SUMMARY: Gwyn and Azriel spend some quality time in the bath. Gwyn discovers shocking information from an unlikely source, turning her entire world upside down.
NSFW
"Fucking Cauldron, how many godsdamn hairpins are in here?"
Gwyn sighed in relief as Azriel plucked another from her scalp, making her less like a pincushion with every single one removed. Hair floating across her shoulders with every curl undone.
"Nesta is a sadist. I don't know how she stands this all day," she said, chuckling, squirming at the soft press of lips to the side of her neck, her body becoming warmer than the bathwater they were in.
Once their hearts had finally slowed, Azriel had carried her from the bed to the bathing chamber. Dutiful inky darkness whirled and dashed ahead to light candles and fill the bath. She'd convinced the shadowsinger to join her in the water, where he massaged her body and cleansed her skin.
Embraced by his strong arms, treasured and safe. So very safe.
Safe, surrounded in a mist infused with their cedar and water lilies, bathed in soft shadows playing against the candlelight.
The handsome, mysterious Illyrian warrior, with a past full of darkness falls in love with the humble priestess, finding her place in the world, and reclaiming her passions. A couple madly in love. A story worth writing about. Although, plot twist; she was his mate—unknown to him.
There was a split second as Azriel had held her, still buried inside her after they'd made love. A fleeting moment where the golden ribbon flowed toward him, where Gwyn thought he was going to say those words. That he'd sensed it, too.
You are my first, Gwyn.
His words were pure and genuine. A confession and a declaration. As if Gwyn was indeed his first, she would also be his last. And all the while, the golden ribbon inside fluttered as it had on the wooden beam. A beam the shadowsinger had installed. For her. For his mate.
Mother above. Azriel, the male she loved—trusted—with all she had, was her mate. She had a mate. Shadows swirled in the surrounding vapor, the air raising bumps on her dewy skin.
Oh Cauldron, did the shadows suspect?
Would they inform him?
Shouldn't she tell him?
Why didn't he feel it?
Questions cascaded through her brain like an avalanche in the Steppes. In her role as a priestess, Gwyn had studied for years the lore and rituals surrounding mating bonds. She was well-versed.
But this? This required more research. She needed to refresh in the specifics, the logistics, before she did anything rash. Today. Gwyn would visit the library today.
Because there was so much to consider. She had to be certain, even as the low hum inside her chest vibrated with peace solely by being near him.
"While I enjoy the access to your lovely neck," Azriel crooned as his lips drifted over damp skin to her shoulder, drawing Gwyn away from her anxious mind. Hair finally freed and tumbled down like a fiery waterfall. His long fingers delved into her locks, gently combing through the plait-set waves. "I missed this more."
A bright smile stretched across Gwyn's face as she leaned into his touch. Her heart squeezed when he sweetly nuzzled her cheek. Felt his smile against her skin. He stopped his fingers over the braid, which was still woven like a diadem.
"Hmm... it seems I missed yet another fucking pin," he said, lifting her hair to expose the offending metal. "Wait. No, there's two. For fuck's sake, Nesta truly is a sadist. Why in the Cauldron do females do this?"
Gwyn snorted in amusement.
The roughness of his fingertips scraped against her, leaving hot shivers in their wake.
Azriel paused briefly, the muscles in his arm shifting. Turning, Gwyn peered at him over her shoulder. Lines creased his forehead as his fist opened and closed. Opened and closed.
"Az, are you all right?"
"Fine." A muscle flexed in his jaw. "Just let me—"
Not allowing him his stubbornness, Gwyn clicked her tongue, lifting her forearm from the water, holding out her hand and curling her fingers. "Please give me your hand, Shadowsinger."
"But—"
"You have two hands, correct? Give me the one that ails you."
Sighing as if she'd asked him to surrender Truth-Teller, Azriel relinquished his hand in hers. His other found its way to her crown, discarding the metal pins before unweaving the wide plait sweeping atop her head.
"How long have they been bothering you this time?" she bade, already busy massaging his palm.
"Change in the weather, the seasons, always seems to be a trigger. In particular, whenever it is damp or cold."
"That must be difficult in Windhaven given the climate."
His other hand flexed in her hair as Azriel snorted in disgust. "Doesn't matter. You don't show weakness around the Illyrians— ever ."
