Holly was bored.
Notchimine was busy taking care of the financial affairs of the estate and preparing to advance the date of the Death Games, a piece of news he planned to give to the new dracanae later in the evening.
She sighed and hopped up on the wall, then sat down, bracing her elbows on her thighs and resting her chin on her loosely-clenched fists. Holly then sighed and blew her hair out of her face.
She did hate being cooped up in the mansion-castle. It was her home and she liked it here just fine, but eventually the containment of the stone and wooden walls, cushioned carpets and gothic portraits wore on her patience.
She’d love to visit Cerrenon again but she didn’t dare ask. With the new green Witchguard after her she knew that Notchimine would never let her go.
Which was more than fine. He probably knew best.
Probably.
As her toes began to tingle with numbness in her boots Holly jumped down from the wall, the landing causing a small amount of pain to jolt up to her knees. As she started walking again she pulled off her long, red gloves with her teeth and tucked them under her arm, flexing her delicate fingers.
She liked the gloves, they added to her preferred look, but they didn’t let her hands breathe which made them sweaty and she didn’t like that. She stopped and looked at her nails, painted crimson.
She wasn’t sure why she bothered since she almost always wore black or red gloves.
After coming around to the main courtyard to the fountain, she sat by it, taking off her heeled boots with a relieved sigh and dipping her toes into the clear, cool water.
Even after years of practice walking in those boots was still uncomfortable, but it looked good and appearances were everything.
Still, after a moment’s hesitation, she took out a white handkerchief, the only thing she owned that wasn’t black or red, and dipped it into the water. Holly then used it to wipe off the scarlet eye shadow and dark, heavy eyeliner she wore.
The cloth was stained red and black, and she rinsed it in the fountain before using it to wipe the red from her lips, crimson fading to a softer pink. Finally, she removed the conical red hat, withdrew her feet from the water and looked in the still pool.
It’d been a long time since she’d looked at her face plainly for another reason than to re-apply the heavy makeup. She could honestly say that she had a different face this way, something softer and warmer, like a candle flame instead of the blood-and-bone appearance that she had taken on once she became a thief, one she kept as Notchimine’s consort.
Holly hesitantly touched her lips, pink, not red. Then she glared at her reflection and slashed across is with her hand, dispelling that foreign face.
She dried her feet and stuffed them into her boots, tugged her hat onto her head, and crudely stuffed the once again white handkerchief into her breast pocket.
She was Holly Marie Barker, a red witch with the power of war, passion, lust, strength, heat and authority at her command.
With that last thought she tugged the brim of her hat down and hurried back into the mansion to replace the powders and paints she had just washed from her visage. After that she’d speak with the female dracanae, Rhama, and get out of the mansion and visit Cerrenon. Once she got back she’d probably be in trouble with her lover but at that moment she really just couldn’t care less.
There was going to be a party tomorrow at one of Notchimine’s holdings in Hekevate, she could get in with or without an invitation. He would send the dracanae in her place, no matter, that just meant that she could mingle freely.
Holly giggled and danced a little down the hallway. Not the more elegant dances she performed at these stately parties, no, this was a dance she’d learned from her mother, it was faster and gave a far more lascivious show to the onlooker.
The red witch twirled into a room, her room, or rather, the room where she kept her clothes, mirror and makeup.
She picked her way amongst the clutter, sitting down on a stool before a mirror, then took out her powders and paints.
The red, smokey eye shadow was first, wreathing her whiskey-brown eyes in scarlet. Then she lined her eyes with black and fluttered her eyelashes.
Satisfied with that, she whisked off her hat and picked up the red paint, quickly covering the soft pink with a vibrant, nearly bloody red.
She smiled, not spotting any red on her teeth she spritzed her wrists and pulse points with her warm, spicy perfume.
Once again, Holly took up her hat, it wasn’t as new or silken as her clothes. It was an old, somewhat tattered and shabby old thing. Last heirloom of the Barker line.
Holly put it on and stood up, looking at herself once more.
Yes, it was herself. Everything that was red and that was witch was with her so long as she wore that hat and painted her face. Scarlet lips, and alabaster skin, auburn-red hair, and burning, whiskey eyes.
She permitted herself a smile and tilted her hat slightly, then stopped, looking at the mirror. Reflected in it, was the scar of her wrist.
She took her other hand, cradling her wrist as she turned her arm so she could look at it. It was paler than the rest of her skin, having a white, unhealthy tinge and slightly inflamed with purple. It’d been years since that little bite.
Sometimes it still hurt.
She growled and put her hand by her side, stalking out to find the dracanae. He promised there would never be another incident like the one that’d caused that scar and that was good enough for her.
He’d also promised she’d stop missing Cerrenon.
Holly shook her head and smoothed her short skirt, didn’t matter, wouldn’t matter. She was going to find the dracanae and give her instructions and get back into Cerrenon.
