Harold dumped the sand into the furnace, along with some finely ground waste glass and a few extra powders. While he waited for that mixture to melt together, he moved to the adjacent furnace where the glass had already formed a glowing taffy. He was glad it all appeared to melt smoothly, but he couldn't ditch the suspicion that he had maken a mistake.
As he used a long tube and a set of molds to blow bottles from the molten glass, he snuck a peek at the busty, blonde-haired Chandrelle as she crafted a masterpiece on the other side of the room. Having been half-employee and half-apprentice for two months, Harold could hardly imagine himself crafting the kind of finely textured decorative pieces she spent much of the day cultivating. Steady spinning, careful blowing, the perfectly even application of colored dots of molten glass, and the usage of dozens of tools and techniques... The results were downright astounding, and the speed at which she worked was even more so.
And Chandrelle was such a delight to be around too. Every evening when he went to his apartment alone, he missed the glassworks and Chandrelle's joyful attitude. She was always eager to help him when he had questions about his work, always had great jokes, and was always interested to hear about Harold's personal life...
Also she had great tits.
Harold grabbed an old newspaper; it had some front page article about that succubus prostitute. Whatever her deal was, he wasn't interested. Well, maybe a little...
"Ooh, interested in last week's issue?" Chandrelle asked after making a quick glance. "I wonder why..."
Harold looked away from the modestly dressed but still suggestive succubus photo on the front page.
"Just seeing how old this one was. I think this one's from a month ago, actually. Not the one you're thinking of."
"Mhm, sure it is..."
"Didn't you spend much longer looking at that issue than I did?"
"Hey, gotta keep up with the news," she said.
He dipped the wad of newspaper in some water and used it as disposable heat protection to rub out the flaws in a few half-cooled lumpy bottles. The results weren't perfect, but they would do; these were cheap bottles, and nobody needed these to be perfect anyway.
But what was perfect was Chandrelle; he took another glance at her. Even in a scorched apron and beige work shirt, she still looked great, and whether tied back in a bun or hanging loose, her long blonde hair was always a nice thing to see.
During the last hour of the workday, he finished the mass-produced glassware and helped Chandrelle with her expert work as necessary, preparing molten glass slurries and powders and so on for her.
By the end, they had prepared and stored a large bounty of bottles, plates, cups, and exotic decorative glassware; it would all be prepared for shipment in the morning, but for now, the workday was finished, and they shut down the workshop for the evening.
Harold snuck a glance at Chandrelle as she took off her dusty apron and examined the lumpy bottles he had patched up: the work shirt underneath her apron was thick, and there were probably two more layers of clothing underneath it. How she could possibly stand the heat of the workshop all day was still a mystery to him after all these months.
"Are you sure these are the ones you said you had to fix?" Chandrelle asked.
He leaned in. "Yeah, you can see some curvature here, and here... Sorry about that, I think we'll need to find someone to take these at a discount."
She peered closer at the bottles. "No, they're basically perfect," she said. "I doubt anyone will notice a thing about these."
He didn't entirely believe it, but it was good enough for now. As he hung up his apron and was about to leave, Chandrelle waved at him.
"Oh, one last thing, before you go! Just a quick gift..."
Harold blushed. A gift?
Chandrelle reached behind a pile of crates and pulled a glass something; she covered it up with her hands before dramatically showing it to him. It was a five inch tall glass figurine, with all kinds of rainbow swirls inside it and covered in opaque gray specks of dyed glass.
It was his favorite animal; how did she know? He held it and was enthralled by the sheer beauty of the thing, made of flawless crystal and full of Chandrelle's little touches.
"Thanks, I, I love you..."
He fell silent. He didn't mean to say that. Chandrelle seemed to think hard over the next few seconds. He was terrified.
Then she spoke.
"How about tonight, maybe around ten, you come up to my place above the shop? I've been meaning to share something with you for a while."
That was much better than he was expecting, but it was still anxiety-inducing in entirely new ways.
"I uh, I didn't mean to blurt it out like that, but it's true, and--"
"--Don't worry about it. Listen, you're lovely to be around, alright? No matter how this goes, it'll turn out fine. We can talk more tonight. Anyway, see you then; don't worry too much about being there exactly on time."
"I, um, okay see you later!"
She waved him goodbye as he hurriedly left in embarrassment, and as he walked down the street cradling his rabbit sculpture, he couldn't think of anything else but tonight. What was going to happen? How could it go wrong? What were the worst things Chandrelle could say?
He made it home, cleaned himself up, immediately put on some more comfortable casual clothing, and then tried to calm himself down by reading a book. But even after an hour of reading with his new glass rabbit friend, the anxiety was still there.
He sighed. Nothing else to do but wait. Or to get caught up on the news. He had a newspaper delivered that morning titled "City Council Divided On Succubus Issue"; after reading that one for a while, it was just more of the same from previous weeks; mostly just people's reasonable suspicions about a literal demon starting up a suspiciously cheap prostitution service. And a small article about some slime girls or whatever doing mischief in town; he wasn't concerned with that kind of hooliganism when he had a stress-inducing date tonight, or at the very least, something like a date.
Nine came, and he decided to leave early. On the way to Chandrelle's spacious home one floor above the workshop, he went over the very few words she said, over and over, trying to figure out why she would say those exact things.
It was cold outside, and the streets were almost empty. A half moon poked out from the light cloud cover, and the blue glow of the town's magic streetlights helped guide him as he thought and walked.
He arrived. The workshop's back door was unlocked, so he let himself in, and for the first time, he ascended the narrow staircase leading to the second floor. Despite the soft carpet and the well-used shiny wooden railing that helped him steady his wobbly legs, he still felt unwelcome.
The imposing door at the top stood before him. He was terrified to knock.black
Relief and anxiety went through him as the door unlocked, and it slowly opened; Chandrelle stood on the other side, looking somewhat happy to see him. She was wearing a black sweater he hadn't seen before, as well as a matching pair of cozy pants.
"Come on in," she said with a welcoming wave.
He followed her inside into her carpeted living room, full of cozy brown furniture and warmly lit carpet. As he looked around, he realized he hadn't said anything yet, and thought he should probably say something just to break the silence.
