A glistening, porcelain figure glided through the autumn trees. With each fall of tall white heels a collection of dried leaves crunched. It was colder in Spica's forest than in other parts of Astrea. Here, the amount of sunlight was limited by the amount of rays that could slip through the trees. Some often claimed it to be the work of spirits. Clothed in a rippling pure white Lolita outfit and crowned by a mess of snowy white hair, Alice looked just like one, moving slowly through the autumn air. Ivory limbs stretched and glistened like porcelain, the flutter of the dress looking almost transparent and like paper in the solemn light. She had heard about this place before. The memorial tree. Once part of the ashed lands formed by lightning striking one of Spica's forests. That was all that was left of the scar now. That, and a rumor.

A ghost haunted this tree, or so the rumor went. One that was believed by some to be a girl who was actually still doing well in the academy despite having been struck blind. Alice didn't really believe the whole ghost nonsense, but an unhealthy blight of curiosity had lured her out here like a spider to a curious vibration in its vast web. Icy orbs soon washed over the charred beacon of remembrance. It was disfigured and showing no signs of growth or recovering life. The pale figure almost glowed in contrast next to it. The snowy spider wondered if she were to put her hand out and touched the charred bark, if the whole palm would come back painted in the same crumbling black. She stopped in front of it. It felt colder in its shadow, but, being of a similar frosty temperature, she didn't feel the decrease in temperature. Could it be true? Could a ghost really be haunting the tree? Alice drew an arm across her slender waist, propped an elbow up on it, and rested her sharp chin on back of a folded hand, head tilted up to capture all of its dismal magnificence. The wind felt like it was blowing right through her here. How it caught the wisps of hair and billowing frills. It almost made her shiver. A ghost. A being chained to walk the Earth until peace was found.

Did something like that truly exist?

Gilda walked along the pathways as she evaluated the changes that had come to her school. Well, one of the sister schools, but someday they would all be one and they would all be hers and it wasn't a problem to have such expectations. Besides, she did want to show camaraderie to the other sisters. Putting herself out there as one of the flock would be a popular move. As for why she was out in the ashed lands, it was partly to make it known that she was out and caring about the well being of the other schools. Partly it was to enjoy a bit of quiet contemplation. But in the end, it was mostly to build up energy. She had campaigned for this, she had put hard work into seeing that it happened, and then, it did. Not because of Gilda's actions, but because of her opponent. This wasn't acceptable, though she was confident that people would remember her over the donor. Gilda had drawn attention to it, made it a crux argument in the election. The girls would thank her, but inside...inside Gilda knew she didn't win. It galled her, it drove her to fight harder for what she wanted. For the reforms to the school.

Further and further, she entered the old woods. She felt not unlike a fairytale girl, going deeper into dark recesses, followed by danger. But there was no danger here. No darkness to engulf her. None of it would dare. Last year for all hollow's eve, she'd gone as a wicked witch, with her twin going as the good. She had felt good in that costume, in that guise. What was wickedness, after all? Simply what people did not understand. Let the evil of the forest come and try and devour her. She was the president, the future greatest thing the school would produce. Hansel and Gretel had both been captured by the witch, Gretel had been the one who pushed the evil witch into the oven, but they had simply returned home afterwards. What a waste of potential power. At least in the version where Hansel became a fawn, Gretel enacted real change by becoming queen. Not ideal but acceptable for the time.

Before long, Gilda was arriving near the tree memorial. She hadn't realized while so lost in thought but her journey was half complete. She had planned to simply leave but there was another here. An unexpected joy, in fact, for she recognized the girl, though there were far more clothes being worn than the last time they had met. "My taube, what a lovely coincidence." Gilda said as she approached Alice. "What has brought you to the enchanted forest?"

Along with the wisps of wind soon drifted a voice. Not one of any rumored spirit, but one of vague familiarity. Recalling the face briefly with the voice, a ghost of a smirk dashed across the pale lips. Gilda, the Lulim SCP, wasn't it? The albino girl still wasn't one for taking names into memory; such was a serial heart breaker's ignorant ways. Though the green-haired Cheshire cat from the bathhouse had been one that had struck a chord of intrigue in her web. Whether it would still hold the girl was still up to the widow's final decision, but for now, the metamorphic web would carry both their weight, and she decided to gladly share it for the moment. Ghostly blue eyes remained frozen to the eerie wisps of light curling high up in the dead branches above.

"Ah, I wonder." She mused in her usual monotonous tone. Tilting her head back down, she didn't break from the rest of her stiff, elegant position. Searching for ghosts or validating the rumored existence of spirits in this location through witness of her own eyes might be a bit of strange answer. And the widow was always one for vague answers. Although she had been feeling a bit bored, and what was a little slip of the tongue to possibly draw yet another amusing encounter with the Lulim SCP? She supposed she could supply an honest answer, though vague, as she liked to keep things.

