"What is that stuff?"
The unfortunate soul currently cradled among silken sheets and feather-down pillows lifted his head. The faint glow from a candle on the table beside him cast quivering, golden shadows over his anxious features.
"You needn't know what it is," replied the dusky woman standing nearby. Her hands moved over a small dresser carved of mahogany wood, so dark in shade that it was almost black. The movements of her fingers and wrists were fluid and graceful as tiny glass bottles clinked softly together.
The man breathed laboriously a few times before sinking back into the sensual comforts of the bed without further questioning.
The woman turned with a small glass in her hands, filled with a clear, pale-green draught. Her ebon gown hugged her ample curves as she moved, while the embroidered skirt whispered over the floor. Her ochre gaze fell upon him in all its cool, sweet serenity, and he smiled up at her.
Her own lips perked into a small semblance of such an expression. "There now," she cooed, without offering him the drink in her hands. "That's better." His breathing slowed beneath the softness of her voice, and his stare was locked onto hers.
Pale fingers reached out and slowly drew the coverlet down, revealing the figure beneath an inch at a time.
"You will feel better very soon," the young woman said, finally lowering the hand that held the mysterious, greenish liquid. She did not permit him to take it from her, but held it to his lips. He grimaced briefly at the flavour, and pursed his mouth to take tiny sips. The woman showed no impatience. She sat on the bed beside him, carefully feeding the draught to him.
Half an hour later, the little cottage was filled with long, low groans, interspersed with shuddering gasps and sighs. Very little noise, if any, could be heard from outside the house, as the shutters remained tightly locked.
She stood beside the bed, watching, as the man exchanged intolerable pain for a much more bearable one.
