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Benezia and I talked about frivolous nothings as the torches burned low and were replaced by a passing servant. At some point the guildhall bound girl I'd found myself beside had begun asking about my travels prior to coming to the capital. Feeling like quite the man of action (though a bit unsteady even as I sat) I eloquated at length on my expedition to Farseer Island where I had spent an entire summer with a pair of Hermaeus Mora’s acolytes, excavating a stone Direnni monolith by which the ancients had read stars. Pursing her lips, she urged me to continue, and with dissolving capacity I rambled on about my journeys sailing High Rock’s craggy coast, and my adventure into the deadly Bay of Spoons.

She brushed her hair behind her ear. "You've never made it any farther south? Like the beast folk kingdoms?"

I leaned back on stiff arms, palms planted on cool stone. "Nope."

"Not even Elsweyr? I always thought the desert sounded terribly romantic, and the few catfolk I’ve seen have had such an exotic beauty to them."

I remember only thinking how very beautiful she was to me in that moment — how her ashen face stood apart before the night sky, hung like a silver pendant against black eternity as the embodiment of everything I wanted, needed, within reach and yet held beyond my crude grasp by propriety even in my drunken stupor. To be in her presence was to be yearning, my soul immolating with unspent desire. Verbally however, I only managed to grunt.

“But surely you must have been to Elsweyr at some point?"

“I swear I haven’t," I chuckled.

We returned to watching the stars until after a moment of silence she reached over, fingers sliding over mine as she took my empty glass.

"It's getting late... but would you be willing to escort me to my room?"

"At the guildhall?”

"No, I have one here at Marius', a guest room just for the night."

My legs answered before my mouth, lurching me up onto numb feet. Fortunately she slid up to me, demurely taking my elbow and stabilizing me. My stomach sloshed like a poorly strung wine sack as we entered the pavilion and then passed through the crowded revelers beneath the watchful visage of Saint Alessia. My mind raced at how to carry myself and what to expect next, but I was buoyed within by liquid courage and an unparalleled anticipation to know her curvaceous body.

Why she had a guest room in Marius' estate I never thought to ask. Such trivialities could wait until morning, as could Marius himself — Dagon take him — and his elusive funding.

She led me through double doors into the east wing of the manor which housed an incredible library where I'd spent many a restless night by candlelight researching the Ancestor Moth Cult. But that night the halls were transformed into pitch black caverns. I drew the creaking doors shut and the raucous laughter and song of the crowd were cut off as abruptly as a book slammed shut. She leaned her top-heavy frame over the candle box and produced one that I sparked a light on after a few failed attempts at snapping my fingers to summon a flame.

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She extended a hand, so small in mine, and then she led me on like a willow wisp.

Hurried footsteps echoed as we passed Marius' collections of busts, mounted beast heads, and murals made unfamiliar and cruel looking by the long shadows of candle light. The smell of dust annoyed me; I only wanted to smell her, and her giggling at my stupid comments only drove me on all the harder.

We reached her door and she ushered me in. Her hands guided me to sit on the bed before busying herself lighting several more candles atop a cabinet. I kept my silence, drinking in the sight of her tight posterior and psyching myself up for what was to come (lest the wine make my blood run thin). I avoided looking into the mirror mounted onto the door as seeing my own drink reddened nose would do my confidence no favors.

She rounded on me without warning, something feline in her smoldering gaze. First she planted a pair of long soft kisses on my cheeks, before reaching my lips. Not a moment later I felt her tongue sink into my mouth.

I ran my hands down her elegant neck to the shoulders. As her kisses lingered I began sliding her gown down — desperate to release the pair of nix-pups trapped within.

She stopped me with a tap of her fingertips.

"Not yet, dear. I have a funny idea." She drew off her sash fast as a whip and held it up, her gown loosening as if windblown about her frame. "You've taught me so much this evening — why don't you let me teach you some things for a change."

I melted, I admit it, as she bound my wrists in an impromptu set of silk cuffs. To be the victim of a dark elf dominatrix was an unrealized life goal I had never had the courage to acknowledge until that very moment. My heart was pounding in my ears as she kissed me again and I savored the wine sweetened taste of her saliva.

Suddenly her grip tightened to a vice on my shoulder, then shoved me and I was spinning. I landed face first into the downy bed with a grunt and heard her moving behind me even as my vision became a muffled bunch of bedsheets. Before I could speak, her arm gripped my neck in a headlock.

I felt it to be on the rougher side of foreplay for my liking, but I hate to be a spoilsport so I held my tongue until I could feel livid veins rising at my temples and even swallowing became a struggle. I was compelled to voice my concern. "Dear, could you lighten up ever so much?"

Her grip about my neck tightened until I heard a vertebrae pop. I wondered, could she not hear me?

I pushed against her weight in an attempt to turn and speak reason to her. But then time seemed to stop when my elbow brushed her chest and I felt her luscious bosom evaporate beneath my elbow. There was a dull thud as a ball of stuffed cloth hit the floor — counterfeit bustier stuffing!

The thud of fallen padding struck my heart like a villainous cavalry charge. "By the gods, an ambush!" I cried out.

I whirled, knocking her back against the cabinet. I staggered to my feet, still bound at the wrists, and between coughing fits began croaking for help.

She was still scrambling back to her feet when the door burst open and a broad chested man barged in. With a flood of relief I recognized him — the silver haired doorman who had seen me into the estate. Without comment he crossed the room, past her, and struck me across the face with a strength I would never have imagined one of our senior citizens capable of.

I collapsed, ice cold tile slapping my cheek. I tried pushing up again with bound hands but fumbled as the warm press of his body fell onto my back and the taught muscles of his arm clenched around my throat like a constricting serpent out of a nightmare. I pushed against the floor so that my body struck him, but he could not be budged. With a last forceful shove I rocked him back slightly and something gray and fell forward off his head to the tile floor before me — a silver wig cast upside down to reveal the netted interior. His grip tightened again. Unintelligible words.

My mind spun in a blur as darkness rushed over me.