Reverie

A Mysterious Stranger

Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides." ― André Malraux

Within the cave on the dank, moldy ground, It sat tearing the last remains of the flesh off the leg of the boy. Flanked by the bones and possessions of Its latest array of victims. The stale air starting to reek of fresh blood. The taste of his flesh deeply satisfying as the meat had been salted properly. The boy's fear of cave monsters and the insects had made manifesting these fears easy. Far easier than it had been before in the past. Little effort in the hunt is what It prefers now, Its meals are easier when the prey comes to It. Not many children at the moment, but It will take what It can get.

Its thoughts become occupied by the Thycenian woman. She does not trust It. It can sense her apprehension, her reluctance. The anxiety she exudes. She does not suspect what It is, but there are other reasons. She does not trust It, but she will. She will. There's a pause as Its mind thinks of her luscious form, stepping out of the water, the image imprinted on Its conscious, the way her eyes looked at It, her delicate mouth when she smiled. It had taken in her intoxicating scent, a combination of the grotto water and a faint, almost fruity aroma. Perhaps perfume. It had been so distracted by her presence, It had almost dropped Its facade.

She would be a challenge, this one.

It growls softy, and resumes tearing into the bloody leg of the boy.

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Mirasal sat in the lobby with her arms folded, staring at the maroon carpet under her feet. Her eyes tracing along the thin delicate gold thread etched into its surface. Robert had said he'd meet her back here after he "takes care of something."

But so far, he's late. She didn't have all day. Kikara was already a little annoyed that she was going off again. But it was only an hour. Just an hour. Nothing more. An hour in which she isn't being yelled at or hurried or pushed. Maybe a part of her was happy to escape from that world for a spell. Perhaps that is why she agreed to do this. Her time at the hotel was no longer a relaxation, but rather a task, a stressful one. Since her military job already fills that role, she had no desire to experience it here. No, this was supposed to be a vacation. Her time with Robert was less strenuous. Shirking work was not in her nature, but this wasn't even her damn job.

She stood up and started slowly pacing back and forth along the floor, in front of the rows of crystals and paintings. She stopped and stared at one artwork in particular, taking in the deep rich colors. It was one her grandfather had done of a Thycenian woman with her baby in her pouch, seated on a rock in front of a lush forest. The model had been his younger sister with her young.

Mirasal stood, her eyes transfixed on the details of the painting. There's usually something new you can see. Little details that you don't notice on first glance that make up the constituent of the work. And now she saw something she hadn't noticed before. She edged closer; a yellow pair of eyes peeking out at her near the woman's feet behind a small bush, tucked away. So inconspicuous she wondered what his motive was for adding it. Her eyes narrowed as she came closer, her face right next to the image. She lifts a finger to gently touch it.

Seeing a shadow movement out the corner of her eye, she turns her head, looking off to the side where there's a very tall, older human man -or perhaps passing- with a white beard standing at the end of the other half of the lobby. Just outside the entrance. The hall lights from above highlight his dark green suit, a pipe perched in his mouth. He watches her for a second, puffs of smoke billowing around him, before he leisurely walks away, stepping out of view behind the wall. A trail of thin vapor follows him. She remains gazing at the area where he'd been standing.