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'...never share.'

'You...those girls...your business is your own.'

The voices echo in the darkness and, for a moment, Alysa may wonder if she is dreaming. She certainly feels very weak, exhausted and utterly drained.

'Mother will not like this,' says the muffled voice of Dakrom from what seems to be the other side of a door. It requires a moment for Alysa to realize that her eyes are open but the darkness of the room is so complete that she could not tell the difference.She is lying in what feels like a bed, possibly the same from the previous evening in which she had slumbered through the morning. Even after nearly a week of little rest, Alysa did not feel half as spent as she does now. Her body has a dull ache through it and she feels a tightness around her inner thighs that feel like cloth tightly wound around. Her sex is still swollen and burning from being so thoroughly overstimulated. Someone had dressed her in what feels like a heavy gown of some sort judging by the way it clings to her hips and bodice but flows around her limbs. It might have been years since she last wore a dress as her training as a Stalker dissuaded her from such feminine garb as being impractical when hunting criminals.

'She will understand,' replies Mira, whose own words are so faint that Alysa must strain to hear them. 'She knows how strongly the passions run in our little family.'

As Alysa's eyes flutter open, she tries to remember what had happened and how she got to wherever she was. She looks around curiously, wondering just what the two were talking about, though she knows they're talking about her. She simply tries to fight the instinct to run, unsure if the wound on her leg has healed enough to support such an action.

The silence rushes back in following the wake of the voices as they cease. Then the door opens with a whisper of the hinges and there stands Lemia, holding aloft her lantern while Lucia enters, carrying a wooden tray with a covered platter upon it. She walks very carefully towards the bed, which Alysa now fully recognizes as being in the same room as before. A fine toothsome odor fills the room as the younger maid approaches and sets the tray on the nightstand to Alysa's left.

'And how are you feeling, my dear?' Lemia asks in her most motherly tone that yet somehow sounds as hollow as the rest of her speech. Lucia folds her hands together in front of herself and waits, her expression unreadable as she stands in silhouette.

Alysa manages a smile in Lemia's direction as she sits up, her hand running through her blonde hair as she does. "Oh I'm sure Ill be fine with a little bit of rest" she laughs weakly "I knew beautiful women were trouble".

Lemia smiles wider, almost a leer, and nods at Lucia. 'If you like, I can remain here and help you with your meal.' Then, in a sterner tone, she adds, 'Lucia, you may return to the kitchens.'The younger maid hangs her head and turns away from the edge of Alysa's bed, calmly striding towards the door, leaving Lemia alone with their guest.

"Oh? I would welcome the company to be honest" Alysa admits, unsure how long she's been asleep/unconscious and finding herself eager to have someone to talk to, even if it is only the strange servant woman.

Watching with narrowed eyes as Lucia depart, closing the door behind her, Lemia walks forward in the cold white light of the lantern and walks over to sit down on the bed next to Alysa. She places the lantern on the nightstand while lifting the tray with one hand, her flabby arms seemingly stronger than they appear.

Then Lemia settles the tray down on its stout legs on the bed in front of Alysa, pinning her legs down with the weight of it.With a flourish, she removes the cover to reveal a large roast with a single bone jutting through the center. It is surrounded by a variety of chopped root vegetables and mushrooms and rests on a bed of bitter greens. The rich aroma of chopped herbs rises into Alysa's nostrils and she may find herself quite famished, her hunger possibly momentarily driving off her exhaustion.

Producing a carving knife and fork from her apron, Lemia begins to slice into the meat with such precision as she severs a thin portion which she spears with the meat fork. Then she offers it to Alysa. 'It's very fresh and from our own stock. We raise them until maturity but they tend to get very tough as they get older so only the most tender are put upon the table for guests.'She licks her lips impatiently, her nostrils flaring as she waits for Alysa to take a bite.

"Oh Lemia, it looks delicious!" Alysa gushes as she takes in the sight and smell of the food set before her. She isn't quite sure how long its been since she's eaten but she feels like it's been days, though her exhaustion may be distorting things slightly. "You shouldn't have gone through all this trouble for little old me!"

