Precious Soul Ruby smouldered. Not in any way singed with sweetness but in the way that was singeing a circle of black ash around the conversation pit where she was presently and rather deliberately languishing. It thudded sparks into the air, arousing a terrible amusement in her every time it had to hastily trample them back down.
She giggled, traced her fingers over her cheeks and ran them between her lips. Then using them to delicately pluck another grape to play with, following Ruby all the while. At some point she’d drop one in her cleavage again. It wasn’t going to ask if she was wearing anything under the robe because the grape thing was bait and she’d tried it four times now.
Instead it only dared, occasionally, with considerable premeditation, to give her a scorching glare. Desperate to remind her that she was supposed to be the one stuck here, not it.
It wasn’t helping.
