illindriel:
Taken aback by her compliment, Illindriel blinked his breathtaking eyes and regarded her curiously. Was that a remark spoken in flirtation or bold defiance? Although he would never mention it aloud, the necromancer found himself enjoying this game more than he let on. An elaborate dance with words - a dangerous contest to hold with a bard. A dangerous contest to hold with Ophelia.
“Dear little bird with a silken voice,” he addressed the bard, a smirk growing on his pale lips. He deigned to not move an inch from where he stood. “I am not going anywhere. Take what you will from my admission.”
“Oh, good!” the bard answered in turn but her voice was much quieter. “You know…” Even quieter. “It means…” Akin to a whisper.
With a half-lidded gaze, she tilted her head and her mouth hovered against his, just as if she was about to steal a kiss.
“…you haven’t got me yet,” she whispered against his mouth.
And then, with a step to the back and a swish of her blonde braid, she was away from him.
“So much for discussing philosophy! I am therefore leaving you to your…” she casted a glance in the direction of the animated undead, “friends.” The voice she said that word betrayed satisfaction. “I have places to go and people to meet. Namaarie… istar.” Farewell, wizard.
With a hand over her heart, she took a bow, as theatrical as they made them. She twirled on her foot and proceed to walk away.
Her hips were swaying in a way that spoke a lot about how comfortable she felt in her own skin. She still stole a peak over her shoulder. Both to gauge his reaction and to observe if the swaying was noticed. If so, very well. If not, it was good as well. It meant she could leave safely.







