Evelyn would happily inform Anders that while she doesn't have a sister, she has a degenerate brother with a gambling problem and an overworked liver (if that's his sort of thing), but at the current juncture her priorities are 'unconsciously making her way into whatever room Anders leads her.'
The tea parlour is warm and so is the localised bubble around her, which dissipates slowly as a swathe of fabric takes its place. When he begins his work, it feels like a vague tugging at the back of her mind, too distant to touch on her own in a state hovering between lucidity and forgetfulness. With a Night Mare the size of the great Sphinx sitting on her chest it feels a bit like gasping for air without anything to breathe: trying to inhale underwater, or through fabric.
Evelyn's fingers, resting on the ottoman upon which she sits, twitch anxiously while her eyes dart beneath closed lids. He pries gently and a hand takes Nefertiri's, Shepsenut again and they leave this great room, away from the scent of perfumed oils and melting fat, honey and meat, the cymbals still ringing in her ears as-
She gasps sharply and sits ramrod straight, looking about in wide-eyed shock with all the surprise one might anticipate from a woman who expected to awake in her own bed. Warily, and with no small amount of concern her gaze trails to the man not far from her, whose garb reminds her of medieval tapestries.
no subject
The tea parlour is warm and so is the localised bubble around her, which dissipates slowly as a swathe of fabric takes its place. When he begins his work, it feels like a vague tugging at the back of her mind, too distant to touch on her own in a state hovering between lucidity and forgetfulness. With a Night Mare the size of the great Sphinx sitting on her chest it feels a bit like gasping for air without anything to breathe: trying to inhale underwater, or through fabric.
Evelyn's fingers, resting on the ottoman upon which she sits, twitch anxiously while her eyes dart beneath closed lids. He pries gently and a hand takes Nefertiri's, Shepsenut again and they leave this great room, away from the scent of perfumed oils and melting fat, honey and meat, the cymbals still ringing in her ears as-
She gasps sharply and sits ramrod straight, looking about in wide-eyed shock with all the surprise one might anticipate from a woman who expected to awake in her own bed. Warily, and with no small amount of concern her gaze trails to the man not far from her, whose garb reminds her of medieval tapestries.
"...who are you?"