The room was still until the music began to play. Then, their bodies moved as each note struck the air. The girls had been trained as one; their minds cleaved from the same simple fiber -- blood lust, and gay men.

They were poised on the edge of battle, feet bare to the wood floor. Their hands, leashed with a short leather cord, bound them. If the cord were snapped by one of the girls, then the snapped would lose. If one girl were cut by the other, then the cut would lose. It was simple, and they played each other like violin to bow.

Christina held the one-sided katana with a delicacy that proved well her Chinese heritage. Her hair bound behind her head tightened the lines on her face, but did not stop stray hairs from leaving their post and falling across her eyes. Her lips were bound by a constricting piece of hard leather, which fit over her mouth, around her head. She was the tongue-less, the less proud.

She was branded such, as a tattooed swan could be seen neck-arched up the side of her back, half-hidden by the folds of her pants. When she cut upward with her blade, the swan too sung against her body, muscles moving softly in black dye and brown skin.

The other body slipped backwards, and counter-attacked with Swift But Broken, deflecting the razor of Christina's blade with the dull side of her own. The other was called Kit, and she was the sight-less. Her eyes were covered by a length of leather, twin to the one over Christina's mouth. She kept her head perpetually cocked to the side; ears open to the sound of Christina's muscles slipping beneath the skin.

And, like Christina, Kit held the similar swan on the back of her neck. Three quarters an inch to the left of the center. The black swan bit behind her ears when she tipped her head, and struck violently back and forth when she parried.

Both girls belonged to the covenant, Swansong.

Christina began to initiate Single But True, and snapped the leather cord so that she spun against Kit's sword.

They paused, and Christina felt her body soften against Kits; the warmth welcoming her in slender embrace. Christina traced the leather bar across Kit's eyes, searching for a weakness in the tight material. Kit squeezed Christina's fingers, and she felt the sweat smear at her touch.

Then their bodies jumped back into motion. Kit withdrew and parried with Puckered Lips, her elbow just missing the underside of Christina's jaw, as she pushed herself off Kit's body.

Quickly they moved back up against each other. Their swords held above their heads, their clothes slipping past each other. A pause held their breaths. But too soon they lead one another back out, their swords slicing the air. Probability Of Loss, and Metallic Phallus; weapon against weapon they danced across the room.

It was in the fourth set of attacks that Christina realized she would lose. She stared at her opponents pale skin, her face hidden and askew. It appeared to her that Kit's scalp was bleeding, and the blood had stained her shoulder length hair a dirty scarlet. Christina's lungs sighed, felt her body slowly succumb as Kit came at her with Chin Broken, her mouth twitching in a dry smile.

Christina backed up against the barrage of Kit's attacks. She felt her balance waver, her eyes stopped concentrating on the arcs of metal before her, and instead became entranced with the scars on Kit's hand. Shameful barcodes up her arms, but hidden now with sweat and leather and skin.

Chilled Reserve came in an arc from floor to chin. Christina shook her head as she jumped back, the cord pulling her down to the floor. She swung up with her katana, catching the leather between air and metal and breaking the bond that held them.

Her body sprang free of the undertow as she snapped back to her feet.

Kit froze in mid stride. She appeared to be looking at her hand, the broken strap. Then, slowly she rounded on Christina's frozen body. Her eyeless gaze held until Christina turned, shaking her head and thumbing a piece of lonely hair.

The music stopped, the ending in a rush of flesh against flesh; Kit turned to the familiar sound of Sophie's body. She was the eighth Swan; the hole-less. One could see through her arms in three quarter inch holes, which was why Kit, the second Swan, was often to be found by her side. For to not see the world as one as a gift they both shared.

Christina dropped her katana on the table and stalked out of the sparring room. "Sweetheart, why are you leaving?" Sophie turned, the tattoo on her thigh rising in shape, a dark blot made sickly by small frame of her body.

Sophie laughed and enveloped Kit in her arms, whispering nothing's through a cigarette-perfumed breath. And when she pulled away from Kit's neck, her mouth was stained a faded scarlet.