Her finger tips were calloused just slightly and she gently brushed them over her cheeks, up to Demeter's forehead, carefully tracing the new structure of her face. Running over the elegant jut of her brows, down to smooth over her temples, slipping to run over the line of her jaw; a part of Despoina realized she could stop this, but just like in the years past, she didn't. For all her complaints and her dislike of the ritual and what part she had always had to take, it was her duty and it was an easy role to fall into with her mother standing before her.
Hands falling to her shoulders, just as Demeter had done for her, Despoina's hands reached out to loosen the towel, letting it fall with the rest of the material now strewn around their feet.
Her eyes looked her over curiously, hands again moving to now trace the lines of the new body before her. Demeter had been beautiful, and she was beautiful still; her skin dark and even, hips rounded almost at an equal junction to her breasts. Beautifully proportionality. It was strange to no longer look like her mother, their skin in distinct contrast--Demeter's smooth and even, Despoina's pale and freckled. Even their hair, which had not shared the same color, had been the same in texture and plait; now it was nearly night and day.
Sliding a delicate hand down to wrap gently around her hip, Despoina leaned in pressing a soft submissive kiss to her lips, as if honoring the old tradition, solidifying her part in the ritualistic passage.