Nervous pacing was not one of Lady Howell's usual habits. She'd expected Countess Cheraville to make herself known at some point, the woman's monstrous vanity would permit no less. But why now? She stopped and picked up the letter from her desk.
"My dear pet," Belmilia wrinkled her nose in distaste at the Countess' phrasing. The letter had been long, florid, and annoyingly ... self indulgent. It was a pity she had not retained Miss Blanchard's writing style, even legalese was preferable to this.
"I am not" She thought irritably "the awe-struck young woman of two years ago."
The Paxineau Cheraville she had met in the crypt of Stormwind's Cathedral those few years ago had been imperious, demanding, and more than a bit cryptic. What she had not been, in any measure was affectionate.
She stopped to consider her current quarters. The room was small and sparsely furnished; it was also entirely devoid of dark hangings, skulls, arcane runes, the stench of brimstone, or any of the other accouterments common imagination attributed to warlocks. It was, instead, a sunny, comfortable space cheerily decorated in floral patterns.
Obtaining it had still required her to exert her influence as a noble, not to mention an obscenely large amount of gold. Decorating it had cost still more; but it was vastly preferable to sharing a common hall somewhere.
"Vingetrymming Manor." she mused. "The seat of the .... Vingulds, I believe. Interesting. The last Marquis was believed dead, was he not? But then, so was Paxineau Cheraville."
She permitted herself a slight smile. If her stay in Northrend had taught her anything, it was that death could be a mere inconvenience to the properly prepared. In some cases, it might be an actual advantage. "This so-called mortal coil." Belimilia mused over the Countess' wording. What was she hinting at?
She would obey the Countess' command, for command it was, despite being couched in flowery language. Games were afoot; there were always games where Paxineau Cheraville was involved.
((Step into my parlor...
((
Step into my parlor... said the spider to the fly? :D
))
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'Can you hear it? A cry to be free... I'm forever under lock and key...'
Retrospectively, I wonder if
Retrospectively, I wonder if the Countess ought to have mailed Belmilia a valentine card; that might have creeped her right the #*@! out.
I don't know if it would
I don't know if it would creep her out so much as deeply confuse her. Seeing Paxineau giggling over Ythgar on the other hand ....
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As a foulness shall ye know Them. Their hand is at your throats, yet ye see Them not;
and Their habitation is even one with your guarded threshold.