"Ghosts." The soft, mature voice projected finally, accompanied by a fixation of the icy gaze on to the familiar girl. Or rather, rumors, of the spirits. Not that she believed the tales herself, but curiosity, no matter how slight, never was a healthy thing for her. Shifting on a white heeled shoe, Alice turned gracefully to face the other, the white sheets of her dress sparkling dimly in what little light they could find in the dark heart of the woods. She decided it only proper to perform a brief curtsy. Her knees declined and her torso began to lower to finish it, but she altered the stance last minute and finished it with pinching the edges of her white dress and lifting it a little at the very edges as one slender leg slid back to add a dash more of grace, mimicking how a noble Victorian woman would bow in the presence of someone of importance. Being a figure draped in white, the widow stood out here, much like the spirits she was slightly curious rumored to exist here in this tree. Her gaze frosted over the SCP. Yes, she remembered this amusing character of Wonderland.

"And you, Mon cherie?"

Still as pale and as cool as ever. Well, until the heat rose between them, but her taub did like to play at being in control. Gilda liked that in a sister. "Ghosts? How interesting." Gilda did disbelieve in ghosts, nor did she believe. Ghosts were their own nonsense and were not of consequence to her rise in status and power. Playing along with the beliefs of the people, however, did. "Perhaps you are the ghost, you are pale and beautiful enough to be a tragic ideal lost before her time." Gilda said as she walked ever closer to Alice. The curtsy surprised her but in a way, it was proper. Gilda was the student council president after all. A little deference was nice though it must be answered in kind. Gilda paused, one foot in front of the other and swept her hands out wide. With practiced precision, she bent and bowed low, though she kept her head up and on Alice. Then Gilda straightened herself and her smile was touched with actual pleasure now.

"I am here for personal reasons." Gilda said, as though she was implying something was a secret. "And, I suppose, I'm here to see how my work last year was paying off." She waved her hand to indicate all the trees growing around them. "Who would have thought that just last year, this was still a burnt out husk." She let her gaze fall on the memorial tree. "Well, easier to believe, seeing that, I suppose." Her face clouded over before slipping into a mask of smiles and charm. "And yet all it takes for such transformation was the three sisters coming together and a little push from a concerned sister." That concerned sister being Gilda and it was far more than a little push. And none of the three schools had actually come together. Even now they fought and bickered. Well, Miator and Spica did, the jerks. It just made her so angry. The reminder of it was going to set her off, she had to suppress it before her mask faltered.

"Tell me about the ghost, my taube." Better to get her Miator sister talking, a ghost would be a welcome distraction. And in a place like the ashed lands, beneath the burned tree, a ghost story might bring out something new in the world.

A soft sound of amusement rose from the widow's throat, and she let her snowflake lashes flutter shut for a moment. She did think of herself a ghost at times, silent, brooding, and gliding about, each stealthy footfall barely brushing the ground as she proceeded to her next target or task. Her etiquette mimicked that of the long lost Victorian style; of course, when she wasn't impassioned by the flame of strong sensual desire. She remembered she had been compared to an ancient antique once, though it had drawn amusement from the widow.

Now that Gilda was much closer distance-wise, Alice allowed herself to observe her as she listened to each word of what was said. Personal reasons, hm? Be it SCP duties, or whether generically personal, it still didn't fail to capture the snowy girl's curiosity slightly. Although that wasn't what piqued it to its fullest. It seemed as if the rejuvenation of the forest was to credit for the Lulim SCP's actions. How thoughtful. Alice tried to recall what the forest once looked like. Burnt. Charred. Decayed. Much like the memorial behind her. It could be, in itself, a living ghost of the past. Of what once was of the dead forest. And even though the budding trees were starting to nourish the rebirthing forest, the ashen skeletons and dim light still occupied its heart. As for the three sister schools cooperating in harmony, that was a hopeful dream still, but not one quite in reach yet. Alice found the rivalry between the schools foolish. She didn't involve herself in the heated rivalry and cared little for it; a widow spider much more a flirtatious heartbreaker preyed on whomever she wished without much deep forethought in to whom the victim of her charms was. "Is that so, dear?"

The ghost. Alice didn't believe the rumor much, but she couldn't help her ears from catching wisps of the childish ghostly tale. She would have just stated what she knew, not one to be vague for something she deemed not fully true, but decided she could use this as an opportunity to play with the Cheshire Cat a little. After all, the playful flames of passion from their previous intimate encounter hadn't yet frosted over.