Her fingers traced over the discolored ridges, reminding her of the raised roots of her favorite tree breaching the soil. Skimmed over the mottled whorls that appeared as sands lashed by wind. Or knots carved in bark.
As brutal as they were, merciful. Both harsh and tender. As his as they were…
She sighed, head dropping back as his lips found her cheek.
"Is it wrong for me to want to do this every day with you, even though I'm not deserving of it?" he asked, stiffening against her back as if those words hadn't been intended.
"Not at all. I would like that as well," she chuckled, the hum inside her chest louder. She brought the hand she held up, kissing the scar-mottled knuckles. "And you are worthy, Azriel."
And he was. She only hoped he believed it himself. He shuddered a kiss against her temple. "I—"
Gwyn stared over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. "You better be about to say 'I, Azriel, am worthy and I deserve you, Gwyneth Berdara.' "
His lips twitched before gently pressing to her forehead. "What I was going to say is I'd like you to meet my mother."
Shock rippled through her. "Your—your mother?"
"Yes," he whispered. "She lives with caretakers." There was a pregnant pause with so much left unsaid lying within. Something painful, no doubt. "It's some distance, but I'd like to bring you to meet her—that is, if you would like to—"
"Well, yes, I'd love to," she stammered, deigning to glance back at him again. "But why doesn't she live here?"
His eyes looked young, despite his face being a mask. The boy was behind the spymaster. A story about a boy missing his mother with every fiber of his being.
"I've tried. I explained about the sanctuary here in Velaris. She won't leave. Barely ventures out of Rosehall as it is," Azriel said, throat bobbing. His hand retreated from hers, dragging through wet hair of black ink. "It's complicated."
Gwyn offered him a heartening smile. "Say no more, Shadowsinger. I would be honored to meet one of the females who made you you ."
Az returned her look, but it didn't reach his warm hazel. Sad. The shadowsinger was truly… sad. And that would not stand.
Carefully, Gwyn slid forward in the large bath, away from him. Turning so her back faced the far side of the tub. He watched her with interest, fingers tapping on the white edge. His shadows hovered strangely behind his wings.
She placed her heels on his sturdy thighs.
"Is there a reason you moved?" Azriel asked, furrowing his brow.
She shook her head coolly. "I simply wanted to put my feet up."
Gwyn leaned back, wincing as her bare shoulders met chilly glaze. She wiggled her feet, watching as he dragged his teeth over his full lower lip. All the while, Azriel focused his intense gaze on her.
"Do you know?" she asked, her attention sailing to her hand below the waterline. "Because I am part nymph, my skin shimmers underwater?"
He cocked his head to the side, smirking. "No. Truly?"
"Like iridescent scales of a fish, they say. Look for yourself."
Azriel's eyes gravitated to her legs, and his head dipped for a closer inspection—
SPLASH! SPLASH!
Azriel shot upright. Sputtering and wiping the water from his vision, he swept back the now soaking hair from his forehead and glowered at the grinning redhead.
The shadowsinger lunged for her, but the sneaky nymph was already scrambling to get out of the tub. Was she fucking serious? He barked out a laugh.
"That's what you get for the star on the roof, Azriel!" she shouted in a snort-filled giggle, sticking out her tongue. Gods, that laugh.
Gwyn sprinted across the cold tile, her wet feet slipping on the glossy finish. Az took advantage, diving for her. She twisted and sprang up, her cheeky snigger resounding off the wall as she ran, peeking over her shoulder, a wild luring gleam in her teal orbs. Like she loved the chase.
The corner of his mouth curled up as his world distorted and folded in shadow as he now stood at the threshold of his bedroom—and Gwyn ran right into him. Hard.
She stumbled backward, huffing as she straightened. The moment she realized what she struck, she set her face in an adorable scowl.
"Dammit, Azriel!" Gwyn shrieked, actually stomping her foot. "Winnowing is not fair!"
"Fair?!" He snorted hard. "So tricking me with nymph mythology was fair?"
His shadows chuckled around them, riling in delight as they darted between.
Gwyn's eyes flickered to the scant opening to his right. He hoisted his arms above, gripping the doorframe, spreading his wings to block her. His shadows flanked all other entryways. Trapping her effectively.
