Black Morass timor

He preened at her with his words—they left much to be desired. A palace—beautiful, allegedly, fit for the politics and vipers that likely roamed its halls. Eager servants. Her mouth tipped in a downward moue before she masked it.

He asked her of her meals, pulling her from her reverie—she looked blankly down to her catch—one she was proud of, thank you very much. “Of course,” she smoothed, a wry smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she swept her waif-like form to a gentle seat. “Don’t fret about me, Germanicus—I’ve been able to wile my time away with a man here or there,” she mused.

A blatant lie.

But how would he know?