[Sometimes being the owner of the dream has its perks, because one moment Tifa is that helpless prisoner in his arms and the next, she's standing in the middle of the room already fresh and cleaned.
Her hair is long and damp, the long black locks turning to waves as they cascade across her back. Her skin as well has the remains of what was a bath, the cotton of her white dress clinging to her as she hooks the corset, though everything is held together so delicately that it's a wonder any of it stays on at all.
The room itself is hot, a steam having settled in that makes her sweat, but there is only that familiar scent that hangs heavy through it all... that one of vanilla and starflowers that he will recognize as only hers.
And when he peers in or enters, he will find her standing in front of the tall vanity mirror brushing her hair...]
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Her hair is long and damp, the long black locks turning to waves as they cascade across her back. Her skin as well has the remains of what was a bath, the cotton of her white dress clinging to her as she hooks the corset, though everything is held together so delicately that it's a wonder any of it stays on at all.
The room itself is hot, a steam having settled in that makes her sweat, but there is only that familiar scent that hangs heavy through it all... that one of vanilla and starflowers that he will recognize as only hers.
And when he peers in or enters, he will find her standing in front of the tall vanity mirror brushing her hair...]