Chapter 4 - Part Four - Testing a Theory



Annelle quietly and carefully settled the porcelain tea cup onto its saucer with a barely audible tinkle and handed it to Filorna with a smile. The professor offered the student a silent ‘Thank you’ and a gentle kiss on her cheek. Lifting the delicate cup, Filorna spared a glance across the spacious bed chamber and was satisfied to see that Illimael still slept soundly, her dusky body contrasting sharply with the imported cotton sheets. Pleasant memories of the previous day’s events brought a happy smile to her face as she turned her back to the room and padded lightly to the window wall, sipping from the steaming tea as she moved. Annelle drifted quietly about the room, collecting misplaced books and discarded clothing.

Heavy Lordaeron drapes, thick and velvety, barricaded the vast majority of the sunlight attempting to stream through the vaulted windows behind them. The room was far from dark, especially at this time of day, and glaring frames of reflected sunshine bordered each of the curtains, but the drapes managed to trap enough light to cast the chamber into an approximation of twilight. Given that she and Illimael had started their tryst at dawn the previous day, Filorna thought it best to draw the drapes and sleep as their bodies dictated. Now, she wished to see the sun, for it complimented afternoon tea so beautifully, but considering that she had awakened the warlock that first day, giving her enough rest to ease her mind and body before exhausting both, the mage was contented with a sliver of light and a peek at the streets below. She would wake Illimael soon enough.

One pale finger drew aside the edge of a drape, just enough to afford a limited view of the bustle below. Sky blue irises contracted almost painfully as the sunlight, harsh and piercing after the gloom of the bed chamber, streamed from behind the cloth barricade, flooding a narrow banner of the wall and slicing a harsh, bright line across the edge of the vanity. Filorna was glad to see the bright, clear sky. After that night in Stormwind, the wonder of Dalaran would be good for her newest lover. Releasing the drape, she paused to straighten her thin, silken robe and sip from the tea while her eyes adjusted from the luminosity of the sun to the darkness of the chamber.

The blossoms of color across her vision faded quickly, and she carefully made her way across the room, stepping around one of Illimael’s discarded pauldrons and over her own misplaced staff, drawing Annelle’s attention to the objects. The young woman tip toed over and Filorna put a finger to her lips as a silent reminder. A nod and a warm smile answered the gesture as the student bent to gather the items from the floor.

Stopping at the foot of the bed, she brought the cup to her lips once more and took a long sip as she regarded the sleeping warlock. Illimael had managed to turn herself upside down, her head resting nearly at the foot of the large, rectangular bed. The both of them were nestled snuggly under the sheets when Annelle entered to prepare tea as she had instructed the evening before, but now all of the bedding remained at the head of the bed, and none of the shapely warlock, save a single calf and foot, was covered. She lay on her back, the heavy breasts rising and falling with each breath.

The dusky woman was the most exotic lover the mage had ever taken to bed, and now that there was more than an arm’s length between them the whole time they had been naked together, she studied those unique traits as she slowly sipped her remaining tea. Illimael was dark skinned, a gift from her South Seas islander mother. The same source the warlock had claimed she received her tact and carefree attitude. Filorna had little doubt that the two had the same source no matter what it actually was, but once the mage had peeled away the small amounts of crimson cloth that passed for Illimael’s modesty, it was the jewelry and body art that fascinated and enthralled even such a worldly old soul as that of the professor.

Settling gently onto the edge of the bed beside the sleeping woman, Filorna set her nearly empty teacup on a nearby divan, careful to balance it on the cushion, but Annelle was there before she released it from her fingers, gingerly lifting it with barely a sound. Filorna pursed her lips in kissing motion and the young woman placed a light caress on the shoulder of the mage on her way to the tea table. Turning back to the bed, Filorna tugged a loose gather of silk back into place over her small, otherwise bare breast and leaned close to examine Illimael’s tattoos and piercings, careful not to let her long, blonde locks drape across the warlock, lest they tickle her out of her slumber. The other woman did shift slightly, licking her lips and rolling her head to the opposite shoulder, but did not awaken. The new tilt of her head revealed a circular tattoo on her neck, half concealed by her rich, black hair, and Filorna extended a finger to press it ever so carefully aside.

The image was a clawed hand, fingers spread within a circle of fire and smoke. Folded leathery wings framed the circle. Though not experienced beyond cursory iconography, the mage was fairly certain it was some kind of profession mark, similar to the hammer and chisels of the stone masons, but in this case representing fel fire, demonology and command, all traits of the warlock. Other body art in the same or similar motif was beautifully rendered in sub-dermal inks on Illimael’s full breasts, taunt belly and upon her mons, though the latter was indecipherable in the dim light beneath a fresh growth of hair. Winged skulls and fel fire circled her navel and the circumference of each full nipple, and though beneath the woman, Filorna knew that there were matching white skulls with purple wings breathing vibrant green fel fire forming a chevron at the base of the warlock’s spine.

Accenting the centers of the circular patterns of the tattoos was the jewelry. A slim ring of gold pierced the dark skin of her navel, from which snaked a short silver and platinum chain. At the end of the chain was a circular fitting for a vibrant red gemstone which now glinted minutely in the faint light when viewed at the right angle. Each nipple was also pierced with a golden bar, each end tipped with a matching red gemstone. Filorna had seen the matching ring tucked into the most secret of places below the lowest tattoo, but she did not feel the need to examine it again. Not right then at any rate. Curiosity did get the better of her, and she reached out to delicately lift the chain from the warmth of Illimael’s belly. The warlock stirred and stretched, a yawn of pure contentment breaking the silence. Filorna turned and reclined on her elbow, smiling up at the still groggy woman.

