The smells of batter, syrup, and whipped cream are hooks inside her nose. They pull her up when all she wants to do is disappear under the covers and never be seen again. Not that she could. The thread count on these sheets is awful, rendering them distracting, rough, and scratchy to a shocking degree. Wasn't this bed intended for royalty? Who'd been washing it? Had anyone?

With nowhere else to hide, hunger pulls her to the edge of the bed. Shame draws her legs up to her chest. Fury pulls her claws across the matress. Her eyes glare out into the gloom, and lock onto the figure sharing the space with her in its increasingly desperate, clumsy curtsy. Her jaw clenches. Her tail thwaps across the bed in a display of obvious agitation. Her body pulls tight into itself until she's at risk of pulling open the last of her healing wounds. 

But every breath smells like pancakes. The pit of her stomach is hollow and howling. There is chocolate in the air and warm butter, decadence piled atop decadence with childish intent that screams Redana, and yet with a degree of skill and subtlety that suggests she had no hand in this, except perhaps to plan it. Who could have made? 

It's like being trapped inside a dream. Morning in the palace with everything just the way she remembers it, only with the positions reversed. Her heart races against her will, her nostrils flare, and her claws dig ever deeper into the cushions she's still seated on. No words will come out of her mouth. She can't even think of any, just now. All she can do is glare daggers at Redana, try to cut her in half with a look, and hope it isn't hunger that shines through above everything else. 

Stupid. Stupid to think she'd want this, Redana. Want this power, want this reminder of the way things truly were, want this, this... gah, fuck! Every thought comes back to hunger. Of everyone who'd fought that dance, she was the only one who'd taken wounds from all of them. The cuts she'd torn into herself cost her dearly. Now she was burning hotter and harder than anyone. Her body demanded fuel like a glutton without any regard for the feelings of the moment or her head, or her heart. 

Bella rises to her feet. It's a boring, basic, perfunctory sort of motion without a hint of playfulness or acceptance to it. But no room for malice, either. She crosses from the bed to the table without acknowledging the maid in the corner. She doesn't reach for a bathrobe or steal the sheet for a cover, or anything. She walks and she sits, in all her glory, and takes the knife and fork into her hands with no thoughts but to clear the air of this maddening smell. 

She eats quickly, but with care. Always taking the time to cut a new triangular mouthful out of the pile and transfer the fork to her dominant hand the way a proper Lady is meant to before she brings it to her lips. Every bite is delicate, always moving her lips around the fork so that the act of eating wouldn't smear or wipe away the lipstick she might be wearing at any moment. There are many toppings that might be spilled on this particular plate, but nothing so much as threatens to stain her as she moves. 

The taste is sweet as anything. If anything it's even richer and more overwhelming than it smells. There's so much flavor here she almost can't keep her eye from watering. A shiver spreads across her neck three times before she finally finishes. Only the last few bites does she try to savor. Those final triumphant moments the only ones worth lingering on. She chews, and lets her eyes drift shut. She opens them again, and beholds Redana. 

She is beautiful. Gods damn her, she is beautiful beyond compare. Trying to hide the power of her body only seems to draw it out further. Where the skirt ruffles up it draws the eye to the muscles of a girl who lived her life for sprinting. Wrapping those iron legs in such delicate stockings is like stuffing a thunderbolt into a bouquet of flowers. Danger dances with beauty in mixture soft enough to want to rest her head against it. The outfit promises, she could demand it if she wanted to. Nothing asked of a person dressed like this could be denied. She knows only too well.

The air, too, is awake with the soft chiming of a bell, jingling with every hopeful bounce of the leash. Bella's shoulders melt at the symphony of it. Her sharp edges round to relaxed curves, more and more with every fresh jingle. Redana is here with her, and once again the room is rich with the music of bells. It has come between them, once again. A new hunger starts growing inside of her, one no plate of food could ever satisfy. To make this silly creature dance for her, to see her spin, see her clean, see her hum a little tune while she bends so carefully to pick up...

Bella sighs. She is not allowed to ask for something like this. Even now, that film reel weighs heavy in her mind, while a thousand memories like knives drive into her heart and demand she blush, demand she balk, demand she at the very least raise her voice high enough to say, 'Redana, what the fuck?!'. There are many nights of heavy conversations that lie between them, still. She knows this. So she should cut off all this nonsense from the start, before it's too late. 

But her eyes turn to the dress, hanging there in front of her. The one that looks so much like the thing she tried to make for herself on the [i]Yakanov[/i], only tailored with far greater skill and possessed of a vision that saw far more clearly what it was she failed to capture. All the majesty and wonder of nebulae and stars and even tides. The majesty, beauty, and allure of the True Sea.

She looks at Redana again, and rises to her feet. The blessings of Bella's body take her higher and fill her out more than Redana could replicate even in costume. That dress was made to fit one body on this entire ship. Her lips curl up into a condescending smile, one flush full of sharp, wicked, dangerous, and above all taunting fangs. 

"Well?" she asks, and her voice drips with Imperial haughtiness, "How long will you stand around staring at me like that? Are you going to dress your Mistress, or do I have to punish you?"