"You are a strange thing," he says, and I smile a little. He takes my hand, and I can feel the humanness of it more in this form, the rough imperfections in the skin, the pulse of blood. "This is more beautiful than the others."

"Yes," I say. "You see, do you not, why men have worshipped me." I run my fine golden fingers over his face. "But you would not hunger for this body the way you would for the others. You would hold it like glass, something precious." I lean forward and kiss him. It is very chaste, and it is passionate too, in a way of all of air and light, nothing of skin. I straighten up. "Do you remember," I say, and I smile a little, "that you knew how to be in the body of a girl?"