The witch-queen Iggwilv rested her back against a large, oval-shaped basin and lazily fingered a lock of dark hair as it floated on the water. Serving as her scullion's were two of many jackal-headed arcanaloth apprentices – she treated them akin to slaves during their tenure. One was submerged and scrubbing her unmentionables with a coarse rag wrapped around clawed digits, while the other was gently massaging her shoulders and neck. He made sure his touch was a careful one, lest his mistress cut short his time in her tutelage.
Iggwilv was uncharacteristically tuned out of the world at the moment. Her chest heaved and her breath was shallow. Several inaudible words left her mouth and perilously crossed the sharp ears of the arcanaloth that was above the water. His muzzle crooked up at what he'd heard but decided it was best to ignore. However, when his partner surfaced he trapped him with a discreet gesture, signaling that their mistress was best left alone. Sure enough, Iggwilv did not notice when they departed.
Her mind was set on some of her more pleasant memories. Her harkened back to a time long ago when she enjoyed the cruel and harsh – but also secure and wickedly loving embrace of a certain "prince". Did her one-time lover have the same lustful thoughts as she? She hoped so, or else what was all that foreplay for? She had kept him incarcerated against a magical totem for years, and though it was initially intended as a grab for his vast power, as time wore on she began to appreciate his touch. When he escaped and sought his revenge, he had done the same – albeit with a flair that only a hedonistic lord of hell could imagine.
She dreamt about his kiss and her lips parted.
She dreamt about his touch and her hands cupped her breasts.
She dreamt about his tongue and she crossed her legs.
"Mistress?"
Iggwilv's eyes opened and she looked over her shoulder for the source of the acerbic voice. The arcanaloth shrank under her gaze, stepping back into the shadow of the doorway. The witch-queen didn't need to say anything; her eyes expressed every mote of displeasure for the interruption. Her apprentice nodded, a response to the silent command, and left Iggwilv to her privacy – he nearly collided with the wall as he did so.
Iggwilv sighed longingly and stood up, beckoning silently at a far hook and the black robe hanging there flew into her hand. She dressed and stepped out of the bath but stopped to reflect on the scars left by her prince. These scars ran deep and went beyond the mere cutting of her flesh.
Perhaps it was time to give Lord Graz'zt a call.