'It is not any trouble at all, my lady,' Lemia says, her colorless face in a frigid grin. 'Besides, we have to eat as well, we servants, so I'm always busy in the kitchen. There are a dozen of us and all of us get hungry throughout the day but you may thank Mistress Armonde for this. She insisted on preparing this herself while you were resting.'

Whatever it is, it is heavily seasoned but cooked very rare as Alysa can still taste the coppery tang of blood. The meat reminds Alysa of either young domestic boar or bull. In any case, it is exceedingly tender and melts on her tongue. The vegetables are practically an afterthought but they do infuse the roast with some additional and noticeable accents.

'The mistress shall be pleased that you like it,' Lemia adds. 'I am at your disposal for the day. Yes, it is past dawn already. You slept most of the night after the lady had her manservant carry you here. You apparently cut yourself in the bath but no matter; the mistress bid him to bind your wounds. I daresay you looked as though you lost a bit of blood but eat and you'll surely regain your strength.'

Alysa smiled, there had to be more to the story than what Lemia was telling or that her mistress had revealed, but she is sure that her memory will return to her in time. "clumsy as always" she laughed, allowing a little joke at her own expense "but I suppose these things happen to everyone now and then".

'That's the spirit, my dear,' Lemia says, carving off a more generous portion of the meat for Alysa to eat.

Alysa smiles as she takes another bite of the delicious meat. "Well it seems I shall be a guest here awhile longer, but that's all right, we'll make do won't we Lemia".

'That we shall, my dear,' Lemia says, patting Alysa's thigh through the heavy covering of comforters and blankets but it still causes the wounds along her inner thighs to twinge. Alysa winces despite her attempts to hide it. she tries to think back over the previous night's events but finds her memory clouded at best. "At least I have you to keep me company for a short while anyway".

'It would be my pleasure, my dear,' Lemia nods, 'and as you are our sole guest at the moment, you shall receive all the attention!'

She smiles. 'Oh, how I would have loved to have a strong girl like you for a daugther instead of a simpering, whimpering useless thing.' As she speaks, Lemia continues to produce thin slices of the savory meat for Alysa to consume, though she watches every bite and her lips gleam with saliva, her eyes dancing with hunger.

"If only i were a few years younger Lemia, I should have loved to have a mother...like you" she says with a strange smile "there is no way i can eat all this alone, you're going to have to help me out here!"

Nodding in acknowledgment of the compliment, Lemia firmly shakes her head. 'No, my lady,' she says gravely. 'This was prepared by my mistress solely for you. I cannot partake of it even if I wished to. Eat your fill and I shall save the remainder for later. We servants have our own simpler fare that we are given and we ought not to want for more than that.'

There is a faint breeze and the flame with in the oil lantern flickers as the door opens. Lucia has returned, emerging from the dark with a tray upon which sits a crystal decanter of some dark liquid and a single crystal goblet.

'Set it down there,' Lemia says impatiently, gesturing towards the night stand. Lucia nods obediently and very meticulously places the tray where she is bidden, making certain that there is enough room for both the tray and the lantern. Alas, she miscalculates and the lantern tumbles off the table and crashes to the floor. It does not break but the fire inside is snuffed out.

'You clumsy, oafish shame of my loins!' Lemia barks at Lucia. Alysa can hear her but, in the darkness, cannot see her or the other maid.

'Pick it up and relight it!' In short order, Lucia has found the lantern, holding it in her hand as she strikes a long match and carefully relights the twin wicks inside the glass enclosure. Once again, the pale white light illuminates the area around the bed. For an instant. Lemia's features seem contorted by the shadows, her mouth much wider than it should be and her eyes hideously wide and bulging. However, this vision swiftly fades and she turns back to smile apologetically at Alysa while Lucia, not waiting to be dismissed, hurries out of the room.

