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| title | availability | access |
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| Table Settings | private | private |
The best and worst ideas are made at the bottom of a bottle. --- Kormar Proverb
Karin sat naked on her bed, her back against the headboard and her eyes focus on a spot three feet in front of her. She couldn't sleep despite her aching eyes and the exhaustion that plucked the back of her head.
It had been two days since she stormed away from Lilard's and she couldn't stop thinking about Lilian. It wasn't fancy dreams of sex and fun, but the countless possibilities of what Tristoh had in mind for her.
He was going to use her. That was too much clear. Nothing in their shared past would hint at love or romance. Even his offer, which had set off a fire of gossip throughout the city, was too large for anything besides one more of his investments.
It to be Lilian's singing. While she was definitely a beauty, the way her songs brought back memories and fired up emotions. That was truly a gift and one that she could see Tristoh using.
What she didn't know is how. Would he put her on a stage and force her to sing? Would he sell her voice to the highest bidder? Or just rent her out until her eyes were dead and her throat ruined?
Karin pressed her lips tightly together.
Tristoh's next step was to marry her. The ceremony was in a few days. No one seemed to know what would happen after that but she couldn't imagine the rich man moving from his comfortable estates in Tarsan to a muddy town in Kormar. No, he was going to take Lilian away where she had no family, no friends, and no support. She would be helpless.
With a shaking hand, Karin lifted the mug in her hand and sipped at the rotgut that had pooled in the bottom. It was warm and the acrid scents burned her eyes. She closed her eyes to focus on the burn as it ripped down her throat.
She drained the glass. Looking at the bottom for a moment, she reached out for the bottle but stopped when she noticed it was empty. Her half-eaten dinner sat next to it, the copper plate bright in the candlelight.
With an inspiration, she set down the glass on the table and picked up the plate. With a flick of her wrist, she dumped the contents into the garbage can before bringing the plate to her lap.
With a smile, she thought about the metal serving trays that the bakery had. As she did, she rubbed the smooth edge of her plate.
Energy hummed along her senses, dancing along her veins. It gathered underneath her thumb and the metal began to flow underneath her touch. She could feel the beveled edge flatten and then sharpen. The edge became sharper as the shaping stretched along both curves of the plate.
In her mind's eyes, she concentrated on the edge and whittled it down until it was narrower than the scales of a hair. That was her talent, to sharpen metal by touch.
With a grin, she imagined Tristoh standing at the foot of her bed. She stared at him and then threw the plate where she imagined his head would be.
The plate slammed into the wall, sinking four inches into the plaster and wood. The edge, now sharper than any blade could be hone, sparkled in the candlelight.
Karin smiled broadly.
It was time to go back.