ignite

I

to rekindle an old flame

"I wouldn't give this up for anything, you know?"

.

.

It is always raining, here in Dirham.

Now, it is a steady drizzle that patters out to a thickening fog. It is where corpulent drops swell and sluggishly trail down long-since dusted windowpanes in an acrimonious mockery of tears, a spoiled child's temper tantrum.

Said neglected storefronts are cast in feeble bronze-aureate light from street lamps bordering slick cobblestones scattered at infrequent intervals. Their light flickers dimmer still as the evening draws ever closer, shadows more certain with every passing hour.

"A bad place for such a pretty face. What's a proper bit of frock - the likes of you - doing 'round these parts?"

Cloaked in cardinal red, the speaker turns. Yet there is hardly a trace of astonishment threading through their tone when they see whom they are addressing.

A deep bow to the waist, an arm held behind the back: the execution of the perfect gentleman's bow. It is an inclination of respect their acquaintance hadn't the need to return.

(Perhaps it was the difference in social class-not that either of them cared as much about it as they probably should, but...still.)

The cloaked figure adjusts their masquerade mask, its details intricate as the delicately spun domain of etiquette. Glinting metal (one would wonder authentic) silver curls into the sly smirk of a fox. A fox, indeed - for they surely had enough wits about them to bear such a title.

"Greetings, Princess."

The Princess inclines her head in response with the slightest of smiles. The Fox's cloak flutters slightly when the wind kicks up another notch.

"There's a storm on the horizon, drawin' closer."

A thoughtful hum of affirmation in response from the Princess was the only answer they were going to receive.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

"Better get your royal skirts to your castle, fast-like, aye?"

A slight accent, no doubt carried from a lifetime spent on the streets betrays the cloaked figure's origin. Their voice was soft, yet carrying no less confidence than if it were a shout.

"Indeed," was the elegant reply that had the cultured ease of a sheltered noble. ''Twas neither too slow nor too quick - assertive, yet not brazen.

Perhaps if you listened close enough, you could hear the slightest slip of amusement in her tone.

Listen closer still, and maybe - just perchance - you can even hear the echoes of laughter over the overcast evening streets of Dirham.