Disclaimer: Given the cultural situation at the time of the events depicted, it is highly unlikely this would happen. This would best be labelled a speculative drabble. If slash disturbs, then don't come home with me on a Friday night.
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Story type: Drabble. 100 words, no more and no less.
Hands, hands, graceful, weathered hands. First wives were time honored, special. It was against everything for the most loved, the most cherished to seek out servants, to seek out others for comfort. Still, Sara loved another's hands. Feminine. Graceful. Captivating. They had obviously held her husband enthralled. Hagar, less than perfect Hagar, had beautiful hands. Sara watched Hagar’s hands, in the dark of night, in a tent far away from men, as they gently cupped in the night. Wetness, illicitness. Hashem had promised each that greatness would emerge from their bellies. Until then those beings separate, mothers joined as one.