Arashi had borne witness to more than most, but she couldn’t ever recall Y’shtola scowling. Particularly not Y’shtola scowling while motioning silently for F'lhaminn to bring her a brimming mug of very, very strong wine. For half a moment Arashi thought to question the reason for her distress, but the pall coming off the white-haired miqote was positively murderous. Arashi knew better than to risk opening her mouth, particularly when she was nursing a lovely glass of red herself.
For a time the pair simply sat at the bar and nursed their drinks, but eventually Y’shtola broke the silence she had cast. “Tell me, Arashi,” she began, her tone innocent enough to hide any number of bodies. “Is there some malady affecting me that I am unaware of? Have I become the victim of some unflattering hex?” Arashi shook her head, not quite knowing what to say. Then, after a moment, replied.
“As far as I’m aware, no. What’s-”
“Then why, pray tell,” Y’shtola cut through her sentence like a blade, “am I so completely unable to charm a single woman?”
Arashi paused for a moment, checking to see how much wine she had drunk. The goblet was disconcertingly full. Surely she’d misheard, then. Y’shtola Rhul, great and might sorceress and most feared of the Scions, was in such a state… because of romance?
