You'd wager a million—no, a billion—gold pieces.

Your mistress was the most exquisite creature to roam all of Faerün. Your eyes follow every move as she steps ever closer to you, her hips swaying as the blood riddles the fabric of her coat. How beautiful she was, bathed in red after a kill.

You help her undress, coaxing her form beneath the waters of the bath you've prepared. When your hands reach to lift the headdress that adorned her horns, you flinch—your hand struck by her own.

"It remains." Melinthreia commands, leaning her head against the marble.

You can't help but swoon. How delightful her touch was, forceful or otherwise. With a nod, you begin to ease at the muscles of her shoulders, working your way down until you begin to rub the grime and muck off her silk skin with a sponge.

Beneath the veil of her crown, you could almost imagine it—the crinkle of her abyssal eyes as she gazes at you, working oh so diligently for her favour. You hear her laugh.

"Have you been behaved, pet?" She asks, tracing a slow pattern against your cheek with her claw, leaving behind a trail of small wilting blooms that dropped into the waters.

A shiver runs down your spine. An absolute delicacy upon your bare flesh. You could feel it now, the familiar pounding of your heart against your ribs, as if begging to pounce and ravish like a depraved beast. You still, taking in a breath.

Your mistress's claw awaits, her red-painted lips drawing into a blithe smile.