[hr][center][h1][color=goldenrod]S A M I R A[/color][/h1][/center][hr]
After the golden dragonborn, the next one to step forward was the woman veiled in crimson silks. She had not come to the estate in the same way of the others. She had not come on foot or horseback, nor by beast of burden, she had arrived at the doors of the House el Kalil in covered palanquin, carried at each corner by a collared slave. Her name was Samira, better known by some as the Golden Widow, or the Witch Whore. 

From the moment she had alighted from the litter (pausing only just for a moment to reapply a quick charm with a few muttered words and arcane waves of the hand), there had been many eyes had following her. There was something about her, even when her face was covered, that just demanded the attention of others. Be it subtle sway of her sultry hips, or the way you just make out how her neck arched behind the almost transparent veil she wore, or the strange spiced musky scent of the exotic perfume that she wore upon her skin.

Or perhaps it was something else, ineffable and immaterial, that made her influence so beguiling to those who saw her. 

She reached up with one painted hand, its fingers dressed in a full set of glittering clawed ring settings, to pull aside the veil and reveal the shimmering glory of her visage. Perfectly proportioned, with high wide cheekbones and full luscious lips. Her amber eyes sparkled brightly, even in the cool shadows of the entrance hall. She smiled coyly at Jakeem, and in contrast to Sir Brandon, she chose to curtsey deeply, dipping her brilliant gaze to the marble floors.

[color=goldenrod]"Greetings, most exalted Pasha Jakeem el Kalil."[/color] She spoke he flawless Alzhedo, her words sweet and honeyed, making appropriate use of the annuv symbol to politely indicate that she had skipped some of Jakeem's titles. [color=goldenrod]"I am Massatyra-Armalatu Samira yr Sadhara el Hakkam yi Athkatla, it is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintance, and can I just say how eager and... willing... I am to serve your every need."[/color]

Her eyes spoke of her deference, her devotion, her longing to serve a man that she could respect and her desire that it might just somehow become something... more.. between the two of them. 

Samira had done her homework, she knew what was at stake here, and she would have to distinguish herself from these northern barbarians and dahyarif if she wanted to claim the prize for herself. She did not have much time left. She would smile and simper for this lowly Pasha, for this fool of man until he gave her what she wanted... what she needed... and then? 

Then she would get rid of him, like she had all the others.