“Glad to see you are finally awake,” she offered in quiet greeting. Illimael gave a silent smile in response, and stretched from finger to toes, her extended digits dancing momentarily in the open air as they extended over the end and side of the bed.

“How long was I out?” She finally asked as she relaxed from the long stretch, her hand snaking out to rub Filorna’s silk draped thigh, the fingers quickly edging under the cloth to graze bare skin.

“Ten hours. You should be good as new now.” Her own hand closed over the warlock’s as she rose reluctantly from the bed. She quickly kissed the fingers before releasing it. “Can I let some light in?” Illimael groaned lightly, the mage leaving the bed being less agreeable to her than the idea of facing the light so soon after waking. Reluctantly, she agreed.

“Kiss me first, beautiful.”  And Filorna did, lingering for a long, deep contact, knowing full well that she wanted to remain in bed as much as the warlock did, but it was time for talking. She had allowed herself to indulge in nearly two days of bliss. The time for touching would have to come again later.

Illimael watched the slim form of the mage for the entirety of the short walk across the room, her petite curves shifted enticingly beneath the fine silk robe. Filorna tossed a glance over her shoulder, perhaps as a warning or just to see if the warlock was shielding her eyes, then drew back the first set of drapes with a steady stride. The thick curtains were twice the height of the small woman and likely weighed as much as she did, requiring her to lean into the bulky material as she pushed. Illimael squinted and rubbed her eyes as light flooded the room. Filorna did not open all of the heavy drapes, but even a pair was enough to bring the whole room to reading levels of illumination. Despite the dramatic change, the warlock did not complain. She simply gave a sour look and rolled over onto her stomach to watch the pale mage tie back the drapes through narrowed eyes.

It did not take long for those eyes to adjust to the light, and Illimael quickly noted the beautiful young woman drying out the tea cups. She swept an appraising eye over the lithe body, the supple curves barely hidden by the light silk. It was the same silken robe Filorna wore, but cut much shorter, and it was obvious she was as naked beneath the soft garment as the older mage. After two days with Filorna, Illimael certainly had a new appreciation for the female form.  Nearby, sky toned eyes watched the warlock as she evaluated the woman, searching for something that did not seem to be present. Thoughtful, the mage angled away from the window and toward Annelle. A delicate hand settled on the woman’s rounded hip and slipped around her waist. The smiles they exchanged were unmistakable, and when Filorna nuzzled the young woman’s ear, whispered to her and planted a gentle kiss on her neck, a twinge of jealousy flowered in the warlock’s chest, momentarily catching her off guard with its novelty. She had not been jealous of another person since she was young, for The Curse was an equal opportunity hedonist and was always ready to move on to another convenient partner.

Illimael thought she heard Filorna addressed as “Mistress” in the quiet response, but curiosity waxed dominant when the young woman turned out of the mages light embrace and strode toward the bed, her eyes on the curvaceous warlock who now watched and waited, intrigued by the unfolding events. Annelle squatted before the warlock and took her round, dark face in soft, pink hands. The pose and her attire left little of her youthful anatomy in question, and Illimael drank it all in as she leaned forward to kiss the warlock tenderly on the lips. Illimael reveled in her scent and savored the soft lips and tender hands. Butterflies tickled her with anticipation and her mind raced with the possibilities. The warlock savored the experience, fully inclined to see exactly where it would end, her breathing and heart rate increased as her thoughts raced, but it was not the instantaneous escalation she had come to know as The Curse. Illimael failed to notice this, but Filorna, momentarily forgotten, did notice, and she glided closer to the bed, watching intently.

“I am Annelle,” the nymph said sweetly when she broke the kiss, “Filorna has instructed that I may call you Mistress if I wish, and I do. Please, summon me if you have need.” Illimael almost gaped, excited but completely surprised by the admissions and looked to Filorna for confirmation. Annelle rose swiftly as a nod and a pleased smile from the mage was directed at her, the flurry of silk and skin recaptured the warlock’s attention, and she turned to watch as the young woman padded to the door, pausing only long enough to bow and offer a polite, “Farewell.” Illimael exhaled a breath and turned to the mage who was settling onto the bed once more.

“You are certainly full of surprises, beautiful,” the warlock observed, even as she noted that Filorna was regarding her critically, a thoughtful consideration apparent in the fingers tugging lightly at her translucent locks. Illimael gave a self-conscious glance to the door and back again, her dark eyes apologetic, but Filorna was already shaking her head in her own apology.

“I’m sorry if…,” the warlock began.

“No. No,” the mage interrupted, “I asked her to do it. It is nothing you did wrong that…,” she waved a dismissive hand and changed the subject, “We do need to talk, but not about that. Not right now, anyway.” The warlock was instantly relieved by the tone of the assurance and a complimentary smile.

“Yes,” Illimael agreed quickly, her hands settled on the silk draped calf and thigh of Filorna’s closest leg just as her chin came to rest on the fleshy area above the knee. Filorna reached to brush long tendrils of black hair over the warlock’s shoulder and watched her demeanor shift quickly to mischievous, the red nails of one dark hand grazed the bare skin high on a pale thigh, just under the folds of the delicate silk robe. Dark eyes studied the mage as the fingers pushed her boundaries.

“Talk now. Naughty later,” the pale woman reminded evenly, and the warlock relented, relaxing the advance of the hand with a surrendering smile, but Filorna noted the eager interest and set the information aside for evaluation once she had more details on how the curse was known to work. “Right now, you need to tell me about this curse.”

Illimael sighed and nodded.

“I do, but I think I should start in the beginning with the Speaking of the Truth, what I call the Prophecy.”
 