A Moment's Respite

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[236] Nymaya: A Moment's Respite
Mon Apr 12 22:16:45 2010
To: New_Thalos Reklah
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The manor was quiet and cool, a considerable change from the dry heat of the desert, but bustling with activity.

Servants and guards alike were passing to and fro. She stopped in the main foyer as a small cluster of clerics following their local Priest parted around her, pausing only briefly to address "Lady Kayen" with hurried but respectful tips of their brow.

She watched it all with an unreal sense, though she knew exactly why the estate was in a flurry.

Reklah was back. She had simply not had enough time to sit back and let it sink in.

She considered that during a long, thoughtful pause, her gaze settled upon the fountain which bubbled softly amidst the clamor. His presence in her life again was surreal, almost unbelievable. She was both pleased and uncertain.

There were a good deal of changes yet to be made, wounds to be healed. Words to be spoken.

Her gaze shifted to the dual stairway that encircled the foyer before she began the long trek up and through the various hallways, until she came to the many-roomed suite that contained their personal chambers.

It was empty but it had seen use. In nearly a decade and a half, she had barely been able to bring herself to enter it. The surreal sense continued to encase her.

Her armor came off a piece at a time. It needed repairing. Sun, sand and general use had left it a little worse for wear. She wasn't thinking particularly about that though as she gazed down the length of her left arm. Her muscles ached and she noted that the scars - marks that had been set upon her in Fatale's name for her husband - were pink again. As if newly healed. Even the ragged mark across her palm into her wrist and forearm was pink.

Closing her eyes, she shifted her attention beyond such things. All the events that had occurred after his death had lead her almost inevitably back to...him. Instead, she summoned a servant to take her armor, another to draw a bath and then she set herself to the task of quill upon parchment.

The scritch of her work was strangely relaxing as her message came forth, of particular importance but not so necessary that it need be sent immediately, so she folded the vellum with care and left it to be found before egressing to the bathing room that had been built to exquisite specification off of the master chamber - drawn by the lavender-scented water and the promise of clean flesh.

She knew sleep would come after, a prospect that now left her uneasy but could not be circumvented.