There were bruises settling along your throat and you couldn't move your shoulder without bringing up three different kinds

There were bruises settling along your throat and you couldn’t move your shoulder without bringing up three different kinds of ache. You wiped a smudge of lipstick of your jaw.

“What are you thinking about?”

You tossed a look over your shoulder to see Lady Dimitrescu, her face hidden behind a curtain of cigarette smoke, only the glow from her yellow eyes distinct among the haze. She stalked back into the room smelling like snow and smoke, and settled on the chaise she had besides the vanity.

“Nothing important.” You answered.

“You’re thinking of Miranda again, aren’t you?”

You chose to ignore her tone, “I enjoy the anticipationof her reaction.”

“Why?”

“The motions of her face are pleasing to me,” You said, tying your hair up, “Why are you asking?”

“I’m curious.”

You buttoned up the rest of your blouse. “No, you aren’t. Not really.”

She raised and brow and you smiled. She had soft, bouncy hair still wet with sweat and her nightgown lay open to reveal the smooth expanse of her soft skin. She was, you thought, rather pleasing to watch as well. You moved and sat down next to her and Lady Dimitrescu shuffled to give you room, one hand gripping your waist and holding you steady.

“You know,” you started, holding the gold mask Miranda had given you close to your chest, “she usually isn’t pleased, even though she sends me here.”

You lay down on the chaise with her and she cushions your head on one of her biceps and the hand that had held you steady cuddled you close to her. “She shifts her feet just slightly and her eyes squint a fraction, a tightening of the skin around her eyes as she clenches her jaw.”

“I see.”

You hummed in agreement.