This world was so… primitive. There was a path to the castle, but it did not comply with Lorraine’s standard of hygiene – and on top of that, these Parisian white heels were new. Rather than lower and debase herself by getting her shoes dirty, she made sure to walk on air an inch or two above the ground. Consequently, she was almost as tall as Arthur. He did not measure quite up to hopes, being not as tall, handsome or regal-looking as she would have expected from a legendary king who was, by some higher power, deemed great enough to be reborn some thousand years after his death. Lorraine was sceptical. Her love for England was limited, and the tales of King Arthur held about as much interest to her as they did to her beloved Murmansk dragons.
In fact, if anything could be said for the man, it was that he remained calm and diplomatic against the external threat. Being an ambassador herself, Lorraine could respect that; but being cleverer than most people granted her, she also realised that there was no other intelligent move. Only an idiot would attack a goddess. However tactful and diplomatic he was being, however, what he said was not what she wanted to hear, and she narrowed her eyes in disdain.
“Listen to me, Angliski,” she replied coldly. “Your people are messing with me, that means you mess with me. First rule of leadership: everything is your fault. It is not my place to find out what happened, it is yours. That is why people like you exist.”
She tossed a strand of curly blonde hair over her shoulder, looking daggers at him. Of all the originals, Lorraine was the most beautiful without a doubt: her appearance was so perfectly constructed that it looked slightly unreal. Like Aura, she was blonde, blue-eyed, pale-skinned and fairly small; but unlike Aura, she managed to cultivate these traits into a highly attractive style. The filmy, pale pink dress she had on emphasises her dainty, slender figure, and, although Arthur wouldn’t know it, it was of the very latest fashion in New York. She wore neither too much nor too little jewellery, all of it matching and none of it cheap. She held herself with a delicate poise reminiscent of the traditional aristocracy and wore an expression to match which, along with her carefully composed appearance, suggested that she had servants to assist her with her toilette every morning.
“Nonetheless,” she continued after a moment with a delicate sniff, “I am used to dealing with mortal airheads, so I will elaborate some. The objects stolen were my mirror and hairbrush.” Apparently even Lorraine realised how superficial this sounded, because she added with a touch of heat: “they are, of course, magical objects with greater value than their ordinary counterparts. Since I don’t care to acquaint myself with the population of this pathetic worldlet, I have no idea who might have stolen them. Someone with enough power to transport my possessions between different worlds, clearly.” She raised an eyebrow as if to emphasise how obvious this conclusion was. “You will find them and return them to me.
“Tsi reminded me that Shaman is untouchable until Gwythr and Aura turn twenty.” A sour expression somewhat marred her beautiful face. “That is no great setback. If you do not return my possessions, I will age them both and Shaman’s reign of peace will end. Then I will join forces with Gwythr and declare war on this world. Unless you want to be king of the black abyss, I strongly suggest you comply with my demands.”
lorraine.
and i sunned it with smiles, and soft deceitful wiles;
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