Jessamine was all hard edges on the outside, sharp teeth, sharp cheekbones, sharp words. But here in their bedroom, sunlight dappling the sheets and her blonde, blonde hair, Tessa saw only softness. Softness in her breathing and the way she whispered such sweet things, syllables sweet as vanilla, things she would be too embarrassed to say in the company of others. There was a softness in her face, in her open pink lips and her warm brown eyes and her fine brows. And there was a softness to her pale skin, a softness only Jessamine owned and only Tessa was allowed to touch. A softness that made her look frail and delicate like a porcelain doll, though Tessa knew she was stronger than any tempered steel. A softness Tessa felt now through their intertwined legs and fingers. Jessamine was all hard edges on the outside, but no one else knew the secret of how easily she blushed, or how warm she was in the winter, or the way she would rest her head on Tessa's lap when she read a novel out loud, or how absolutely terrible she was at cooking anything but sweets, or the way her heart fast between her fine bird ribs when Tessa kissed her.