'It is not her fault, my lady,' Lemia explains. 'Her father was a simple man, a fool and a charlatan. She has more than a little of him in her.'

Then Lemia titters nastily to herself before shrugging, sighing, and preparing to carve another slice from the roast.

Alysa shrugs, she has known more than a few of those types of men in her time and only by her own tricks has she escaped such a fate herself. "Men are often more trouble than they're worth in my experience" she says, allowing Lemia to give her another bite of the meat.

'Too true,' says Lemia, her stomach growling as she serves Alysa. 'The master of the house, rest his soul, was much the same way, though I ought not to speak ill of the dead.' She sniggers at this, wrinkling her nose and baring her teeth. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips again.'Shall I pour you a glass of wine? Its a very rare vintage. You may enjoy it. It comes from the private stock of the mistress herself. Sip it slowly, however. It can be quite strong.' Rising from the bed, Lemia leans forward to grab hold of the decanter of dark liquid and she begins to pour a small measure into the goblet before offering the beverage to Alysa.

Alysa shrugs and takes the offered glass giving the liquid inside a quick sniff, checking for poison before taking a sip. She smiles at Lemia for a moment "is this really a good idea if i've lost blood? Would hate to make things worse than they are already".

'This has restorative qualities,' Lemia advises. The wine is indeed strong, with a heavy anise flavor that is mingled with a kind of salty sweetness. At once, Alysa feels a wave of weakness wash through her and she might suspect for a moment that she has been poisoned.

'Just relax,' Lemia says calmly, reaching out to stroke Alysa's shoulder in an almost maternal fashion. 'I warned you it was strong.'

Alysa manages to nod, wondering just what was in that glass. It's strong and doesn't taste like anything she's ever come across before. "Wow, you weren't joking about that were you!" she laughs weakly, trying to shake off the strange feeling of the first sip of that wine.

Once more, Lemia smiles sweetly and dabs at Alysa's lips with the edge of her apron. 'It is a special vintage, as I mentioned,' she explains softly. 'Would you care for some more roast?' She rests her broad backside on the edge of the bed and resumes slicing the joint of meat around the bone, sliding it off into velvety piles of steaming flesh.

Alysa shakes her head, for some reason her appetite is gone, whether from the food or the strong wine she is unsure. "No, I'm quite full actually, but it is delicious" she laughs "if I stay here too long I'm going to lose this gorgeous figure i've worked so hard for!"

'Very well then, my lady,' Lemia says, backing towards the door and reaching for the knob while keeping the tray perched in one hand. She steps out of the room, leaving Alysa with the glowing lantern and the bottle of rich wine.

Alysa looks down at the glass in her hand, still half full of the dark rich wine. She supposes she might as well finish this glass and perhaps another. She lifted the glass to her lips and took another deep sip as she looked around.

The wine certainly has an effect upon Alysa, whether as a calmative or a sedative, but her body feels more and more leaden with every sip and a slight chill rushes through her veins. Under the bittersweet syrupy taste, there is something salty and metallic, as if the wine had been aged in iron or lead barrels. Could it possibly be poisoned? Yet it is not an unpleasant sensation.She is certain that she would have detected if the wine was poisoned, but her doubt is growing with each passing moment. The effects of the wine seem to grow stronger with each sip she takes and yet she's never been one who cannot hold her liquor well. Perhaps she lost more blood than she thought.

Soon the room begins to fade before her eyes as she is dragged down into slumber and plunged headlong into a sea of darkly erotic dreams, mostly involving herself and the mysterious lady who had introduced her to a new world of pleasures that evening and had so thoroughly ravaged her body that her flesh still yearns for it despite her pain and fatigue. Her body responds to her vivid imagination, a series of seductive images flashing so fast that she doesn't have time to focus on any single scenario. All that Alysa knows is that she must obey her mistress, yield herself, give herself to the woman and do whatever is demanded of her. In return, she will be grandly rewarded with every single secret desire locked away in her heart. Only through submission to the woman she knows as Mira Aramonde will she ever know happiness.Alysa cannot imagine or remember having such vivid dreams before and especially not such dark and lascivious ones as those that plague her. Feeding the fire she can already feel roaring to life in her veins at even the thought of the mysterious Mira Aramonde. The blonde whimpers in her sleep as her dreams grow more fevered.

