#devoura

Her day consisted of long meetings and quiet rooms when she’d rather be elsewhere conjuring all sorts of dead beings that should more than likely stay dead. Unfortunately, her youth was stolen by power and privilege -- although they did not fear the humans she wouldn’t be found outside the walls without soldiers accompanying her.

The man next to her had made a mess of his wine, the rose-colored liquid spread over the steel surface as the man began to lose his composure, scrambling to wipe up the mess with all that he had, even the fur he adorned. Their eyes made contact for but a moment, his of panicked chartreuse and hers a mild lilac. Shocked by even this, the man scrambled once more to erase this seemingly grave mistake he had made. The eighteen-year-old sorceress merely stood, placing a gentle hand on his shaking one, only the black of her fingertips touching his pale knuckles which stopped their quiver as soon as she did so. Pale locks similar to that of the moon's light on the darkest of nights, fell around her shoulders, framing her already porcelain face so she appeared as faultless as a statue -- she smiled.

“Miss Devoura, you really needn’t do this for me.” He spoke without meeting her eyes and her temper flared. She was not a monster who could turn a man to stone with a single glance, and yet, most continued to treat her as such. Only now did her lilac eyes go ablaze as she cleaned the man’s mess by placing one finger into the small splash of liquid, evaporating it with a heat emitted from the tip of her finger.

“Be at peace, sir.” She smiled at the man though it lacked genuineness and excused herself from the room. No one called to her as she did so, none had the authority.

The soles of her boots made the only sound that echoed in the halls as she trod back to her quarters, not even the breath of the guards who were stationed at increments along the corridor, nor the ones standing just outside the massive steel doors that lead to her chambers.  Not even the steel doors made a noise as they opened before her,  revealing the heavily decorated room, done much to her liking so she wasn’t upset that she has lived in this very same room for eighteen years of her life and which had only been changed twice.

“Tynon.” Her voice drifted out, soft,  different from that when she was speaking to the man in the conference room.  A guard behind her turned his head confused who she could be talking to but a voice echoed from an empty, shadowed, corner of her room.