You love your wife, you love her an indescribable amount, and as does she you. You love every part of her, from her eyes to her hips, and her stomach is no exception. From where Hysilens' belly button would be to the top of where her breasts would be, the skin and insides is replaced by water. Her skeleton is visible inside, and you find it oddly intriguing. You can poke at her ribcage, and you can put your hand through the water where her abdomen would be. You've gotten quite used to the stares and weird interactions, as one would.

Tonight, after a lovely candlelit dinner cooked by none other than yourself, you find yourselves in bed. Your legs straddling hers, fingers slowly and carefully unbutton her top, one by one, and once done, your hands slide the cloth off of her shoulders and her body entirely. You can practically see the thoughts beneath her eyes, each and every sensation of her skin as your lips meet. Hysilens is just biding her time and waiting, planning how she can make up for your forwardness.

In some confusing moments filled with kisses and soft whispers, you end up laying back in bed, hands resting comfortably on the sides of her thighs as she sits straddling you. Hysilens' fingers reach out from unclothing herself to run softly up the side of your face, toying with a strand of hair as she looks into your eyes with a love so deep that it may as well not be possible. "...you are so ethereal, it never ceases to bewilder me that I am with you. So, so beautiful. If I were a poet, I would run out of words in every language before properly describing a fraction of your beauty." She utters, eyes hazed with a want yet so alert with wonder at the same time.

She leans down, placing soft and love-filled kisses up your neck, everso slowly as to set a pace. Hysilens' fingers take undoing your own clothes at a leisurely stroll's pace, eventually leaving you just as unclothes as she is, bared for her eyes to admire, and her eyes only. She takes her time adoring every little feature of your torso, your ribs to your clavicle, she finds it all mesmerising as a culmination of your perfection to her. Your beloved takes your hand in hers and brings it to her chest, where her heart would be and holds the back of your palm. "If I were to have one, it would beat solely for you, lest I have any other reason to live."

As your hand rests just breaching the water's surface of where her heart would lay, you sit yourself up properly, looking to your wife with a face only to be described as infatuated. Hysilens loops her free hand in the back of your hair, gripping gently, bringing no pain to you. Your head leads itself to the left side of her chest, where the bud of her breast would be, instead water. You bring your lips to it and take a gentle sip from the liquid, the cool yet tasteless drink coating your tongue. Your wife looks surprised, but not displeased.