Alan raced up the stairs of the manor house, his father's words chasing him.

"Damnation, Alannin, if it were up to me, you could run off and join the Serallans if that's what you wanted!"

The Serallans… This was the building that housed them, men trained from early childhood in the feminine arts—in how to move, speak, look like women—in preparation for the stage. In most, the illusion was seamless; they were graceful, elegant, beautiful. Intelligent, cultured, friendly, unique…

Alan crossed the inner hall quickly, paying little attention to the children learning to mind their skirts, and sped upstairs. It was early, and as an evening performer, Melukeh would still be asleep.

Melukeh lay sprawled across the large bed, limbs everywhere, masses of toffee-blond curls framing his face and torso. His face was sweet in sleep, losing that seductive glow that was always present in his waking hours. Ma'isseh rather than Nissian ancestry coloured his skin a light red-brown and shaped his eyes with an upwards tilt at the corners. His features were also stronger than one would expect, with high cheekbones, a long, curved nose, and wide mouth. But Melukeh was able to convert these features into pure beauty, something Alan felt was without the distinction of male or female. As Alan stood admiring his lover, a sleepy eye opened. "Are you coming in, or do I have to come out after you?" the young man murmured, lips curling in a smile.