"From what I hear..." She began, gliding a few steps round the emerald-haired beauty. "She haunts the tree; a former student. Her hair is beautiful and shimmers a peculiar color." Beside the girl now, she brought up a few ivory fingers and playfully ran them through Gilda's green tresses, letting each fall in silken succession as she slipped behind her.

"And she cannot see, for her sight was taken from her from a flash of lightning." Slender arms reached around Gilda's shoulders and the frosty hands gently fell over the girl's eyes, first horizontally, then vertically, obscuring both. She brought her lips close to the other's ear, her tone a ghostly low one, "Though some say she still walks these grounds, alive and well."

Or, at least, that was what she had pieced together from what she had come to hear. Letting her hands fall away from Gilda, the snow queen completed her circle so she now was back to close in front of her. The thick white frills of her alabaster dress fluttered around her knees with each step. Crossing a physical boundary wasn't any worry to the widow - not that it ever was - after the passionate moment they had shared with far less covering their bodies in the steam of the bathhouse. "Though a rumor by first years it remains."

Gilda exhilarated at the touch of the other girl. So there was something here. She did love to be remembered by her sisters, though their time together had very much been a memorable experience. The physical memories hadn't faded for days, at least on her end. "First years can be right more often than you know." Gilda breathed out slowly. She spoke quieter, this was an intimate place with an intimate sister. her voice would not carry out and that seemed fitting for the mood the world around them seemed to be in. "I was only a first year last year and already I'm the president." She smiled up at Alice. "Sometimes it takes somebody new to see the out of place while everyone else has gotten used to the way things are."

Gilda stepped forward and around Alice, her arm came out and ran along the other girl's side. It wasn't the normal gentle caress she'd use on any other girl, Alice didn't react to such things like other girls. She required more effort. "Perhaps the first years see what we have not." Slowly she approached the tree. "A sad fate for the girl of the ashed lands. She must be so lonely." Her hand hose and she slowly reached out for the trunk of the tree. "It must be so scary, wandering around a changing world, unchanging and unable to see what happens around you." Her hand met the tree and she carefully ran her hand down the side of it.

"So many things are different now, the schools have fallen from grace." She brought her hand away and looked at it. The ash had long ago washed away but the tree was charcoal, it marked like a pen. She rubbed her fingers together, spreading the dark marks and lightening them. "It is sad. Everyone on Astrea, every daughter of the three sisters is my sister. I want to share closeness with my sisters, I want them to be happy, I want to support them." She looked up from her fingers and at the gnarled, twisted, burnt branches of the tree.

If there was such a ghost, well, she could enjoy the warmth of Gilda's fiery spirit. "What of you, my taub?" Gilda asked, her back still to the other girl. "Our time before was sweet and the warmth we shared was like an oven on a cold winter's night." Her body tingled at the memory of it all. Illicit and secret pleasures in the school's public bath. It was a good memory and the thrill of it was like little else. "Do you long for closeness, or are you content to watch from afar? Every time I see you, you are so distant, so cool. It is like an ice statue. Ethereal, perfect but untouchable." Gilda smiled, the game was fun and she enjoyed playing it. "I've never liked not being able to touch art and yet there you are. The girl who won't be touched beside the ghost that can't be touched. Such a shame."

Snowy lashes half-veiled the icy orbs in a sigh of hidden wonder. So the president had been a first year not but a mere year ago, and had already gained a position of power. Such fiery ambition wouldn't be expected any less of the marvelous girl. She wondered what caused such a powerful orchestra of ambition in the first place. Gilda was one full of passion, not just in the flames of amorous desire, but also in dreams and aspirations. Uniting the sister schools wouldn't be easy, and even if done, it was still possible the product wouldn't be stable. Was the goal even possible? Maybe not, but she felt Gilda was determined to keep trying despite the mountain of an obstacle she had work to change. "True, dear."

The touch that glided across the widow's side elicited a quiet amused sound from her pale lips. Her skin tensed slightly under the fabric, yet it was simply out of bodily habit, not out of dislike of the other's touch. She recalled that warm touch from their previous meeting. It did sound scary; blind without any sight, ghost or not. Not having a soul who understood the suffering of a handicap. She listened to the other's words thoughtfully. Frosted lips soon parted to comment, but the tables were soon turned, questioning the spider herself. What did she wish? Closeness would be favorable, though she was one of distance. If needed, she stepped in only to manipulate or sway things a certain way, never to remain, much like a phantom herself.

