Desmond grimaced at his reflection and immediately regretted it. Aside from his dissatisfaction at the drape of the garment, his expression of disgust only served to highlight his preternaturally caprine features. He dropped his gaze, taking a moment to allow his face to return to neutral, then breathed deeply and lifted his eyes to the mirror to examine the fabric again.
āYour tea is ready, my lord.ā
Without acknowledging the actual reason Madame Serah Potts had entered his chambers, Desmond turned toward her and gestured in frustration. āI donāt think I like it, malia. Somethingās not working.ā
Serah raised a brow. āDo you know what?ā
āThe fabric itself, perhaps.ā Desmond whirled to face the mirror, pulling at his chin in thought as the half-finished robes whispered around him. āIt looksā¦ cheap.ā
From behind him, Serah snorted. āMy lord, nothing you own is cheap.ā She was the only servant in the household able to get away with such impudence, and she knew it. Desmond gave her reflection a withering look. āIf I may,ā she continued, setting the tea tray on the lacquered wooden table, āthe fabric is fine. Youāre looking at it wrong.ā
Desmond tilted his head. āAm I?ā
āYes,ā Serah responded definitively. āAnd I mean that in the most literal sense.ā Producing a matchbox from the pocket of her apron, she brought the flame to life and lit the wicks of a curling silver candelabrum. Desmond watched, head still canted in confused curiosity, as she crossed the chamber to the large windows bright with mid-morning sun. One by one, she drew the curtains, darkening the room until the only light shone from the candles on the table.
āMalia, what are youāā
Serah held up a finger for silence as she made her way back across the echoing wooden floor, lifting the candelabrum and approaching the mirror. She twirled her finger and Desmond turned obediently to face the glass. āNow how does it look?ā
Desmond paused. The satin shimmered in the candlelight, moving like liquid around his slender frame. Shadows lingered in the folds of the fabric, interspersed with slices of coppery light. Slowly, he nodded. āI see.ā
āItās not a fabric meant for daylight. Thereās no mystery in it. Even after dark, itās a hard one to pull off.ā Serah smirked. āYou have to wear it like you mean it.ā
Peering at Serah over his shoulder, Desmond offered a wry smile. āHow did you get so wise?ā
Serah shrugged. āIām old. Iāve been around. Would you like the curtains opened?ā
āNo, thank you malia. I think Iāll work like this.ā Desmond gazed into the mirror again, turning this way and that, watching the robes shift in the light. āIt inspires me.ā
āSuit yourself.ā Serah stepped toward the door. āDonāt forget your tea.ā
(Art attack for @kimbles with her Tiefling, Desmond Cagliari)
