Hair the colour of my favourite crabs scuttles across her shoulders. Not the smartest of ways to escape the mistress’s grasp, but those are certainly popular ways to do it. I have begun to think no one knew how to approach one of Drake’s line anymore.My stomach betrays longing for such a feast, and I do nothing to assuage the horror she struggles to contain at such a sound. The garden has many eyes and ears, even when one thinks they are closed; though their magic is neutered the prisoners would hurt you in a moment with fists and spoons if it gained them the false hope of release. Those others without teeth or muscle or claws have not fared well. “My name,” she offers, cutting her eyes sideways in case the words settle on someone unintentionally.The next, we occupy one of the myriad parlours set aside for entertaining guests in the mistress’s enclave. Tucked into a corner of the parlour, keeping as still as possible so as not to disturb the spindly furnishings, thick draperies, and thin skins of artworks scattered around like demons ready to eat my tail, it takes a lot of my small strength not to stare at the outside too long. The mistress waits, face as still as her terrible hands.Allowing us this view cuts just as deep as her knives. Like her temper, the mistress keeps herself restrained within walls upon walls.I have seen many innards in my time, in ropes slithering across the tiles of the garden.
Therefore, the voice of no consequence that brings me out of my sundream of the embrace of my beloved ocean must be a trick.That is my trick; not sunlight, or ocean, or vomited fire.A person’s truth lies not in their heart, but in their guts. She tips her head as if examining me from another angle will reveal my true secret.Pitiful cries and pleas for mercy still bleed from the walls. There is no key to this labyrinth.” My scales itch as I watch dust motes do their spiral tarantella with ease through the weak sunlight. At least she takes one that is not soaked in blood only visible to my good eye and guts.Her voice when it comes makes my bad eye ache and my belly twist. “Then count yourself lucky.” “I believe in hard work, not luck,” Riena murmurs, turning the package contents over and over.