A brief lull in the hushed conversations of the gathered vampires alerted Elisha, and he looked once more towards where the self-described king sat. A human woman had come into the room to stand at Heriolf’s side.
Elisha knew her name to be Naya Woods. Out of Heriolf’s hearing, many referred to her as the Font, a suggestion of powerful blood that had been borne out by a captured member of the king’s inner circle. Other than these things, nothing of note was known about her.
Taken piece by piece, she was not a beauty. Her pale blond hair, reaching to her waist, was too flyaway and untamed. Her eyes, as green as the ubiquitous pine needles of Georgia, were too large and too round to balance her tiny chin. Her nose was long and straight, and her lips, while well-formed, were thin slashes of pink. Her body was so willowy as to make her appear taller than she actually was, especially in the sweeping gown she wore tonight, its green skirt that matched her eyes reaching the marble floor. There was an aloof restraint in her demeanor that suggested she was above the pettiness of the world around her, but gazing at her for only a few seconds told the observer this regal bearing was but a mask she wore. Beneath it, there was a nervous fluttering of fingers, a jerkiness of the darting eyes that took in everything, and a tension in her stance that spoke of a willingness to take flight. She was at her heart a wild thing, as untamed as the floating froth of hair that moved with its own life around her torso.
In parts, Naya was not even pretty. But put together, she was striking, a pale will o’ the wisp that pleased the eye even as it confounded it. That such a dainty ethereal being gave Heriolf his power over all other vampires made her even more compelling.
No comments:
Post a Comment