>>6116776“This is the only place where I allow someone to take something away from me,” she chuckles darkly, savouring the light trembling in the girl’s fingers. “But perhaps, there will be a follow-up to it. If you are good, and if I’m in a good mood,” she adds, setting a light kiss on the back of the girl’s hand, who gulps excitedly, her cheeks flushing red.
Allowing herself a smile, she glides on her feet, crossing over the smoky salon, checking out if she can see any new face. Once she even spotted some of those stuck-up priests from Madua… traveling here to the Throne Lands for venture and evangelism. Or heresy.
But there’s nobody more interesting tonight than the tall, blonde and jade-eyed Asterite sitting at the table down to the left, conspicuously checking out a pile of hand-written notes. She isn’t even wearing her gloves tonight, showing off her scarred hands, the webs of thin pearl-like creases reaching all the way to her wrists, like ill-shaped spiders hanging off her hands.
Even as she keeps her smile unfazed, a small part of her stomach coils in unease. Asterites always gave her the creeps. Something about the way they could turn into a burst of cancerous magic that would make the little lamb outside the very picture of health.
Still, for as long as she has known her, Sandora Mirari has kept herself together.
“You are late,” the blonde points out, giving her a stern look with her jade eyes.
“Sorry, teach,” she replies, making the Asterite scoff in annoyance. Her position as Eleventh Seat would almost be enough to guarantee a table at this place, but Sandora is a well-known figure in the Throne’s underworld because of her ability to make certain numbers and words disappear, or suddenly appear, from certain very important tomes, none the wiser.
She may just be the most dangerous woman in the establishment.
Besides the one with the silver hair and the smile like a sickle, of course.
[cont.]
