Safrin
Sometime after slumber had taken him, Jack would wake. Not with the dawn nor with the sore muscles that his exploits had left him with, but with the night.
In a world of her own making, one impossible and beautiful, Safrin lay sprawled on a chaise lounge made out of clouds, silk, and tangled tree roots. Around her rose Greecian columns of alabaster that disappeared into the vastness of the night's sky, holding up nothing at all and yet offering structure to a scene that was entirely without context or definition. An infinity pool of deepest turquoise sparkled with starlight, bordered by opalescent tiles marked with small stars of terra-cotta. Plants of midnight blue and bright green sat on the floor, hiding the places where the ground dropped off into the nothingness of space. They might as well have been on a comet for how quickly they moved through the stars, and yet there was nothing more than a light breeze.
Clothed in hardly more than a slip of lace, one that wrapped around her shoulders before plunging into a deep v that closed just below her belly button, Safrin lifted her eyes from the drink in her hand before beckoning the captain to her.
As in the last dream of hers he'd entered, the captain was free to dress, appear, and move himself through her world as he pleased.
In a world of her own making, one impossible and beautiful, Safrin lay sprawled on a chaise lounge made out of clouds, silk, and tangled tree roots. Around her rose Greecian columns of alabaster that disappeared into the vastness of the night's sky, holding up nothing at all and yet offering structure to a scene that was entirely without context or definition. An infinity pool of deepest turquoise sparkled with starlight, bordered by opalescent tiles marked with small stars of terra-cotta. Plants of midnight blue and bright green sat on the floor, hiding the places where the ground dropped off into the nothingness of space. They might as well have been on a comet for how quickly they moved through the stars, and yet there was nothing more than a light breeze.
Clothed in hardly more than a slip of lace, one that wrapped around her shoulders before plunging into a deep v that closed just below her belly button, Safrin lifted her eyes from the drink in her hand before beckoning the captain to her.
As in the last dream of hers he'd entered, the captain was free to dress, appear, and move himself through her world as he pleased.
