“
Probably because the time is spent blacked out or high as the moon and there’s no time to ask for meaningless things like names.” She smiled in agreement; she was fond of him and their drinking expeditions, their
fade to black nights. She had never met someone like him (someone who wanted nothing in return but a good time), and this was only the second time they had met. They had laughed and drank and laughed some more.
Had they…flirted, touched, embraced? She glanced away, briefly, no longer than the flash of lightning. Hopefully he would miss her shyness and hesitation; hopefully her edges were blurred, his eyesight not as keen as it might have been otherwise; hopefully the drink had dulled his sight, his senses, his memories.
Of course they had. Pavetta had been without companionship,
closeness, contact for so long; she did not trust herself to be the innocent princess home before midnight…she missed the caress of a man, the whisper of promises no man could keep. But who said she had not whispered promises her own?
A sweet lullaby in the dark, the sigh of two lovers together.
Surely that had not happened during their night in Denocte.
She could not forget Fearghal so soon, so cruelly.
Or could she?
“
I’m just returning the favor—surely that was no coin of your own that bought me such expensive perfume.” She smiled a crooked, lazy smile, matching his own and disguising her own doubt about what may or may not have transpired that night in Denocte. He seemed a bit more tuned up than she; that needed to be fixed, immediately. “
This isn’t my coin either, so I ought to buy you a gift to remember the nameless girl by.”
“
The wine here is excellent,” she assured him, returning to herself and the desire for drink, for
numbness. The glowing lanterns, the singing of melancholy love stories in the air. She smelled the sweet smoke of vendor stalls; the food, the fires, the wine,
the promises of the night.
“
I would not be at this festival were it not." His wink was charming, roguish. But who was he behind the charm, behind the liquor? Who was he
raw? Pavetta did not want him drunk beyond remembrance; she wanted him as he was, as he was meant to be. But was she brave enough? She didn’t think so. It was easier to hide beyond the wine and the fine clothing, the drink, and the endless stars that night. And so she ambled the cobblestones with him, weaving through the crowd like serpents, fluid and easy. She felt his skin, the subtle whisper of his flank against hers.
“
Yes, Delumine is my home. It is fair, is it not?” she asked as they wandered the streets in search of drink, of blood red wine. Perhaps not like Denocte, swathed in shadow and starlight. But Delumine harbored a unique beauty of its own. “
It’s peaceful here. Unlike anywhere I have ever been.” Her voice trailed off. She thought of the Rift and of the monsters and of the cruel gods and of the innocent blood spilled. “
I came here two seasons ago through a portal...I remember a flash of green light...,” her voice trailed off, wondering if she had offered too much, but unable to dissuade her tongue from speaking more. She had only spoke to Somnus about her unexpected arrival in Novus, of the world she came from.
They were at the wine vendor, side by side, breath for breath. Dozens of dazzling wine goblets embedded with gems and jewels littered the moonlit counter, glittering in the starlight, free for the taking, for the tasting. Rose quartz eyes met his; a dare. “
Bottoms up, friend.”
outfit reference
tail reference
a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse,
creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---
