[He finds more darkness and books. The aisle, because it cannot be called a hall for how narrow it is, goes on for an oddly long time with the sense that it may never end. But end it does, in a small alcove, barely wide enough to accommodate the large armchair in the space.
In the chair is a shadowed figure, hard to make out in detail, but obviously it's bound, and that scent is much stronger here. Though the mystery is short lived.]
Come in, won't you?
[The voice is Syeira's, but harsher, missing a certain quality of warmth. There's movement, a wave of a hand, and torches light on the walls.
Clothed in black leather armor, Syeira is bound in rope, chains, and bands of silk to the chair, though there are loose bindings laying on the floor. Her right hand up to the elbow is free. Her eyes glow yellow, and her hair looks glossier, more fluid, truly resembling fresh blood.]
no subject
In the chair is a shadowed figure, hard to make out in detail, but obviously it's bound, and that scent is much stronger here. Though the mystery is short lived.]
Come in, won't you?
[The voice is Syeira's, but harsher, missing a certain quality of warmth. There's movement, a wave of a hand, and torches light on the walls.
Clothed in black leather armor, Syeira is bound in rope, chains, and bands of silk to the chair, though there are loose bindings laying on the floor. Her right hand up to the elbow is free. Her eyes glow yellow, and her hair looks glossier, more fluid, truly resembling fresh blood.]
I so rarely get visitors.