She held there; the water sluicing off her gloriously naked form, puddling on the floor beneath those nimble feet. Feet planted for attack. Her chest rose and fell sharply. Her eyes were ablaze like a burning sea, searching for a weakness.
This Gwyneth Berdara before him wasn't the one he'd first met. This Carynthian warrior stood tall before the dreaded Shadowsinger. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Angel of Death.
Despite her trauma. Her fears. Gwyn never allowed herself to be cowed by him. His reputation. Both Priestess and Valkyrie refused to—and fuck.
The way she stood there now, prepared to fight for herself if need be, was…
Mother, save him.
His soul may bear darkness and scars, but perhaps he had done one good thing to earn her. It would have to be enough. Because he fucking loved this girl with everything good he had.
'You are good, Shadowsinger. Just love her with everything you have. We do.'
So Azriel stood there, marveling—and waited for her to make a move. Watching as Gwyn's throat bobbed on a hard swallow as he leaned forward, her eyes roving from his face to his chest. And lower. No doubt catching his growing interest in her.
Gwyn shivered, and he was unsure if it was from her current watery state or something else. Just as Azriel wondered if that flush on her cheek was born out of anger, the lingering warmness of the bath, or…
Her scent hit him, as heavy as petrichor before a storm. His lips twitched. He stretched forward again, and Gwyn's eyes were greedy as they caressed over his body.
Her nostrils flared. "Yes, we all have muscles. Flexing yours does nothing for me, Shadowsinger."
Chuckling darkly, Az smirked. " No, of course not." No. But he had the insight of a very similar scene in one of her dirty little novels. He was positive she noticed. "Do you know how beautiful you look right now?"
Her chest rose on a sharp inhale, her fingers tightening into fists at her side. "No, but I know your tactics, Az. You're trying to distract me."
He licked his lower lip. She shivered again, her breasts pebbling. "You cold, Berdara?"
"No," she replied instantly, heat rising on her cheeks despite her shivering again. Always so damn headstrong.
"You look ravishing. All frustrated and flushed." Teal eyes narrowed. His lips curved up at the corners. "I love you like this."
"Like what?" she asked, voice breathy.
His eyes followed each contour of her body in a languid perusal, before snapping up to meet her heavy-lidded stare. He waited a tense moment, laced heavily with intent. " Dripping."
Her knees nearly buckled at his words, her eyes fluttering shut. Her fists opened and shut as she warred with herself. But the shadowsinger was a patient male, and it was simply a matter of time before her resolve—
"Screw it." Gwyn darted forward, grabbing his face with both hands, dragging his mouth to hers.
His hand wrapped in her hair while the other arm scooped her up under her knees. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly. His hold was relaxed as he let the shadows engulf him until—
SPLASH!
As the rippling water of the surface settled, he leaned over the tub, clutching the rim on both sides, looming. His face remained composed as the water stilled. Gwyn's image became clearer. Arms crossed over her breasts while she glared up from under the water. Then she grinned wickedly, bubbles rising to the surface. A freckled hand sent him a vulgar gesture. Followed by the other.
He couldn't hold back his smile or his laugh, his head tipping back—until he was toppling forward.
Azriel threw out his arms and wings as he pitched, face barely hitting the water.
'You deserved that, Shadowsinger,' his shadows tittered just behind him in their mirth before they scurried away on a breeze. Busybodies.
He peered down. Gwyn stared up at him.
With a snicker, Az positioned himself back in his place in the tub. Gwyn levered up out of the water. Hair hung straight in a heavy, sleek veil over her face.
"You look like a water wraith," he quipped. She puffed, parting the dark auburn curtain of hair until it rested on her shoulders.
"If you think I look like one, you should have seen Catrin." She smiled crookedly as she inched toward him. "Afraid I'll seduce you like the stories?"
Grinning, Azriel tugged her to him, settling her perfect ass onto his lap, her back to his front.
Gentle fingers swept her hair aside, exposing her neck. Lips pressed to the back, leaving trails of kisses in their wake.
His nose nuzzled up and down her spine. Palms slipped up slick skin, cupping the round swells of her breasts. She sucked in a shallow breath as the rough tips of his thumbs found the peaked tips.
"Consider me wholly under your spell, Gwyneth."
And Azriel was. Her control over him was total.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured, planting a kiss below her ear.
