She turns the tables on the nereid

Yes/No (Unlikely): Can Lux get away in her weakened state? | [6,6] Yes and...

Lux tries in vain to pull free. Slim as the creature is, it – she – is stronger than Lux. Firmly but not forcefully holding her prey in place as her fingers work their magic; wordlessly coaxing her to just give in. A convulsion of pleasure runs through Lux, with another wave building behind it. Holding her breath is getting painful.

The spirit’s eyes are still fixed on hers, burning bright in the river murk. She doesn’t seem to be aware of the knife yet. One last chance…

With a kick and a wrenching effort that forces precious bubbles of air from her lips, Lux propels them both towards the tumbling gleam. About to vanish amid the waving weeds. Come on, come on…

Lux grabs and – yes! – seizes it, lucky to get the handle on her first try. She may not be able to cast her spells down here, but with the knife as a focus, she can draw on raw magic—

The water spirit’s face looms into view, beautiful and terrible in her wrath. Lux jabs, swipes, her movements **** now. The fey shies away, at first – wary of cold iron. But she is not deterred.

A wild jab as Lux searches for a way past, a way to strike out for the surface. Her lungs burn for want of air. Swipe – the spirit parries, jars her hand – the knife! Slipping from her fingers. Lux grabs at it blindly—

— and seizes something else, something soft. Now the water-fey struggles, but panic gives Lux just enough strength, twisting, pulling away.

For a moment she’s alone in open water. Which way is up? She kicks, thrashes, pushing herself desperately—

Her face breaks the surface, long enough for a gulp of blessed air. Expecting the spirit to strike at any moment, drag her back down. But the attack never comes.

She struggles to the bank, hauls herself up with arms on fire. Nerves still alight with the twin thrills of terror and arousal. Shaking, naked, soaked, it takes her a moment to realise what she grabbed; what she’s still holding in her hand. A mere wisp of gossamer silk – light as air, even as it should be drenched with water. And as the river spirit rises slowly into view near the surface, Lux realises she’s holding the creature’s only garment.

“Like I was saying,” Minn calls out, from overhead, “there’s a nereid. See?”

The spirit’s head rises hesitantly from the river. Gone are her old expressions, of lust or ferocity – now she wears a brittle smile, almost nervous…

“Let’s not do anything has-ty?” Her melodious voice is all innocent sing-song, with a trace of fear trembling through it. She stays in the water, half-crouching, as if embarrassed by her nakedness – but Lux has learned well enough that prudishness isn’t a fey trait.

“The shawl,” Minn says, flitting down to run a hand over the silky material. “She needs it. It’s – part of her.”

Lux lets out a sigh that turns into more of a cough. “Does that mean she’ll leave me alone?”

“Oh, she’ll do whatever you want, to get it back,” Minn says, cheerfully. “Then drown you, after. But think of the fun you could have first!”

“Of course.” Lux tightens her fist around the handful of flimsy fabric, and sees the nereid flinch almost in pain. Apparently, by desperation and blind luck, she’s managed to turn the tables. But what can she do with this?