The dry, metallic screech of hinges sent chills along the length of Brodin's spine, a hideous sound to the ears under any circumstances, but especially so now, when he prayed his coming and going would go wholly unnoticed. Setting a booted foot lightly across the threshold, then carefully shifting weight to the ball of his foot, the young elf grimaced as an aged floorboard let out a deep moan that resounded throughout the lobby of what had once been a watchmaker's shop. The harsh economic realities of the Blight made honest businesses such as this had once been difficult enough to maintain, let alone the oppression of fae gangs extorting from them the remainder of their meager profits. This particular shop had its doors shut years ago, its owner driven into financial ruin by the very individual who now called it home and whom Brodin had been summoned to meet. The young elf's nerves wrenched at his intestines, twisting them into a quivering, cramped mass, for an audience with the Prince under circumstances such as this seldom ended well. He paused for a moment, straining his ears against the pounding of his heart, hoping against hope that he'd caught Donovon's crew away on other business, for then, just maybe his matter of the missing aether would be forgotten. All was silent ... or was it? Brodin stood frozen, the silence calming his heart such that a faint sobbing became audible from somewhere above. Better judgment suggested a quiet departure, but his elfin ears told him the source was a young woman and that stirred his machismo, not yet checked by the scars of bravado's consequences.

Brodin padded cautiously past a dusty display case, no longer filled with anything but cobwebs and rotted fragments of wood, toward a narrow stairwell that led to a set of apartments above the shop. Perhaps he'd entered the wrong building? The directions had been specific, leaving little chance of such a mistake, but there was literally no sign of inhabitants save for the sobbing, which grew louder as he ascended to a dim landing at the second floor. A sliver of light peeking through a cracked door served as the only light, so he gave his eyes a moment to adjust before continuing onward toward the distressed maiden. After a moment, he caught sight of a shadow dancing in the thin ray of light from something just behind the door. His heart froze as the door shot open and a blur of purplish fur shot past him down the stairs - a cellican. Brodin let out a nervous sigh and wiped his clammy palms against his trousers. "Just a bloody cat," he grinned nervously, continuing upward.

If the shop's main room left doubt as to whether the building was inhabited, the top floor left none, as the stairs arrived at a luxuriously appointed, at least by Blight standards, landing. A thick scarlet rug, lined with gold tassels and patterned with golden leaves, covered much of the floor, with heavy drapes of similar design drawn back at either side of the door leading from the small foyer. A pair of ornate brass torchiere lamps with stained glass shades illuminated the space, the multi-colored shards casting a kaleidoscope pattern across the otherwise plain walls. The sobbing, much clearer now, urged him toward a heavy, crystal-knobbed door left ajar. Cautiously, he nudged it slightly to afford himself a better view of what lay beyond. The lavishly-decorated chamber was impressive, for he'd hardly imagined that any corner of the Blight contained such wealth, but his attention turned almost instantly toward the window or, more correctly, what lay beneath it. Much of the top floor had been converted into a single-room loft, at one end of which stood an open armoire filled with fine lace garments, a cluttered make-up table topped with an array of jars and brushes, and a large copper basin filled nearly to its brim. Within it sat a slender young woman, arms crossed along the metal edge and her head resting atop them, whose body shuddered gently in time with her sobs.

Brodin pushed through the doorway and closed half the distance between them before stopping. Dark sheets of hair clung to her shoulders and back, and with her head resting on one side, a delicate ear peeked through. A modest upward slant near the top suggested that she was neither human nor elf, but perhaps a half-breed or something else entirely. Whatever she was stole the breath from his lungs. He watched as tiny droplets of moisture held to her smooth, flawless skin for a moment before sliding down to the water below.

"You're the elf who stole the aether." The sobbing stopped, replaced by a soft, melodic voice. Lost in the subtle lines of her form, Brodin was uncertain how long she'd been watching him, much less aware of his presence. He took a step back, nearly turning in flight, until his eyes met hers, a vibrant aqua that seemed to glow from within, and calm filled him. "It's ok, he won't be back for hours." Her encouragement drew him forward when rational thought told him he should turn and flee that instant but, by the gods, she was just so beautiful. Just a couple feet from the basin's edge, he could see her form plainly, gentle ripples across the water's surface giving the illusion of motion as if her slender form were dancing in a hypnotic rhythm. Making no attempt at modesty, she shifted forward and rose to her feet, a soft scent filling the air, light and sweet, as she slipped her wet fingers around his neck.

"I-I should go. If he ..." Brodin's voice was unsteady and cut short by a finger touched lightly against his lips.

"The aether. Please tell me you have it."

"I don't know what you're talking about." His protest was feeble, for not only were his insides filled with an unfamiliar warmth and his head clouded with lust, but he knew precisely what she was asking.

A single tear rolled down her cheek, then she turned her head to the side. "You have no idea what he's like, the things he makes me do. Nobody disobeys him, but I thought ... I prayed ... someone had." She played her fingertip delicately across his earlobe as her sobbing resumed, eyes downcast.

Something in Brodin was stirred, compelling the truth forth for her sake. "I had it. It was a big score, we just needed something. They wanted us to put some skin in the game, so that was it. But wyldings just ... it had to be a setup." Emotions tugged at his heart as another tear, then another, and still another rolled across her tender cheek. He pulled her in close to offer comfort, feeling the warmth of her body as her bare skin pressed against him. The woman turned back to meet his gaze, drawing him into the azure depths of her eyes, then nuzzled against his neck with a flurry of kisses, like little butterflies fluttering against him in a surreal bliss. His vision dimmed as he swooned, momentarily breaking their embrace. As he looked down, straining to regain his footing, crimson droplets stained the wood at his feet and spread into inky scarlet clouds in the water around the maiden's legs. Falling to his knees, he gasped sharply, clutching at his throat only to find it wet and stained the same shade of crimson. Then all went dark.

"And they say I'm bloodthirsty." A broad-shouldered young elf stood at the doorway, finely attired in an immaculately tailored charcoal jacket and slacks that might have appeared dull were they not offset by a crisp white shirt and scarlet silk vest, patterned with gold paisley. His golden hair was drawn back neatly into a pony tail, revealing his pointed ears adorned with several jeweled studs and rings. He watched with intelligent amber eyes as the young woman dabbed daintily at her lips, drawing Brodin's blood onto her fingertip before sucking it clean suggestively.

"I can taste his fear. That instant when he realized I'd slit his throat. It's intoxicating." She stepped from the tub, leaving pink-stained puddles behind each footstep as she approached the gentleman, who extended his arms and wrapped her in a plush towel. "Wyldings got the aether."

"I know, love. I heard." Taking a handkerchief from his vest pocket, he wiped free the last remnants of blood from her chin. "Pity, but we've got much more important things ahead." He paused a moment, casting an appraising glance at his nymph. "Belle, those things I make you do ..." His voice trailed off as her lips curled into an impish grin and she let the towel fall as a wrinkled mass at her feet.

"They're terrible, shameful things." She pushed him gently, slipping his jacket free as she backed him toward the center of the loft. "We still have a while before we're expected at The Boggart's Hole." His feet left him as she shoved him back across the plush mattress, landing on top of him. "Make me do them now, Zemum."