- Messages
- 68
Lissandra was extremely quiet as she skulked through the shadows outside the small flat, having spent much tedious time attempting to trail Morgase and Tristan. She had finally found them in Western Russia, her beauty failing from lack of sleep and innattentiveness to what she looked like; all she cared about this time was getting back her son from her ex-lover and the despicable wench he had taken for his son's mother.
Her fingers trailing along the edge of an open window, she pried it open with her cracked nails, the vibrant pink on the enamel dulled and chipped. Her hands were dry, and she was in sore need of some lotion. Once she had Erik, and was safely away, she could worry about that stuff.
She knew for a fact that Tristan was not here, and off on an assignment. That was one of the things she now detested about him, how he left of his own accord without a word. It was late enough at night that Morgase should be sleeping, but if anything were to happen, she would only have the woman to deal with.
With surprising strength she pulled herself through the window, breathing in deeply, to find herself in the kitchen, her feet clicking softly on the tiled floor. Discarding her shoes from her feet, she floated fluidly through the halls, making the least noise as possible.
She pushed open a door to the right of the kitchen, but found it to be only the living room. She tried again, turning the knob with a successful click. Smirking, her blue eyes glittering, she opened the door with a minute creak, her expression lighting up in delight as her eyes fell upon a crib, illuminated by the moonlight through a square window. She stepped delicately over a plush dragon in her path of movement, oblivious to the rest of the nursery for the moment. All she cared about was getting to her sleeping son in the crib, who she could see now was kicking fitfully.
Her heart melted as she stopped to stare at him; he had to be a year old now, and wished that she had come earlier.
Her fingers trailing along the edge of an open window, she pried it open with her cracked nails, the vibrant pink on the enamel dulled and chipped. Her hands were dry, and she was in sore need of some lotion. Once she had Erik, and was safely away, she could worry about that stuff.
She knew for a fact that Tristan was not here, and off on an assignment. That was one of the things she now detested about him, how he left of his own accord without a word. It was late enough at night that Morgase should be sleeping, but if anything were to happen, she would only have the woman to deal with.
With surprising strength she pulled herself through the window, breathing in deeply, to find herself in the kitchen, her feet clicking softly on the tiled floor. Discarding her shoes from her feet, she floated fluidly through the halls, making the least noise as possible.
She pushed open a door to the right of the kitchen, but found it to be only the living room. She tried again, turning the knob with a successful click. Smirking, her blue eyes glittering, she opened the door with a minute creak, her expression lighting up in delight as her eyes fell upon a crib, illuminated by the moonlight through a square window. She stepped delicately over a plush dragon in her path of movement, oblivious to the rest of the nursery for the moment. All she cared about was getting to her sleeping son in the crib, who she could see now was kicking fitfully.
Her heart melted as she stopped to stare at him; he had to be a year old now, and wished that she had come earlier.