"I am a watcher, rather than one of direct involvement, unless involvement be needed. Pulling strings from the shadows, or only stepping in if need be. Although, closeness is not something minded." She adopted a posture of grace as she spoke, though her voice sounded a bit weary from beginning to say so much. Normally, when one's back was turned to her, she would use it to her flirtatious advantage, though she remained where she was for once, deciding to continue, "As for touch, it's not a familiarity. Though a creature of the ice and snow can't help but long for the warm touch of another every now and then and the polar pleasure it gives, even if my body habitually tenses beneath any contact. Caresses like yours, mon cherie, are of that pleasurable warmth and a little more."

Mutual touch in return wasn't something Alice outwardly longed for much, but she never minded if one wished to play or share in physical pleasures. She had had to adjust to being touched, especially when she was with her goofy yet amusing dance partner for waltz. It was like touching a painting; something you are only supposed to view, never contact in fear of smearing the image. Although Alice was not a fragile painting, and what she comprised her canvas on was something more akin to glittering ice with the potential to awe and impale if one wasn't careful. Though that was the drawing mystery with the albino temptress; when will you get pricked and when would you contact the surface beneath the encasing ice? It could be a risky yet invigorating game.

Gilda had waited, waited and listened and yet Alice had not come to her. She had opened herself up, daring the older girl to come up from behind and initiate contact. Gilda so very much loved being held in the arms of another. Well, she had just said that Alice avoided the touch and stayed distant. Annoying that it was still true. Well at least there was occasion to banter. That was another thing Gilda enjoyed doing, romantic, combative, casual, Gilda loved to throw words around and hear her partner rattle off back at her. Of course, it could be considered a bit egotistical, possibly even narcissistic, but honestly, if you didn't like to hear yourself talk, how could you become a great politician? Gilda planned to be great.

Gilda turned to her large bunny rabbit and smiled. "You plan and scheme but what good is that if you don't do, my taube?" She strutted toward the taller girl with full confidence. "If you fade into the shadows like a ghost, someday you will need to give the world a push and you will find yourself as insubstantial and powerless as the ghost you pretended to be for so long." Gilda brought her finger to her own lips and brushed the dark char across them in a light smear.

"You claim to be ice and snow but when one falls into their cold embrace and stays too long, there is only sleep and death. My taube claims to be beautiful and pristine and yet so dark and despairing." She walked up to Alice but stopped just shy of arms reach. "But I burn, don't I? Fire of heart and soul. I don't believe your claims that my touch only brings you little more than pleasure. Fire is hot, purifying, cleansing force. But it can char, destroy, scar. Ice kills and preserves, fire kills and erases." Gilda brought her finger up and slid it down her cheek from her eye like tears.

"Ice and fire two opposites. When we touch, there is pain. Do you deny that the marks of our last entwinement lasted days?" Gilda held out her arms and looked from one hand to the other before looking straight across at Alice. Gilda invited contact, begged for it, even. But she would not initiate. She had been the aggressor in the past, consuming, as fire does, all that she wanted. Ice was slow, it was patient, it could not be rushed without proper coercion. Gilda would play at patience, she would turn their tapestry to ash eventually, but not until it was done. Gilda wanted the art, to feel it, to touch it, to become one with it. She did not like being told no. Well now her sisters were art. And she would love them just the same and they would love her. The warmth of her soul would draw them closer and they would all become one. But ice, but Alice, that would require patience that Gilda had not practiced.

Alice watched all Gilda's movements. Listened to all her words. Words of fire and ice swirled, warring in a polar opposite contrast. One day, the albino heart breaker would fade into the snowscape of her ways, never to rise back up to what she once was. That realization never failed to jar the widow, yet she knew the path she was heading down and was familiar with it. She knew not any other. A spider, even a ghost, could be only as strong as its silk and threads were in its web, and while the frozen silk boasted strength, her web wasn't all yet strong. It hung, yes, but it was fluttering, still, without much of a hold fast in which to stabilize itself. She'd found one pillar, but was still searching for another, in which to aid in her rise to her full potential.

Ghostly blue eyes tracked the movement of the char, watching as it was spread over the canvas of Gilda's lovely face. Sadistic, teasing, minx. That was what made up the albino girl. She was quick to poison others with her icy touch and leave them frozen much like herself all too quick. It was a game to her, one that wracked up so many sins that no amount of repentance could cleanse. She was a blackened, acidic soul parading in the pristine image of a snowy white purity. No one could taint the snowy image, because it was already tainted underneath.

Finally, the snowy widow moved, taking a graceful gliding step towards the Cheshire cat. She reached out an ivory hand, hesitating only slightly as if rethinking the action, before letting the ice of her palm rest against the warmth of the curve of the other's cheek. "Burn or not, I cannot feel that fiery pain, my dear. If you burn me, I wouldn't quite be able to notice."

