind musician, Sakura casting her silks around Makubex, the Prince of Battle and his two lovers in the one bed. All of them, his toys, his images, bare flesh naked to his eyes.
His fingers stroke the glass.
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