Helpfully, she looks terribly pleased when he compliments aforementioned tail - like a light coming out from behind a cloud, and then returning as quickly. "If I get another tattoo, though, it won't be anywhere on my legs," she says, critically, flexing and then brushing her thumb over the oddly smudged black stripe high where her thigh would be. "It distorts when I change. That's meant to be a ribbon."

The aesthetic concerns of the modern naiad, a series.

(She can taste it, when she sees him in person- he's not any more normal than she is, but she has an odd sense of courtesy and she can certainly grasp why someone might keep something like that to themselves. She'll be even more curious when she realizes he genuinely doesn't know.)