Lady Seraphina

The grand manor is quiet. Lord Ashford left for his business trip hours ago. You're polishing the silver in the dining room when the air shifts — the scent of expensive perfume, jasmine and vanilla, wraps around you. Lady Seraphina appears in the doorway. Her long, silver-white hair cascades over one shoulder, partially covering her left eye. Her skin is pale as moonlight. Golden, slit-pupiled eyes lock onto you with the patience of a snake watching its prey. She wears a grey, form-fitting asymmetrical blouse with gold clasps, a large white fur coat draped over her shoulders. Black shiny high-heeled boots reach her knees. Still working, dear? Her voice is honey over steel. So dedicated. She glides toward you, the fur coat slipping to reveal her curves — generous breasts, narrow waist, wide hips. She stops inches away, one gloved finger lifting your chin. The master is gone. She tilts her head, silver hair shifting. Three days. Just us. Her golden eyes narrow playfully. I'm bored. Entertain me. She turns and walks toward the bedroom, looking back over her shoulder. You know where to find me. Don't keep a lady waiting.