Physically, of course, for the absence of pain receptors due to her condition. Not to say the widow couldn't be wounded mentally or emotionally, but she thought herself immune. That was why she broke others. Why she captured hearts just to rip them apart at the seams. Bringing her other arm up, she draped it around the girl's waist, simultaneously moving the higher hand to guide the younger girl's head up ever so slightly. Alice loathed eye contact. Eyes were the window to the soul, as it had been said, and hers was frosted over. Though through the azure looking glass rested something slightly different under the concealing ice; curiosity, desire, and a ghost of a forgotten soul chained in her own being, waiting for the icy covering to melt and release her. "While fire does have the potential to kill, and even more so, destroy all in its path, with fire, comes rebirth. Just like this forest. It can blaze into the brightest of infernos, yet leave beauty in its wake, even if scars are left. Ice conceals; frosts over. While everything blossoms around it, it is left to gloss over itself, never connected to the rest of the world, so distant and never knowing warmth of which might melt it, for better or worse."

As quick as she had made it, she shifted her gaze slightly to break the brief eye contact she had established. She whisked a thumb ever so gently across the girl's lips, smudging some of the char with it. The dark color, even if very faint, made a striking contrast with her snow-white skin. She eyed the other's lips but didn't kiss them, not yet, at least. Some could say she was teasing, although the icy temptress was merely thinking too much to act at the moment. "Ice and chill isn't used to the touch of another, that is why it is distant. For if you introduce it to someone, even if they first marvel in awe...," she finally let her ice lips press against the warmer ones to initiate a brief kiss of passion, letting it last for a few passionate seconds longer than she originally intended before gradually breaking it, "they will eventually shudder and move away from it, leaving it unable to know touch."

There it was, the playfulness, the predator. Her lovely taube showed her fangs. It was all a game, but at the same time, it was not. A tease, a caress, perhaps it was like looking into a dark mirror. A true opposite in many ways, ice and fire, would steam be the result or water? Perhaps dark was incorrect, perhaps it was just a mirror, the darkness coming from within Gilda herself. They played the same game, for different reasons, for different goals, but for the same gains. Gilda felt and relished the touch of Alice's hand along her cheek. Perhaps if they had been predators in the wilderness, that touch would be the first blood. A sting, a claw, a call to action that sent the blood pumping at a frenzied pace.

Then Alice's other hand came around and cradled behind Gilda. A lovely trap, a pretty web, it was inviting and well made for Gilda who much preferred to be held than to hold. But again, she preferred it this way, she had a lot of experience fighting while on her back. They made the briefest of eye contact as Alice's fingers raised Gilda's face to meet hers. Eyes were the windows to the soul perhaps, but only if that soul was laid bare. Gilda considered eyes to be the truth. Her eyes were filled with lust and desire, they shown, reflecting the inner fire. A soul could be bound, twisted, hidden, but eyes would tell tales even the soul would not admit.

Gilda stared into the eyes of her taube for the briefest moment and felt herself against a glacier. It was brief, it was even possibly a figment, but it was there. Gilda exhaled, her breath clouding into a mist around the glacier, but she would be magma. Reshaping the world. Both could do so, but in different ways. Ice was slow, magma was hot. When they met, who could tell what would come of it. Alice spoke and Gilda listened, it was like a debate, though punctuated with sweet caresses and deliberate nothings. Her lips spoke of the power of ice, the opposite of Gilda's own fire. Perhaps it wasn't a debate, trying to sway the other, but a fencing match. Trying to overwhelm the other in sheer ideology. Or perhaps it was more than either of those. Perhaps it was like a confessional and they each were the priestess for the other.

Then came the kiss. Oh glorious sin, confessions were forgotten or at least put aside so that they might share the debauchery of bliss. Cold and hot met with a lovely and steamy result. It lasted a few heartbeats, but nowhere near long enough. Gilda had felt the touch of the glacier now. She wanted to test its mettle.

Gilda licked her lips, the char bitter on her tongue but that was pleasant too, in a way. It was a contrast. Gilda lowered her head and lay it across Alice's shoulder. Her arms came around and clasped lightly around the waist of her icy opponent. Ice is a surface layer, my taube." Gilda whispered softly. "Fire finds its way to the core." She brushed her lips along the collar of Alice's clothing, leaving a small dark trail. "And there is more to life than touch, than pain. Fire is heat, comfort, but can you smell it? Can you hear it crackle, can you see the light, perhaps there's a taste in that lick of flame yet." Gilda slid her lips up Alice's neck.

You can conceal all you like, when the light of the sun, of purest warmth comes along, perhaps that which lies beneath will come out and bask in the warmth. Where fire and ice touch, it may be brief kinship, but why hide from the bliss of skinship. Life is fleeting for fire and ice alike. Fire may pull away from ice at first, as water stings its golden toes, but it will come back again and again until one or both have been consumed in glorious passion."

