"Ah, what will convey unto thee what the Night of Power is!"


dissembled never, forswore sentiment (if it hindered her fulfilling obligations), kept her vow to serve the spirit, wavered not when duty called... while Zahra, apt to let emotion overrule impartiality, prone to celebrate every moment—case in point, her senses hum, the resonance amplified, now enraptured: pubes scandalized, nerve ends splayed, a bold discrepancy lending vehemence to her physical titillation, shock and gratitude joining forces with an irrepressible surge... whatever Franchone's touch has tapped distracts from pious aspirations, undermines scruples by replacing sacred ends with those profane...