Faylyn

There was an eerie silence that had befallen the fair village of Towerglan. Nothing out of the ordinary, as the sun followed its usual path, coursing gently below the mountainous horizon as it always did. Lights flickered into being among the occupied houses, gleaming yellow candlelight painting misted windows into beautiful canvases, while their occupants slowly wound down for the evening.

She'd always loved firelight. Whether from a blazing hearth, or a solitary, flickering candle, the golden dance of light across the plush coverlets, the various angles and curves of bare skin, never failed to be mesmerizing. This particular evening was no different, save for one, small factor that she strove to push from her thoughts. 

The fire was burning low now, in the large hearth that consumed most of the wall in the lavishly appointed bedroom. Soft, golden light danced and writhed over the woman standing near, then cast longer and dimmer shadows into the deeper recesses of the room, just barely highlighting the unmoving figure laid upon the bed. 

The woman brought a simple, ceramic cup to her lips, sipping its contents with lazed relaxation. A bare foot shifted over its counterpart as her ankles crossed, drawing the lightest whisper of black silk from her dressing gown. 

The rain had not stopped, though the dim, grey light of day seeped through the thin gaps around the curtained windows. It had pounded heavily throughout the night, creating a feeling of being within a dark cocoon; a dangerous mood that only served to fuel the interactions between the hostess and her guest. 

It certainly hadn't been the best few weeks of Dagramir's life, by any measure.

Not that he was one to have great weeks as a man of a certain repertoire, where he was used to being within inches of certain death by sword, or the hands of a scorned lover. Or even a scorned lover's lover. But he was beginning to feel the world turn against him one moment at a time, and the hole he usually slipped back down into when things turned sour was looking so awfully tempting.

The bedroom was a picture of relaxation. The fire in the hearth was burning low now, after being neglected most of the night, casting golden, writhing shadows over the bed in a pleasant, soothing manner. The air was warm, not stifling; a perfect temperature for the shedding of clothing, in fact, and softly scented with hints of lilac, honey, and sweet spices. A subtle undertone of something else lingered. A more carnal scent it was, sweat mingled with the unmistakable tinge of human passion.