The Red Dragon Inn remained her favorite spot for recovery.
There was something about the atmosphere of the place: A silent sentinel to eons of chaos. No matter what happened within its walls, it simply endured. Small changes were transitory and lasted no longer than an immortal's blinking eye.
Eventually all those who passed through its doors were forgotten,
replaced by yet another round of indivduals who felt the burden of their own self importance.
It weathered any and all comers.
And stood firm against the passage of time.
A testament really.
She could appreciate and admire such complex simplicity.
Trailing a fingertip over a chair as she sauntered across the wooden floors, she sighed, a throaty expulsion of heated breath. Every emotion that had ever been spawned had been expressed within these walls. Births, deaths, and every transformation in between. The stamp of such things was visible to her. A stain that could distract her into such deep
contemplation that she lost sight of herself. She resisted. Every step within these doors was a battle to remain cognizant of who and what she was. Perhaps that was why she journeyed here every morning that she could to partake of her coffee since her arrival in RhyDin.
The challenge of maintaining her sense of Self combined with a deep appreciation for the only true Survivor: the Inn itself.
Whatever it was that drew her, she smirked at the image of the moth to the flickering candle light, she came.
And with an earthy sensuality to her step she approached the worn oaken expanse of the bar. A caressing hand slid there to test the warmth of the raw emotions that stained it.
Alone. Serenely unobserved, she gave into the seductive impulse to simply breathe in the rhythm of this place.
Pulled deep in an instant she was overwhelmed by the explosion of emotions, suddenly drowning in empathic memories that were not her own.
Twisting sharply she yanked back her palm
and gasped as if breaking the surface of a deathly body of water. Breathing in sharp little pants she
spun a look over her shoulder to ascertain that she remained alone and rebuked herself for her
carelessness.
The angle of the light that shone through the windows had altered and she berated herself as she recognized the acute passage of time. While it had seemed seconds to her, she'd quite obviously stood, exposed and vulnerable, for hours.
A raw curse of her birth tongue escaped the rawness of her throat. She'd been screaming, silently--again-- and the inflamed vocal cords spoke of the strain. "Ecouter!" Inhaling rapid gulps of breath she shook her head as if fighting off the urge to lose consciousness. On unsteady feet she stumbled for the coffee pot and its blessed caffeine elixir. Dark, heady, and bitter she scalded her tongue with the first hot swallow ignoring the sharp pain that drew moistness to the sable smoky pits of her eyes.
There was something about the atmosphere of the place: A silent sentinel to eons of chaos. No matter what happened within its walls, it simply endured. Small changes were transitory and lasted no longer than an immortal's blinking eye.
Eventually all those who passed through its doors were forgotten,
replaced by yet another round of indivduals who felt the burden of their own self importance.
It weathered any and all comers.
And stood firm against the passage of time.
A testament really.
She could appreciate and admire such complex simplicity.
Trailing a fingertip over a chair as she sauntered across the wooden floors, she sighed, a throaty expulsion of heated breath. Every emotion that had ever been spawned had been expressed within these walls. Births, deaths, and every transformation in between. The stamp of such things was visible to her. A stain that could distract her into such deep
contemplation that she lost sight of herself. She resisted. Every step within these doors was a battle to remain cognizant of who and what she was. Perhaps that was why she journeyed here every morning that she could to partake of her coffee since her arrival in RhyDin.
The challenge of maintaining her sense of Self combined with a deep appreciation for the only true Survivor: the Inn itself.
Whatever it was that drew her, she smirked at the image of the moth to the flickering candle light, she came.
And with an earthy sensuality to her step she approached the worn oaken expanse of the bar. A caressing hand slid there to test the warmth of the raw emotions that stained it.
Alone. Serenely unobserved, she gave into the seductive impulse to simply breathe in the rhythm of this place.
Pulled deep in an instant she was overwhelmed by the explosion of emotions, suddenly drowning in empathic memories that were not her own.
Twisting sharply she yanked back her palm
and gasped as if breaking the surface of a deathly body of water. Breathing in sharp little pants she
spun a look over her shoulder to ascertain that she remained alone and rebuked herself for her
carelessness.
The angle of the light that shone through the windows had altered and she berated herself as she recognized the acute passage of time. While it had seemed seconds to her, she'd quite obviously stood, exposed and vulnerable, for hours.
A raw curse of her birth tongue escaped the rawness of her throat. She'd been screaming, silently--again-- and the inflamed vocal cords spoke of the strain. "Ecouter!" Inhaling rapid gulps of breath she shook her head as if fighting off the urge to lose consciousness. On unsteady feet she stumbled for the coffee pot and its blessed caffeine elixir. Dark, heady, and bitter she scalded her tongue with the first hot swallow ignoring the sharp pain that drew moistness to the sable smoky pits of her eyes.