Winter the 88th, 519 AV
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Late Night
The night was quiet, an odd thing for the Red Lantern. Almost always, there was some level of activity, especially with the Lhavitians’ odd sleep schedule, but not so tonight. The Azure Festival had been in full swing through the night, and one by one, the denizens of the brothel had brought clients home. But the Festival had not begun to wind down until late in the night, and everyone in the Lantern now was sleeping after an exhausting night of passion. If anyone was paying attention to time, they would have realized it was early morning of the next day, but that mattered little.
Autumn was haunting the halls, occasionally ducking inside of rooms to see who and what was there. Early in the night, when Gweneveh had returned with a man, Autumn had made herself scarce when the clothes started dropping quickly. Gweneveh was a woman who could put most others to shame with her beauty, and tonight, she had played her looks to their strongest effect. Her dress had been simple but still managed to accentuate her strongest features, but what was perhaps the most alluring was the mask she had decided on.
It was black with a constellation painted around the eyes, one Autumn knew due to its mention by the sailors aboard the Mary, a constellation named Zintila’s Fall. Those who lived life on the open ocean had a greater understanding and appreciation of the stars than anyone Autumn had ever met. Her knowledge had grown considerably in her time at sea. While the constellation spoke of sorrow, the sorrow of a Goddess falling from goddesshood, the mask itself wore the expression much more heavily. There was a detail in the way the eyes were shaped. Two tears ran down the left cheek; one, down the right, all three fashioned from the same material that the mask was made of making them difficult to see unless an observer was looking closely.
Gweneveh had no problems getting people to look closer, and she had played the mask to its fullest effect. Autumn didn’t know how, but her Gweneveh’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. The rest of her face, what of it that could be seen behind the mask, her lips and eyes, wore sorrow so heavily it couldn’t be missed. It was a ploy to garner more attention, to be sad in the middle of celebration, and it had worked. One of her favorite customers, one who felt a need to be a hero, had seen her and recognized her, and she allowed him to play his part of rescuer. He comforted her, and she brought him home.
And then Autumn had left the room and wandered aimlessly. When something piqued her interest, she sidled delicately through the walls, checking on the denizens and patrons of her fine establishment, and, finding them satisfied and often exhausted, left them to their slumber.
Down on the first floor, an open door drew her, its lack of secrecy inviting. As she drifted over the bodies tangled together and studied them, she realized an odd thing. They all had their clothes still on. Well, all of them but Hassin. He never seemed to wear anything. Once, Autumn had seen an article of clothing on the man, and it was so out of place that she found it disturbing, not that he hadn’t worn it well. But all of his partners for the night, another man and two women, still wore their clothing. Autumn recognized Saoirse and the other man as they both lived and worked in the Lantern as well. They hadn’t slept together, just slumbered in each other’s presence. It was curious, for sure, not the usual outcome in a place such as this. All four were draped across each other, body pressed against body, hands grasping greedily but gently at the exquisite rise and fall of flesh. They looked happy.
Seeing that everyone in her brothel was content, Autumn was about to leave when she recognized the customer. Her!
Once before, Autumn had seen this woman in the Red Lantern when she was trying to find a place to hide her necklace, and the stranger had a cart with her, a miraculous cart with cauldron that changed what went into it. Darting out into the hallway, Autumn blinked down to an often unoccupied room, in search of what she was certain would be waiting.
Autumn was haunting the halls, occasionally ducking inside of rooms to see who and what was there. Early in the night, when Gweneveh had returned with a man, Autumn had made herself scarce when the clothes started dropping quickly. Gweneveh was a woman who could put most others to shame with her beauty, and tonight, she had played her looks to their strongest effect. Her dress had been simple but still managed to accentuate her strongest features, but what was perhaps the most alluring was the mask she had decided on.
It was black with a constellation painted around the eyes, one Autumn knew due to its mention by the sailors aboard the Mary, a constellation named Zintila’s Fall. Those who lived life on the open ocean had a greater understanding and appreciation of the stars than anyone Autumn had ever met. Her knowledge had grown considerably in her time at sea. While the constellation spoke of sorrow, the sorrow of a Goddess falling from goddesshood, the mask itself wore the expression much more heavily. There was a detail in the way the eyes were shaped. Two tears ran down the left cheek; one, down the right, all three fashioned from the same material that the mask was made of making them difficult to see unless an observer was looking closely.
Gweneveh had no problems getting people to look closer, and she had played the mask to its fullest effect. Autumn didn’t know how, but her Gweneveh’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. The rest of her face, what of it that could be seen behind the mask, her lips and eyes, wore sorrow so heavily it couldn’t be missed. It was a ploy to garner more attention, to be sad in the middle of celebration, and it had worked. One of her favorite customers, one who felt a need to be a hero, had seen her and recognized her, and she allowed him to play his part of rescuer. He comforted her, and she brought him home.
And then Autumn had left the room and wandered aimlessly. When something piqued her interest, she sidled delicately through the walls, checking on the denizens and patrons of her fine establishment, and, finding them satisfied and often exhausted, left them to their slumber.
Down on the first floor, an open door drew her, its lack of secrecy inviting. As she drifted over the bodies tangled together and studied them, she realized an odd thing. They all had their clothes still on. Well, all of them but Hassin. He never seemed to wear anything. Once, Autumn had seen an article of clothing on the man, and it was so out of place that she found it disturbing, not that he hadn’t worn it well. But all of his partners for the night, another man and two women, still wore their clothing. Autumn recognized Saoirse and the other man as they both lived and worked in the Lantern as well. They hadn’t slept together, just slumbered in each other’s presence. It was curious, for sure, not the usual outcome in a place such as this. All four were draped across each other, body pressed against body, hands grasping greedily but gently at the exquisite rise and fall of flesh. They looked happy.
Seeing that everyone in her brothel was content, Autumn was about to leave when she recognized the customer. Her!
Once before, Autumn had seen this woman in the Red Lantern when she was trying to find a place to hide her necklace, and the stranger had a cart with her, a miraculous cart with cauldron that changed what went into it. Darting out into the hallway, Autumn blinked down to an often unoccupied room, in search of what she was certain would be waiting.