Calilla stood in the rafters above the largest room of the shop. Far below shined the clean tile floor. Her various wares for sale were placed around, many looking rather sharp and deadly should she fall upon them from this height. She felt no fear however. Her balance was, whilst certainly not as perfect as that of the elves, as close as one could get whilst a mere mortal. Besides, she had a good grip on one of the beams.
Next to her loomed the dark bulk of Yaesha, the great spider who had come from Chetwood to make a home within the building. They had... an understanding; she kept him safe and well fed and he warded off intruders and disposed of those she had cause to kill. Still, her attention was not upon him but instead upon the gossamer wrapped husk before her. Desiccated it may be but she could still recognise the twisted and distorted features of the corpse. The cheeks were sunk now, the skin mottled and grey, but the agony was still etched into the visage of the dead woman. This pleased her to an extent.
Calilla had never been a particularly vengeful person. She saw no point in it. The lives she had taken since leaving Khand had been a matter of survival, efficiency or, in some cases, a way to make an example. No, vengeance had never been her way but she could not deny a certain amount of vindictiveness, especially in this case. It had been eighteen years since she had resolved to end the life of Ilya in the most painful way she could possibly manage. True, this kill had not been hers, but at the very least she had delivered the woman to Yaesha and had since sat back whilst the spider had slowly savoured the dissolving innards of a live victim. That her death had taken days, weeks even, to finally come had made Calilla smile more than once.
She wondered what Emdhir would think of that truth. He had known that Ilya was here, captured by Yaesha. He knew that her fate brought some pleasure to Calilla. However, what she had told him of her reasons for this was limited. He'd taken it at face value, accepting that Ilya deserved her fate without pressing for further details. Would he, if she admitted the whole truth, be in agreement with her or repulsed by her joy in this woman's suffering?
Light wrapped within darkness, he'd called her. She wasn't so sure. She knew that her inner darkness was great in size and she embraced it now even as she always had. That she showed restraint was not a sign of hidden goodness. It was a tactical decision. Here, in a land where bloodshed was frowned upon, it would not be wise to leave a trail of cadavers in her wake. Better to stay her blades in the case of minor annoyances, smile, play nice and convince the people that she was naught more than a harmless merchant turned shop-owner. This approach made her less suspicious on those occasions that she had good reason to make someone disappear.
She breathed a soft sigh. He claimed to love her, to be in love with her, but how could this be so when he knew her so little? That was partly her fault, of course; she had not divulged much in the way of details to him. Opening up was not something she was accustomed to and she did not find it easy. To do so was not a particularly wise move, she surmised, for then he would know too much and thus would pose a danger in his own right. Could she, would she, kill him to protect herself should he reject her after learning more?
She knew the answer to that without having to dwell on the question. As much as it bothered her to admit, her affection for the man had been steadily growing since their first meeting. It was now at a point where to deny it would be foolish. So, which particular brand of foolishness should she indulge?
To love him meant letting him know her truly; no dissembling, no hiding, no half-truths. To walk away now would mean giving up on what she really wanted; to love, to be loved and, more pertinently, to be with him.
A chittering from her side pulled her out of her thoughts. Though she could not understand precisely what Yaesha said, she was aware that he could understand her every word. She smiled as she ran her fingers through the thick hair on his abdomen.
"I only wish that it had lasted longer," she remarked, her gaze turning back to the husk in the web.
