They did not waste time. Did not wait.
And even Dorian found himself unable to
look away as Maeve flicked a hand at herself
and her purple gown melted away, replaced by
a sheer, flowing black dress. Little more than
a robe. Golden thread had been woven through
it, artfully concealing the parts of her that
only the one who removed the garment would
see, and when she turned from the mirror, her
face was grave.
“You will not like what you are about to
witness.” Then she slung her cloak around her,
hiding that lush body and sinful gown, and
swept out the door.
He shifted into a slithering insect, swift
and flexible, and trailed her, lingering at her
heels as Maeve wound through the halls. To
the base of that tower.
He tucked into a crack in the black wall as
Maeve said to the Valg posted outside, “You
lily
(lily)
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