Alice let out a silent glacial sigh, one of faint bliss and pleasure. She might not be a creature that was used to touch, but, be it initiated by the hands or lips, though even if her body habitually tensed a little out of lack of familiarity with contact, didn't mean she disliked it. She drew pleasure in the warmth and the feeling of Gilda's lips along her neck, relishing the feeling of it against her chilled skin. It ignited a frosted ember of the flame of desire, but she kept it infantile. Acting on it in its full inferno would be unladylike and improper in a place like this. After all, there was that rumored ghost that had been said to keep watch of the area, even if she couldn't see.

Listening to Gilda's words, Alice let her higher lily-white hand flow down Gilda's body to meet the other that held to the curve of the girl's waist. The ivory fingers played gently with the exotic green locks of silk hair. Fire was consuming. If not successful firsthand, it would eventually find a way to burn whatever was in its way down to a fine ash. Fiery, passionate rival. In the way Alice observed how Gilda acted, how she carried herself and caressed with passion of a kindled blaze of its own, it was no doubt the ambitious Lulim student council president was fueled by fire. A wild, passionate fire that could very well turn to ash anything it contacted. Alice wished to know the burning core, the very molten center of that flame where it burned brightest and hottest; perhaps through her usual manipulation or other entwining, much more physical means such as the passionate caresses and feverish lust of which they observed in the steam of the bathhouse. Whether she got burnt or not was none of her concern; when fire and ice met, the result wasn't always an unholy burning chaos. The equilibrium - steam, that was what most often was the product, be it suffocating or comforting. She listened thoughtfully, processing the words in the snowy scape of her mind. A pale hand continued to comb gently through the emerald hair, letting it slip through her fingers like flowing water, while the other still held the girl.

"A creature of snow must at some point bask in warmth, lest it be frosted over eternally by the chill it resides in. In the passionate heat of our entwining, fire and ice created steam. I observed the passion and heat of your fire in that marvelous steam. Wild and ablaze with the forge of ambition and sweet desire; the desire I see in your eyes reflects its lustful furnace. Ice has little to nothing to fuel its chill. It merely exists within itself and crystallizes its intentions in its icy expanse. It has no countenance but its own to reflect and expand. But when met with the heated exuberance of fire, it may take a different form, be that of a lovely steam or vulnerable water, to be reshaped and frosted over again. It may not be able to consume itself as fire does, but it can be melted in the passion of its fiery opposite, should it be yielding and of a thin crystal sheet."

Like all ice, exposed to its fire rival long enough, the white widow could be melted. Slowly, for her ice was stubborn and fortified, and the product was slightly warmer than the chill that engulfed. Many had challenged the glacier of that unrelenting ice, though most failed, as it came to frost them over, too. A solemn occurrence, yet such was the way of nature.

Gilda felt the heat leeched out of her. Her taube always seemed like she was under temperature, how she avoided a cold, Gilda could never understand. Even when they shared heat in the bath, it had seemed like Alice had been a few degrees shy of Gilda. It made the metaphor more fun, certainly. It added a new layer of complexity to the combative romance that Gilda pursued. Gilda loved a little complexity, it gave her something to focus on, to spend energy on, to let off steam and release the pressure that built up deep inside her, as it were. A way to slowly decompress without an uproarious explosion. What she would do without her fun, who could tell. Certainly there was a capacity for less than elegant behavior. When she had lost the forest, she had caused a large amount of trouble in her dorm that required a lot of cleaning up. She hadn't had any reaction like that in quite awhile, certainly not since her last match against her taube. The bubbling magma brought down to a simmer, but a simmer could do great things as well, but more elegantly than a roiling boil.

Gilda basked in being held despite the cold, to be embraced and cradled whether by love or lust felt right. Even while the warmth of her body was leeched out, the heat of passion flamed up and ignited her soul to burn even hotter with every delicate touch of Alice's hand. Stroking her hair was simply stoking the fire and every calorie of heat would be needed against the onslaught of ice. "And what are you, my taube? What am I? Have we become creatures of ice and fire or are we the elements themselves? Are we the servants to be owned and kept or are we the keepers of all in our realm?" Alice whispered slowly, her breath misting against the ear of her current near lover. "If we are but slaves to the wills of others, how can we ascend without each other? If we are masters, where is there for us to go but through the other?" Gilda traced lines down Alice's back with her hand and across her thigh. Today would not end in bed physically but perhaps the mind could be sent there to linger for a time.

