And Hyacinthe, half-D'Angeline that he was, needed to stop a moment and just admire the handiwork and the beauty of the object. He felt the heft in his hand, marveled at how the glass could be so clear, so pure.

For a moment, it was like he'd nearly forgotten what it was for. At least until he turned to her and said, casually, "I cannot wait to lick your wetness of this."