"Touch me, Az," she exhaled a quiet plea, her voice softened and throaty.
"Open your legs for me," his words a rough demand against her skin. Her legs parted on a sharp inhale.
Waves bobbed as her body jerked at the first firm touch. Then he slid his finger between her folds, up her center enough to tap sensitive the bundle at the apex of her thighs. Teasing her, stroking up and down, spreading the desire pooling there. Tap. Up and down. Tap.
Her hips followed the movement of his fingers, the torturous brushes over her stiff little clit, setting the water into motion.
"What else, Gwyn?"
True to her word, Gwyneth Berdara told him exactly what she wanted.
"Harder," she mewled, her arm snaking up around the back of his neck for leverage.
He hissed when her backside pushed back against his throbbing cock. She rocked her hips back again and again, moving on him in a sensual dance. The tip of his tongue chased a bead of water slithering down the side of her throat.
"Faster."
Her hips undulated like the sea, the circles of his fingers growing tighter and sharper. His other hand guided her head back, his lips capturing her strangled cry as his finger thrust inside her.
"Yes! Fuck, Az! Keep doing that," she gasped against his mouth.
His finger pumped, slow and steady, keeping her at an edge. Until she took charge. Quick as the swift-moving wind, Gwyn spun around to face him. Water splashed as her thighs slid on either side of his hips.
Her cerulean eyes locked onto his. "More, Azriel."
Their lips collided, the kiss hard and searing. And when Gwyn lifted and reached between them, all her demands ended in shattered breath.
Hands gripping her waist, Azriel waited for his perfect moment with her. Embraced by her damp heat, sheathed deep inside her. Unmoving. Wrapped up in her arms. Her scent. Her love. Where the world stopped. Where nothing mattered but the unsteady rise and fall of their chests. The strumming of her heart with his own.
Gwyn sank herself onto him slowly. Tenderly. And Azriel took in that one moment and held it—held her. Breath coming out in quick pants, his eyes drowned in her deep pools. And as their mouths came together once more and Gwyn finally moved, the only sounds in the room were their strangled moans joining the noise of water sloshing over the sides onto the tile.
Gwyn was stunned she'd been able to walk by the time Azriel was done with her. Or rather, until she was finished with him, she thought with a sly grin. A wonderful revelation, though? She enjoyed sex in the water. A lot. Which, given her nymph heritage, shouldn't really shock her.
Her appearance on time to the gathering also surprised her. Although, in their haste, they'd left behind a flooded bathing chamber and sodden sheets on the bed.
Azriel, who had kept to his word and flown her instead of winnow, allowed her to take in the city from above. Something about him seemed different today. More lighthearted. His smiles were easier, bolder. His kisses came more openly, as did touch in front of others.
And he hadn't even thought to dress his hands beyond his gauntlets. Nor had he for several weeks, she noted.
Before departing, Azriel had set her down in front of the river house with a drugging kiss that made her nearly not want to attend.
"Go," he said, before pressing another kiss to her lips.
Gwyn whined, pulling back, hands digging into the battle-black of his Illyrian leathers. "Then stop kissing me."
"No."
She laughed as he pressed his lips to her forehead, and they folded their arms around each other in a hug. The shadows around them.
"Hey, Az? Can we spar tonight? I need to get some extra practice."
"I am always up late-night sparring with you."
"Plus, as Cassian once said, sparring is like our foreplay," she added with a smirk.
He choked on a laugh, pressing his cheek to her forehead as he held her. "Well, given what happened last night before I tossed your ass in the bath, Cassian may have a point. I have some reports and matters in town to attend to today, but I'm looking forward to it, Berdara."
She'd lifted her head, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Pulling away, she felt his eyes on her as she walked to the house. Over her shoulder, she casually tossed, "See you later, Shadowsinger."
His shadows danced as he flashed her a crooked grin, his siphons glowing like blue sparks in the Spring sun before he shot off into the sky.
She'd met the group in the estate garden, the venue they had all agreed upon. It was magnificent, in full bloom, and fragrant. A feast for the senses.
Only the girls were there today, all of them—including two surprises. Amren and Elain. The latter took a spot beside Gwyn. All of them also showed a little worse for the wear, hair up in loose braids or top knots. Comfy loose tops and bottoms in the Night Court style or casual sundresses.
