Page 45 of Florescentia

Among the furniture, in her own habitat, she sat still.

As I approached, the glow of her markings gave her away, and a stark ring formed around her pupils as they latched on to my position.

She was lounged in a seat, as if she had been waiting. A thicker, rather luxurious robe swathed her body. The slight sheen of the weave was almost polished like precious metals. The silver fabric was dotted with little glass beads, depicting four fantastical-looking animals that I was sure were iconographic to their culture. The four animals seemed to appear often, from art to stately buildings.

Her hair was down, gentle curls arranged to look effortless despite a liberal amount of scented oils. There was a shine to her lips, and one particular giveaway that this was the most appetizing trap . . .

She smelled of irises again.

“Have you made yourself comfortable?” She tipped her chin toward the decanter in my hand.

“An attempt was made.” I lifted my shoulder. “I thought maybe you could use it better than I.”

“I could use something else.”

“Of what nature?”

“A harvest.”

I ventured deeper into her little den. She might think she was clever, but I didn’t answer to things like her. But she’d allowed me into this realm; it was only polite to help encourage her in other ways. “For what, if I may ask?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not necessarily, but I figured a conversation couldn’t hurt.” I smiled when her expression just deepened in irritation. How delicious. “You know, the thing humans do? You typically talk to people when you want something from them, the act of being pleasant before you ask for things.”

I thought she would bite me if I got too close. The sneer my response prompted from her was as creature-like as it gets.

“Because that’s what you want to do, correct?” I kept going, standing before her. “To use me like a genie, just rub your legs together and—”

“Enough.”

“Entertain me,” I dared her.

She rose from her seat, her gaze not breaking contact with mine.

Her hands left the arms of the chair, finding their way to the front of my hips. Her fingers pinched the fabric, even grasping my skin at some times.

Is she checking to see if I am real?

Her hands ventured upward, pressing flat against my chest. The silks covering her were not secure, opening wider on her chest. The glow of her patterns disappeared underneath, but just one brush of a hand and the robe would be only aesthetic in function.

“Entertain you?” she repeated, her voice as smooth as the balm on her lips. A few curls fell in front of her face, bringing my attention to her eyes. They were as intense and as hungry as those of one of their large cat species. “You could use me all night long if it would make this exchange more to your liking?” she whispered, her face nearing as she spoke. Each word pierced me, striking my memory like an incantation itself.

I placed the bottle in her hands.

She glanced down before I pressed my palm to her face, shoving her back down into the chair.

“You!” she hissed at me.

I hooked my palm under the chair, dragging it as I stepped backward. The legs scraped against the floor, bunching the new carpet, then finally I dropped it in front of the sofa.

She jolted, her expression just as disjointed.

While getting comfortable on the sofa across from her, I extended my legs with one over the other, my head against the cushioned arm of the furniture.

She stared, still clutching the bottle.

I glanced around, raising my hands palms up, as if to invite her.