dahlia
You can't buy this fineness
"My hospitality is earned," Dahlia adds, sipping at her wine. She resists the urge to follow after him towards the window, despite how her feet want to carry her in his wake, instead returning to the bed to sit amongst the sheets like some recently awakened siren. "Oh, it was interesting enough." She rolls a shoulder, a gesture which causes one of the thin straps of her nightgown to slip along her porcelain skin.
"I met the demigod they call the Flood. A sweet, bumbling thing, unsure of his own place in the world." She'd have liked to take a bite out of him if she could. Alas, the bowl of cherries and peaches on the table nearby will have to suffice as a memory of her time in the House of Midnight. "And the Dragoons guildmaster ought to be here. I plan to find him tomorrow."
And some of her personal effects might come into play there, too; the kohl on the nightstand, the dress hanging over the open door of the wardrobe, the jewelry box on the dresser.
"I met the demigod they call the Flood. A sweet, bumbling thing, unsure of his own place in the world." She'd have liked to take a bite out of him if she could. Alas, the bowl of cherries and peaches on the table nearby will have to suffice as a memory of her time in the House of Midnight. "And the Dragoons guildmaster ought to be here. I plan to find him tomorrow."
And some of her personal effects might come into play there, too; the kohl on the nightstand, the dress hanging over the open door of the wardrobe, the jewelry box on the dresser.
Let me see the heat get to it