Gwyn didn't miss the arched skeptical brow Nesta sent her younger sister's way as she cracked open her napkin like a whip before setting it on her lap.
Before them was a spread of everything sweet and savory food imaginable. Eggs and waffles and bacon. Fruit and pastries and cucumber sandwiches. Tea and coffee and mimosas. And they ate and ate, all of them laughing and chatting about their night. Well, all except herself and Elain.
"You look tired, Gwyn," Emerie said between bites of syrup-drenched waffle.
"Positively exhausted," Nesta said, her tongue clicking.
"Oh, like you two look any better," Gwyn said, glancing back and forth between her friends.
" I was up with a cranky babe last night, Mor can attest. And the babe was not Mor," Emerie sighed.
Mor lifted her mug before popping a plump berry between her pink lips. "Gods, Nyx did not want to sleep. Sad to say, I'm never babysitting again, Feyre."
Feyre snorted. "Liar, Truth Speaker. You love Nyx."
Mor's chocolate-colored eyes smiled. "True. But next time, just make the reason important ."
"High Lord duties are important," Feyre said with a feline grin.
"Very important. And from the rumbles around Velaris last night, The High Lord wasn't lacking with importance," Amren remarked.
Thanks to Nesta, Gwyn learned to be less shocked at the crude commentary around an Inner Circle table, though her cheeks still blushed. Luckily, Elain seemed to have a similar reaction. When Gwyn glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, they shared a small smile.
"I have no reason to lie. I wish I was up fucking my mate all night." Nesta grinned ferociously. Emerie and Gwyn rolled their eyes. "But Cassian fell asleep on the sofa with Tulia using his forearm as a pillow."
The High Lady sat at the head of the table, trying to disguise her smile behind a well-placed pastry.
"Well, at least we know why all three of the bats have been disgustingly happy," Amren said, turning her attention to Gwyn, and the redhead couldn't help but flinch at the finger pointed at her. "So, girl. Tell us about the wingspan ."
Gwyn groaned, shielding her bashful face in her hands. Cauldron above, not this conversation again.
"Amren, stop teasing poor Gwyn," Mor said, shooting her a wink over her coffee. "You look happy, and that's all that matters. You both do."
She smiled at the beautiful blonde in thanks, who studied her as if her rich brown eyes could see—Gwyn's eyes widened. Wait…
"I'm lucky. They just pass over me with hints and accusations," Elain whispered meekly beside her. "But I'm used to it as a middle child."
Gwyn's eyes went round, and she glanced sidelong at the middle Archeron. Mother, Elain really was beautiful. Her hair shone like burnished gold in the sun, her eyes as warm as a fawn's coat. Her body was lithe curves under a lightweight sundress of lavender.
She offered Elain a shy nod, cautious as everyone fell into easy, friendly conversation.
Elain twisted in her chair to face her. "Did you have fun at Starfall, Gwyn?"
"Yes. I did. I didn't see you there. Did you attend, Elain?"
"I was planning to join, but illness prevented me from going."
"Well, I hope you are feeling better now."
Nodding, Elain said, "Yes, thank you. I was actually hoping to speak with you last night."
"Oh?" Gwyn asked, her voice rising in pitch with surprise.
Elain's cheeks flushed, her hands wringing in her lap. "There are things I'd wish to discuss—and apologize for."
Gwyn's mouth fell open, and she clamped it shut, trying to hide her astonishment. "Oh, you don't have to apologize for—"
The two remained as the others moved to the river estate. The middle Archeron sat up and straightened in her chair.
"Actually, I do. I believe it's time we have a conversation, Gwyn." Elain rose with grace, hands behind her back, bowing slightly. "Would you accompany me to the townhouse?"
Gwyn glanced back at the estate, finding everyone long gone. She had time. Nesta and Emerie were with friends and family. Azriel was hard at work somewhere in the city.
The redhead smiled, rising to her feet. "Lead the way."
Elain's answering cheer was as bright as the sun as she walked across the grass and out onto the street, slowly following the Sidra until they reached the cobbled streets. Streets Gwyn was now familiar with and felt safe traversing—especially with the dagger strapped to her thigh.
"I'm very glad you agreed to this, Gwyn," Elain began, her lilac hem skirting over the path. "So, to begin, I want to apologize to you. For the way I've acted. The way I spoke with you at Rita's at Mor's celebration. I've been going through some… things. Though it's no excuse for my ill and unkind behavior."
