Snippet #2386991

"Silence!" Sarene commanded, rising from the black-marble throne with an unmatched grace. Her movements were as liquid as mercury and the gossamer of her gown flowed down her form like a silken waterfall. The heeled shoes on her feet clicked sonorously in the cavern like room as she descended down the dais.

"You over step your boundaries, Calor Elohan. Your very existence is dependent on my tolerance of you, and yet you disgrace me with the way you address me," Sarene chastised the guardian. She circled him with the train of her dress following her movement in a flowing puddle.

"But you are daring, are you not, Calor Elohan," Sarene said. Her expression did not change but the tone of her voice held a subtly to it; a mocking countenance. "It was, after all, I who asked of your opinion. I am the one who forced you to disgrace yourself and you willingly obeyed like the true servant you are. I am pleased."

Sarene Iracot stopped directly in front of Calor and raised a bone-white, painted, hand. Just the bare tip of her finger touched the tender patch of flesh beneath his chin. She raised his face to look him directly in the eye.

"The Magistrates have all chosen husbands for me, those whom they have deemed qualified. I do not trust their judgment and they disappoint," Sarene said as she dropped her hand to rest back at her side.

"It will be you," the goddess spoke as she turned to return to her throne. "We shall be wed. I have spoken my will."

Sarene sat herself on the throne and crossed her leg over the other.

"I congratulate you, now speak," she demanded.