Longheat is quite the season, Dahlia is finding, especially up in the floating region of Stormbreak. Nowhere near as stifling as the tropical islands below, she nevertheless finds herself wanting to lounge about wearing little to nothing, to sample crushed ice and frozen berries and to get day drunk out in the plaza. Alas, being a leader brings with it quite an awful lot of work; still, having sent word to Sunjata, she's at least content enough in knowing that she will soon be in good company.
In her office in the Tower, the windows and balcony doors have been thrown open, the Reaper standing in a patch of warm sunlight and draped in a dress of loose, black lace. It leaves little to the imagination, but then in Dahlia's experience, imagination is secondary to reality in most cases. Sipping a glass of chilled white wine and watching people scurry about below, she briefly considers what it might be like to take one of the large glass paperweights from her desk and drop it from this considerable height.
Only briefly, though.
In her office in the Tower, the windows and balcony doors have been thrown open, the Reaper standing in a patch of warm sunlight and draped in a dress of loose, black lace. It leaves little to the imagination, but then in Dahlia's experience, imagination is secondary to reality in most cases. Sipping a glass of chilled white wine and watching people scurry about below, she briefly considers what it might be like to take one of the large glass paperweights from her desk and drop it from this considerable height.
Only briefly, though.
let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world
let me wrap my teeth around the world