Gwyn sent her a small grin. True, Elain had made her feel… uncomfortable at certain times. And she may have mentioned it once or twice to Azriel. And Nesta in passing. But…
She looked at the lovely female. A true beauty with the golden-brown hair beside her, hair falling down her back in long waves. Her skin softly kissed by the sun. Gardening, Nesta often explained, was her younger sister's prominent, time-consuming hobby.
Perhaps Elain hadn't been intentionally rude to her. And it took courage to admit faults and errors.
"Thank you, Elain."
Elain dipped her head a little as they reached the door to the townhouse. She pushed open the door, swinging her arm wide. "Won't you come upstairs, Gwyn?"
Nodding politely, Gwyn walked inside, marveling at the polished woodwork and marble as she entered. The wood-paneled walls and the artwork. Everything inviting and comfortable. Much like the river estate, the townhouse was clearly a place for family.
She followed Elain into the sitting room, taking a seat she offered on the worn sofa closest to the crackling ebony marble fireplace. Elain remained standing silently, her feet pacing.
Eyes tracking, Gwyn tilted her head as only silence greeted her. "I thought we were here to talk," Gwyn said, breaking the quiet.
"Do you know what I am, Gwyn?" Elain asked suddenly, hands hidden behind her back. Gwyn didn't know how to answer. Fae? An Archeron? A gardener? Gwyn barely knew her…
"I'm a Seer, Gwyn. Gifted by the Cauldron," she spat the words.
Something inside Gwyn stirred. A Seer? "I didn't know."
Elain stopped, facing Gwyn. "My visions are often confusing. Unclear. A snarl of images." Her pacing began anew, the light purple of her gown looking ill-placed against the crimson carpet. "They often take effort to decode, including the one I saw over a year ago."
The air grew heavier, charged, as Elain's deep brown eyes locked on hers. "I know what you are, Gwyn. I know what you've done to him… and what you will do."
Gwyn blinked, swallowing hard. "What I will do? What the hell are you—"
"I like you, Gwyn. Truly, if circumstances were different, I believe we might have been friends. I tried to do this the best way—but I have to stop you. I can't let you hurt him, and you're going to get him killed, Gwyn."
"Get who killed?!"
For an instant, Elain's eyes flashed white. "Azriel."
Her lungs seized, stealing her breath. Her mind turned over the words. Words Gwyn had heard before. In her dreams. Her nightmares.
"You're going to kill him, you know."
Catrin's milky teal eyes met hers. Her voice warped. "You're going to get him killed."
The rancor in Catrin's tone trickled with every word as she repeated, "You're going to kill him."
You're going to get him killed.
She was light-headed. Gwyn clutched her throat, the tears burning behind her eyes threatening to fall. Swallowing the rising knot of bile and emotion, she shot up from her seat, gaping down at the middle Archeron.
"I don't know what your game is, Elain. But, no. I would never hurt Azriel. Never. I can't."
Elain stared up at her, unblinking. No fear. "I saw swirling shadows in the darkness. A huddled, broken mass—and I heard singing. A luring ethereal feminine voice, the shadows stilling with every note before they disappear."
Gwyn's heart rattled against her ribs like an innocent in a cage.
"The shadows surely represent Azriel. But the female? I couldn't figure it out. Azriel isn't a male who gets… close to a woman. I didn't know who it was about, who had grown close to him. But then Nesta raved about your singing abilities. I wasn't sure, though. Not until I saw it on your wrist at Nesta's ceremony," Elain continued.
"Saw what?" Gwyn asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"Your charm. Was it not once on a necklace?"
Gwyn's mouth fell open, hand fanning out on her chest above her thundering heart. "How—how do you know that? Was it in your visions?"
Golden-brown brows drew down, Elain's full mouth falling into a slight frown. "Oh, Gwyn. No. I know because I recognized it. You see, the necklace was first given to me as a gift over a year ago. The night of the Winter Solstice."
I am shooting for next Friday for the update. If not, Saturday. Chapter 54 collage teaser will be up on my Tumblr ( mystical-blaise) on Tuesday. I'll have a TikTok ( mysticalblaise) video teaser up Wednesday!