"The best cure I've found in this old house?" This old, opulent- but admittedly drafty on occasion house? Easy to lean. Easy to let her crimson lips drag along cheek and jaw until she's speaking not into Herian's ear, but the velvet soft skin underneath. Thin and fair, pulsing with the fluttering of her heartbeat.

Like ivory silk.

Eléonore's fingers slip around to rest lightly, delicately, in the small of Herian's back as she speaks, every word a caress of lips against such sot, sweet smelling skin. "A long soak in a not bath."

And oh, can she not see it? The steam rising from the copper tub- lean limbs glistening with fragrant oil just under the surface.