Every fibre of every nerve in her body is alive with ecstasy. Her sex shudders multiple times and jolts of electricity run up and down her spine as she arches her back in her sleep and cries out with the sheer joy of it. It is more than sexual; it satisfies every craving she has ever felt in her soul. All Alysa has ever wanted may be found in the arms of Mistress Aramonde and all that she could ever need shall be given to her for her obedience.Her blue eyes fly open, the deep ocean blue already fading to the dark and endless color of a midnight sky as she looks around once again, still panting from her dreams. She can't understand what has caused this feeling but she knows she wishes only to stay here with Mira, her mistress for as long as the older women will allow. This is a strange and unfamiliar feeling to the young bandit, for she has always been plagued by her parent's wanderlust.

The war within Alysa has begun. Not weak willed and certainly not lacking in savvy, the blonde bandit might yet be out of her depth here. It could have been the wine, the combination of both it and the heavy meal upon which she had slept or perhaps it was the passionate and breathstealing sex that had brought on this odd affliction but part of her wishes to remain at Redclyffe forever, surrender herself to her mistress and serve her with the same unquestioning devotion as Lemia or the other servants. The allure is very strong. She would finally be able to cease her endless wandering and have a stable home for the first time since her parents were lost at sea.

Even after what seems like hours of rest, Alysa is still as weak as a newborn kitten. She can move easily enough but the effort of it is taxing and the bed is so warm and soft and inviting. Almost as much as the bosom of her mistress as the woman's naked body had lain across her own, their skin glistening and still warm from the beads of hot water clinging to them. Mira nestles her velvet sex between Alysa's widespread thighs and they kissed with unfettered longing, even as Dakrom stood there watching.

'Do not look at me like that, Dakrom,' Mira had said. Alysa had lain there in a daze, feeling spent and drained but somehow fulfilled and satisfied. 'I have need of her. She is strong and beautiful and I can give her everything she could ever want and she will be my protector from all those who seek to harm me.'

'I don't judge you,' Dakrom retorted with a mirthless smile. 'I pity you. You've no appreciation or comprehension for the gift you've been given. All your pretty little toys are meaningless and you'll eventually tire of this one.' He had prodded the senseless Alysa in the shoulder with his cane. 'Just as you did the others before her. Mother shall not be happy about the fate of your husband. New arrangements shall have to be made.'

'Then I shall arrange them myself!' Mira snapped, rising up from Alysa's prone form as she and Dakrom both look down upon the blonde. Reaching out to place a hand on Dakrom's shoulder, Mira smirks wickedly. 'If I share her, perhaps you'll be less judgemental. Now, I must get dressed. Carry her back to her quarters. Let her rest.'Strong arms had slid beneath Alysa and bore her up and that is all she recalls before awakening in her bed moments ago.

Her recollections bring with them more questions than answers and yet part of her is screaming that she should run, get out of here before she falls too deep into whatever it is that haunts this place. But the other voices are overwhelming in their insistence, plying her with promises of everything she has ever desired and the whispered benefits of a more intimate nature.

She is conflicted, every thought is torn between leaving and staying. But a voice in the back of her mind asks if she truly believes the strange woman will allow her to leave so easily, perhaps she is simply a prisoner here as certain as she was while under the employ of the lawgivers, merely a pawn in an unseen chess game and yet one that her mistress would not surrender so easily.Yet the weight of these musings is heavy upon her mind, which is just as bereft of vigor as her body, and the lure of sleep calls to Alysa once more. Never can she recall feeling so utterly exhausted. Not even the fearful times she had spent hiding from the Oathkeepers in Viktoron, barely daring to close her eyes, or the long hours of training, riding and hunting in her assigned duties as a stalker had ever lain her so low.