Alira stood balanced effortlessly upon the three-legged foot stool. A full length mirror stood opposite her gaze, reflecting her unclothed milky skin on its clean surface. Her pale chest rose and fell with the illusion of life. A subtle, but even, flutter of her throat giving the realistic impression of a heart that still beat within her dead chest. Her skin was warm to the touch and faint traces of fabricated life lay under her skin at key anatomical points. She was an artist who sculpted breathtaking mortality onto a canvas of dead flesh.
The silvery scars started just above her shoulders, They trailed down followed the slender curve of her back and diminishing just below her hips. Another smaller set came off one shoulder and ran parallel down her arm and left side. She turned at her waist, looking back over her shoulder as if to exam them in the mirror. Her face was devoid of any emotion, just ice blue eyes looking at the reflection.
Denise from the Elves Thimble in Yew was writing down numbers on a piece of parchment. "Please stand still, Duchess, " she said politely. Periodically, she'd come over and hold a measuring tape to Alira's skin before quickly going back to the parchment. At first Alira tensed at the sensation of unfamiliar touch. Then as if had resigned herself to her fate, she stood there without moving as the tailor continued. There was no small talk between them and no false pleasantries. This was business.
Normally, she would have had Marsala handle such intimate matters as she had years ago, but she was away on important matters. She hoped that the gold that she had given to the tailor would keep her discretion in this matter. However, nothing was certain with mortals and immortals alike. Anything could be bought if you found the right currency. Sometimes it was gold, sometimes items and sometimes it was the individual's family. She considered retaining the tailor's services on a more permanent basis, but she didn't wish to expend the blood or preparation necessary. Besides once retained, the woman's ability to reproduce would stall and right now Yew needed all the breeding humans it could muster.
"All done, Your Grace. I will have the evening gowns finished promptly."
"Thank ye, Denise. If you need further compensation, please inform Lilian." Lilian appeared from the corner and gestured for the tailor to follow her out of Alira's room. Alira turned back to the standing mirror and stared at her reflection.
Despite the horrific scars, she was beautiful. However, she was dead. As dead as they come. Her desires, her needs and wants were not the same as most mortals.
Where some craved soft flesh, she lusted after strength...
Where some yearned for sex, she thirsted for power...
Where some hoped for love, she coveted security...
It would be a very unlucky individual who attempted to walk alongside her...
The silvery scars started just above her shoulders, They trailed down followed the slender curve of her back and diminishing just below her hips. Another smaller set came off one shoulder and ran parallel down her arm and left side. She turned at her waist, looking back over her shoulder as if to exam them in the mirror. Her face was devoid of any emotion, just ice blue eyes looking at the reflection.
Denise from the Elves Thimble in Yew was writing down numbers on a piece of parchment. "Please stand still, Duchess, " she said politely. Periodically, she'd come over and hold a measuring tape to Alira's skin before quickly going back to the parchment. At first Alira tensed at the sensation of unfamiliar touch. Then as if had resigned herself to her fate, she stood there without moving as the tailor continued. There was no small talk between them and no false pleasantries. This was business.
Normally, she would have had Marsala handle such intimate matters as she had years ago, but she was away on important matters. She hoped that the gold that she had given to the tailor would keep her discretion in this matter. However, nothing was certain with mortals and immortals alike. Anything could be bought if you found the right currency. Sometimes it was gold, sometimes items and sometimes it was the individual's family. She considered retaining the tailor's services on a more permanent basis, but she didn't wish to expend the blood or preparation necessary. Besides once retained, the woman's ability to reproduce would stall and right now Yew needed all the breeding humans it could muster.
"All done, Your Grace. I will have the evening gowns finished promptly."
"Thank ye, Denise. If you need further compensation, please inform Lilian." Lilian appeared from the corner and gestured for the tailor to follow her out of Alira's room. Alira turned back to the standing mirror and stared at her reflection.
Despite the horrific scars, she was beautiful. However, she was dead. As dead as they come. Her desires, her needs and wants were not the same as most mortals.
Where some craved soft flesh, she lusted after strength...
Where some yearned for sex, she thirsted for power...
Where some hoped for love, she coveted security...
It would be a very unlucky individual who attempted to walk alongside her...