"And if one of us is the creature and the other a shunned element, there is no choice but for the beast to be dominated, chained, and ruled over by the elemental." Gilda's right hand came up and her fingers stroked the nape of Alice's neck. Gilda kissed at Alice's cheek again and dared her taube to turn and meet her lips again. Gilda had eyes only for Alice in this moment and she wanted to meet the glacier behind Alice's eyes again. A glacier with mirror sheen, a mirror to see herself, but reversed. Perhaps that was what enthralled her, more than opposites attracting, the polar natures. There was a fire there, a different kind of fire. A core lay under the ice much as her own core lay under a sea of flame. Perhaps together their cores could meet and she would find herself and another. Maybe that was what a core needed, or perhaps she just wanted to test the power of her nature. Whatever the case might be, for now it drove her to cling tighter to Alice.

Alice shuddered a slight, unnoticeable amount. The back of her neck and her thighs were her weak points; they were a bit more sensitive then any other part of her and, in a more metaphorical sense, weak spots in her ice. They made her feel vulnerable for just a moment because they usually were the only things that really drew a reaction out of her, when contacted. She brushed it off and brought up the hand that had been stroking the green hair, letting a thumb once again brush against the girl's lower lip, teasingly, this time. She listened to the other's rhetorics thoughtfully.

"Who can tell, ma cherie. Perhaps we are rulers over the opposing elements, perhaps we are the enslaved embodiment. Who is it say we haven't already burnt to ash and frosted over respectfully, within ourselves." She laid a kiss to the edge of Gilda's lips, deciding to ghost past them to teasingly brush her lips along Gilda's jawline then continue on to kiss a random point on her neck. One could say she was teasing; testing the capacity of patience of her opponent of fire. They wouldn't be necessarily incorrect, Alice loved to play, after all, especially when an opportunity to tease arose. She soon brought her lips up to the Lulim student council president's ear and delivered a gentle nip to it playfully before speaking again, "Though that sparks a curious pondering, ma cherie la chat, which one is the beast," she pulled back a little and looked into the fiery green eyes again for just a brief moment, combating the parallel fire with the ice of her own, "-and which, the element?"

Words not be spoken further for a moment for she finally allowed fire and ice meet in the sin of a passionate kiss once again, pressing her green haired opposite further against her colder being gently, the contrast of warmth and chill apparent.The faint taste of char, the little that was left of it, was slightly sour, though not necessarily unsatisfying. The kiss was slow and deep, but not meant to chill, no, it was not like ice. She administered what slight warmth she had into it to provide for what her icy chill had sapped from the other's warmth, what little she could provide, at least. A fire burned in her as well, mild it was due to the surrounding hearth of ice, but it was a cold flame of passion, of desire. It wasn't enough to warm her at all let alone notice it much, but when ignited, such as during their encounter of pleasurable sin in the bathhouse, it could burn just as bright. A gentle breeze combed through her hair, making the snowy fringes swirl like snow about her shoulders. Watch if the rumored ghost wish. What was a watching pair of eyes in spectator attendance to a passionate moment between the kindred opposites of fire and ice. Instead of a chaotic war between temperature, there was steam. Alice normally didn't spare the bliss of letting a kiss last long, but she felt impassioned at the moment, and decided to let the blissful contact last until either party had to break it to take a breath.

Gilda exhaled as she felt her taube react to the roaming hands, her breath hot and visible as her mood rose while the temperature around them remained frozen. As Alice played her fingers across the president's lips, she longed to kiss each tip, each knuckle, each hand and all the way up the ice queen's body. If they weren't in public right now, she would rip into her taube and feel the warmth in a torrid eruption of passion. Even somewhere as semi private as the public baths, she would be sorely tempted to let it loose. What was it about her opposite number that incited such burning desire in the heart? Her other conquests stirred the coals, they warmed her many a time, but she always felt so close to losing it all when she touched the frigid lover.

Perhaps it was not unlike their little vocal match had said. More literal than either could really think. How often could Gilda release herself with anyone? Even her sister for whom the floodgates of all emotion were opened readily and often did not experience the burn that Gilda unleashed when with Alice. She could release the flood when she was there, up on stage, with millions of adoring girls. Well, dozens maybe, but still, she could let it flow, let them bask in her energy, her passion, her fiery lust. But with Alice, it was a different lust, something more than power and adoration but burning just as hot, if not hotter. Alice seemed to take it and come back with her own passion, her own forceful personality. A taste Gilda wanted to keep coming back to like a spicy but sweet pepper.

