The Stains of Time

Quite Before the Storm
The night was young, the world was still. A page was turned, a grin was forged. In roost upon this throne was the nobleman --the one commended as The Prince; a drink in his offhand, he held with his other an adult magazine, one flustered with photos of lush women. His leg crossed over the other, he brought his cup towards his lip to have some more of the cherry liquor, a most suited color, almost as a tribute to the girl in the image. A tingling sensation took over him next, and an all too familiar smug expression appeared across his face. Setting the fine text upon his lap, he ran a single stroke through his hair, before reaching in through his shirt collar to tickle his chest hairs. More or less, this was a casual evening for Cuda. Time to himself was scarce, so he often made the best of it, by doing what he enjoyed most --peering at naked women. It seemed as though those fairies were as scrumptious as ever; oh how he contemplated transferring guilds so as to be with them! The room in which he was situated was scorched with intricate designs. The walls filled with his shirtless portraits, each individual piece of furniture adorned with ancient ornaments, and yet, this was only a spare room, one he had created merely out of boredom only a week prior. His entire mansion may very well have covered a total of five acres, though it was meaningless, seeing as though he lived alone, without the assistance of a butler or any such attendant to maintain it. As the grandfather clock beside him ticked away, Cuda yawned. Perhaps it would be time for bed soon enough. Perhaps.