(no subject)

[shelley_winters]

Graendal smiles absently whenever her gaze passes over the little girl, kneeling stiffly beside her chair, arms outstretched to hold an ornate gold tray. It is heavy, and she has been there for a few hours, but her face remains calm and content. She is happy to do whatever her Mistress asks, of course, no matter how much the position aches. The Chosen nods. So much better after that struggling and carrying on at first. A casual hand strokes the soft red hair, and the child's eyes light up with delighted adoration forced by the Compulsion flooding her mind, though she obediently doesn't move. Quite a sweet little thing, once tamed and cleaned up.

"Good girl."

Graendal had Healed the most disfiguring injuries on her body, though it is not a skill she is well talented in. But open cuts heal over and most of the bruising fading before she stops. The still-visible markings here and there are hidden easily enough from this distance by the thin gauze draped prettily over one shoulder, the elegant touches of makeup on her face and body, and the light sheen of oil scented with jasmine. There had been no need to waste more energy in removing deeper bruising, and they would fade in time.

And later on, she could begin breaking down the blocks on Shelley's mind to uncover the information that her memories must hold. A very welcome acquisition, and not just for such a fascinating association. The deep red of her hair on pale skin looks really very fetching against the curtains.

Comments

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

Slowly, imperceptibly the shadows on the floor began to coalesce.

Growing.

The places where the paths of light and shadows of curtains met darkened. In the places where there was no light, the shadows deepened to a jet black.

Movement.

In the space of a moment, the shadows on the floor twisted, spiraling inward. The lamps did not move. The curtains did not move. Their shadows warped to a single point on the floor. A jet of black fire spurted from the stone floor into the thick, musky air of Graendal's chamber. Shadows expanded like blood from a wound across the floor.

A sound as of a rushing wind.

The fire was thrown back, and the shadows flung like water as Ishamael threw back his cape from over his arm. A grim, and determined look on his face. Inverted weaves held the massive aura of might and awe tightly around his body. A snug shirt and trousers of the deepest black were nearly hidden by the voluminous black cape, only the tips of his black leather boots were visible.

The slightest glint of white teeth.

[arewehuman.livejournal.com]

Graendal almost freezes, even before he appears. Only one is fool enough to use the True Power with any regularity, and that means Ishamael, and that the man knows she has his little redheaded child - sitting blankly and calmly by her side, no time to get the girl out before he materialises.

But she was not Chosen for nothing, and so she simply looks at the man with cool unconcern painted on her face as she signals for wine to be brought. Inside, she fights the growing terror that seems to emanate-

But that, too, is a weave, she uses a form herself, she thinks furiously. To lose entirely now... but the look on his face indicates that she will be lucky to go back to how she started this business. Evidently even knowing what this weave is makes it difficult to ignore.

"Ishamael."

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

His eyes flick for a moment to Shelley. She was obviously compulsioned. Graendal would not have completely destroyed her mind just yet. The woman was a hedonist, but not stupid. Certainly not that. A razor-edged smile as took a few steps forward. The sound of his boots was very loud in the otherwise silent room. Fury boiled in his voice.

"I want her returned to me."

[arewehuman.livejournal.com]

"Oh?" Graendal askes, one eyebrow raised innocently as she lightly pets the girl's red hair.

"Lanfear gave me to understand that she was quite hers to trade to me."

A pity to lose the girl just when she is so nicely tidied up, but a conflict between Lanfear and Ishamael... Really, with a little help along, it seems almost inevitable.

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

Teeth clenched, Ishamael pointed at Graendal with an accusatory finger. His blue eyes were sharp and dangerous. She could not pass the blame from herself. Graendal had Shelley, and she would give her back. He would carve payment for Shelley's suffering out of Graendal's skin if she would not cooperate.

"Lanfear, unsurprisingly, was mistaken. Now, return her to my care."

[arewehuman.livejournal.com]

The woman daintily raises her eyebrows, with a regretful sigh.

"I will be sad to lose her, but if you are so very attached, of course."

A silent nudge with saidar, and Shelley stands, still holding the tray with wine and a glass. Graendal reaches over and pats her bare hip almost caressingly, provoking a shy, delighted smile from the girl before she obediently turns a shadow of that same look on Ishamael as she approaches to offer the glass.

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

The smile fell from his face as Shelley walked over to him. Waiting for Graendal to make a move, he only paid a small attention to Shelley's unclothed form-the filmy sash could not qualify as it concealed nothing. She had obviously been abused, but that was to be expected, this would all end soon. There was but one course of action left.

As she held out a glass of wine, his hand closed around hers--

A roaring conflagration erupted, igniting the curtains, consuming Ishamael and Shelley, scorching the floor.

--And then, Graendal was alone in the room.