Gilda was well prepared for another retort, another spiel about beasts and elements, monsters and victims, but she was not given the chance. Alice was taking the initiative even more forcefully than before. Oh, the bliss of her lips, the taste of her. Gilda wanted to bask in it, but this was but a distraction. She would not let her taube have the last word, even if the last word wasn't a coherent sound. Gilda embraced Alice tighter, her hands roaming down, then up again, warm hands sliding into and under Alice's uniform. She wanted to feel that bare flesh, to leave her mark. Her passion burned and she would brand herself onto the ice princess as only a goddess of fire could. She was no beast, there had yet to be born a mistress that could tame her, none could divert the magma's flow.

Gilda would not lose, she would not be the first to fall, she would not break this kiss. She'd had practice, breathing would not be her bane today, it was down to passion. She would not give in, let other see, let the ghost show herself, Gilda would not pull away. Let the ghost take a side or simply bask in the fires of lust. Let the ghost be inspired by the living, impassioned, enflamed, such powerful living emotion rolling across the forest could call to her, could drive her out, could bring her back if only for a moment. And in this moment, Gilda burned.

It was fun to conquer. It was fun to manipulate. But it was even more of a rapture when one played back. And play back the fiery opponent did with a molten passion of her own. Alice expected as much from the student council president. She gladly acknowledged the accepted challenge. She wasn't about too lose, herself. A patch of frost was nothing in the wake of an inferno, yet a misty glacier was a far more resilient opponent. The feeling of the warm hands slipping past the fabric of her uniform and gliding along her frosty skin was one she relished. It made her icy mind momentarily fade to a frosted steam, but she refused to let it cloud the expanse of her snowy mindscape for long. She needed to concentrate at least a little; if she lost focus, she would act on impulse, and right now, impulse was being driven by lust.

Yes, it took the widow quite some mental and physical control not to break from her refined elegance, especially with those roaming hands. Her body tensed a little, as always, but she welcomed the warm, sinful touch. The green-haired beauty's passionate fire was hot, but it wouldn't melt the ice queen's ice. Or so she was pretty confident that it wouldn't. She was a master of manipulation; a poisonous widow of frost and a web of alluring, false flirtations and empty caresses. A queen of ice belonging to none. Few ever did attempt to tame her wild frosted spirit, and even fewer had ever succeeded. Gilda was a rare exception to her usual tactics. The girl was fresh, fun, and burned with a flame that could very well scorch her yet would just attract the widow all the same. Just as the student council president let her hands roam, Alice didn't keep hers idle. It was difficult to, anyways, lest she act fully on the building lustful impulse threatening to control her. She let her ghostly, frozen touch wander as well, gliding it over fabric and what skin she could reach already. She was starting to run out of air, but she wouldn't admit defeat yet.

The ice queen was faltering slightly. The need of air was starting to consume her. Yet she didn't let it show through the ice of her guard to her opponent of fire. Alice hadn't had too well of a winning streak against fellow predators as of late. She'd mildly fallen into a certain Spica wolf's trap recently, yet no innocent, helpless little red riding hood was she, though the outcome had been kindled with a feverish lust, more one-sided on the wolf's part then quite shared. The burning sin kindled with the crimson haired wolf, however, failed to match anything close to what was felt when her fiery Cheshire cat and her own ice collided. It was intriguing, addicting, perhaps to say the least if she wish to credit it that far. It was definitely different from the slow, gentle warmth of her other fond playmate, an innocent, rather goofy pink haired pup also from Lulim. Although that dear girl was more like a beloved prey in nature.

Alice could feel herself getting a very tiny bit lightheaded. Be it from the heat of the rival fire or the steam created with the combining of fire and ice or a lack of air. She didn't want to lose. Not after having chalked a recent loss to the rough, lustful wolf of Spica. She administered all of her passion and what little warmth she could gather from her own chilled being into the long kiss. It was a slow, burning passion now that reflected the chilly heat of her own iced over core. Her hands followed the parallel curves of Gilda's waist, stroking down to her thighs and lightly teasing along other areas of sensitivity, then letting one hold to her waist while the other came up to once more tangle elegantly in the gorgeous emerald hair. She combed her ivory fingers slowly through the lovely silken tresses with one graceful motion, allowing the strands to feather back down in a beautiful cascade. Gilda certainly was interesting and attractive, she would admit. A kindred spirit with a wildfire blazing within her heart, one of ambition and lust. Such a heart like that probably couldn't be chilled or frosted over. Likewise, her own couldn't be warmed very much. But it still made for a interesting thought. The student council president was obviously way more practiced. Alice felt as if she was going to have to stop to take a breath in the next few moments or so. She was reaching her capacity for lack of air. For her own self-restraint. She begrudgingly thought to prepare for another loss, yet she still wasn't about to give up yet. Giving up would be a stab to her icy pride. Though would it be much of an unfortunate loss, if it was to the lovely goddess of fire?