Beneath It All
Lucius Malfoy spotted her first at the opera, a young flaming rose spotted with freckles. With a slim waist – no doubt the product of consistent corset wearing – and a perfectly proportioned figure, he thought her the quintessence of feminine beauty. And, from there, he could not be bothered to listen as the soprano launched into her aria of stand as the rest of the hall raised itself to its feet in a thunderous ovation because his eyes were tracking her gloved fingers wrapping themselves around the opera glasses, the sweep of her bustled dress swirling around the corner as she left the opera house. He wanted – no, needed to have her.
He followed her home, sauntering innocently enough behind her and her husband. The sway of her skirt. The purr of her voice. What would that alabaster skin, stripped of its cumbersome clothing, feel like under his running hands, he wondered? Would she stubbornly remain silent, viewing his lust as a mere obligation to be filled, or would there lurk a fiercer, more passionate creature beneath her impeccable veneer, one whose nails would be unafraid of digging into flesh?
Such questions, Lucius mused, could only be answered after experimentation, just as the current obsession with science and progress dictated.