"Lord." In her low, husky voice, nails still on his shoulders and head upturned to his.

Melisande feels no real need to go looking for people. She's left her door open this evening, hoping that people will, instead, find her. And she smiles at the mirror, brushing through her blue-black hair slowly and patiently, eyes watching the doorway in the reflection, curiously intent and almost expectant. And maybe even hopeful. 

Melisande is gliding through the gardens outside, smiling almost genuinely, pausing now and then to sniff a flower delicately and smile at the sweet scent. However, under this pleasant picture Melisande's hands twist with impatient boredom. She longs for something new. Melisande is always looking for new prey. 

Melisande is sitting downstairs in a vibrantly red gown, lounging gracefully and looking supremely bored. In fact, however, she's feeling oddly nervous, a feeling this Shahrizai doesn't like in the least, and her hand, every so often, goes to her neck before she drags it away with a frown. With a sigh, she stands and fetches the glass of red wine ( Read more... )

Melisande makes her way back to her rooms and settles in a chair at her desk, picks up a quill, and begins to write, thinking rapidly. Phedre is here. This means things will have to be adjusted, habits changed, things altered...there are many things to consider about the anguisette's arrival. She lifts her head and looks out the window, one hand ( Read more... )

Melisande is humming to herself as she strolls through the gardens today, dressed warmly against the cold and strolling through at a rather more brisk pace than one usual for a walk through gardens. However, her eyes catch everything, and they are constantly moving, taking everything in, and sometimes brushing her fingers through a coating of frost ( Read more... )

She is kneeling by the fire, examining the flames, her eyes narrowed slightly, though not by much. After a time she breathes a sigh and rocks back on her heels, looking marginally annoyed. 

Melisande is a little pained this morning, actually, and hence is still in her room, holding a wet cloth to a somewhat sore head and looking more than a little put out - though put out is probably mild. She does not like being hungover, for more reasons than one. Facing the window, she breathes a sigh and then winces, just slightly, though only ( Read more... )

At her usual post again, Melisande is sprawled in a chair by the fire, holding a glass of red wine in one hand and a book loosely propped on her lap in the other, her face very still and quiet for the moment, almost pensive. 

Melisande is outside today, sitting in the gardens with one leg crossed delicately over the other, holding a pad and sketching. It's a peculiar pastime, but strangely enough she finds herself enjoying it - though she does have a book lying next to her, just in case she gets bored of sketching tree limbs. Wearing a high-necked, snug black dress made ( Read more... )