The ache had returned, sinking into the muscles of her thighs and sending an itch to the core of her stomach. But there was no time to stretch herself out in the way that she wanted to, because Aignéis was far too busy focusing her attention on the girl who was weeping at her feet.

The scene had begun with a sharp word and a stern look, and the moment the elven girl had realised why she was being spoken to she had thrown herself onto the ground and let the tears flow free. Such tricks did not sway Aignéis, and they never would. She was used to her girls trying tricks like these to escape her ire, and some of them had been taught those tricks by Aignéis in the first place.

“You understand why I am speaking to you about this?” she said, her voice soft and stern. She found that this was the combination that inspired the most fear in her charges.

“I'm sorry, mistress Aignéis,” the girl wept. “I thought that he would be pleased.”

Aignéis reached down and grabbed the girl by the wrist, wrenching her to her feet and baring the palms of the girl's hands and the sharp nails that had torn into the face of her most recent customer. There was still some dark red blood, crusting to brown, and a smattering of hair caught in the nails.

“This is the second time that a customer has complained about you,” said Aignéis. “I am starting to think that you do not wish to hold your employment here.”

The girl let out a wail that would make a baine sidhe proud, though it did not share the properties of one, but Aignéis ignored the apparent remorse that the elven prostitute was showing. She released the girl but immediately pushed her down into a chair and retreated to the door with a long stride.

“For harming your customer you will not be paid,” she said. “And if anyone complains again I will cast you out before thinking twice. Is that understood.”

There was no distinct reply from the girl, but Aignéis knew that she was understood. She was always understood, and she knew that she could close the door and leave the girl to her misery without giving her another thought.

A pair of girls nodded to her respectfully as they passed, and Aignéis returned the gesture in the smallest way possible. Once they were gone, their chattering voices marking the opening distance as they grew quieter, Aignéis carried herself up the stairs of the whore house, skipping every second step to stretch out her legs a little as she walked. By the time she arrived at her private room, the ache had grown to her calves and was threatening to reach up to her arms.

She stretched herself out on the floor, pushing herself until relief took over the ache and the itch and she felt comfortable in her skin again. Part of the pushing involved stretching each of her limbs over her head in turn, enough so that she could see every speck of dirt that coated the base of her feet. Aignéis never wore shoes inside the brothel, and the floors had always been less than clean.

Once the ache was entirely gone she lifted herself up, fixed the braids and beads in her hair, and sedately took the stairs down to the ground floor to wait for her next customer.