The colour hurt her eyes.
Or rather, everything hurt her eyes, prompting Lilia to moan as she attempted to look about the unfamiliar room. The sound failed to form, her voice stolen sometime during the night, but she did managed to huff out a breath of pain.
Forget her eyes—her everything hurt.
So this was the famous fall after a night filled with moonsugar—among other indulgences. Those accompanying pleasures certainly left a mark of their own if her pained eyes were to be believed. Scratches, bites, and bruises dotted her arms, and she knew the rest of her surely looked far worse, if half of what she recalled was true.
Taking her time, trying to ignore the stink of the pillow (feathers, she suddenly couldn't stand the scent of feathers), she attempted to coax her magicka into a helpful form. The healing spells she washed over her aching body refreshed—a little. Most of the soreness remained, along with a pounding headache, a queasy stomach, and an intense thirst.
Trying to roll over elicited another silent groan of agony. Her joints protested every movement, feeling as though they were filled with ground glass—gritty, sharp, and painfully raw.
The knock on the door banged through her mind out of sync with her headache, inciting it to increase its tempo to match. Lilia attempted to answer, but couldn't do anything more than croak. After another barrage of knocks she used a woefully-woven spell to turn the handle.
The Khajiit carried a tray filled with an unusual offering—a large mound of orange slices, and what appeared to be a tumbler of blackberry cordial. The innkeeper said nothing as she set it down by the bed, but her flattened ears and twitching tail spoke for her—she clearly disapproved of her patron's deplorable state.
"The caravan leaves at sunset," the Suthay-Raht announced, staring blatantly at the bare leg poking out of the blanket. Lilia would hide it from view, if that didn't require her to move.
"This one," the innkeeper pointed at Lilia, stabbing the air with emphasis as she prepared to take her leave, "goes with it."
Lilia nodded with her eyes, not daring to move her head. So she was back at the inn—she had absolutely no memory of her departure. She barely remembered the faint glow of desert dawn creeping into the corners of the room, watching it upside down as she dripped off the furniture. After that...nothing.
Reaching to grab a piece of fruit, reconsidering after the merest agonizing twitch, she resorted to her magicka to float it over to her parched mouth. Her spells reflected the state of her body—pathetic and useless. Qa'khajakh, as Ahziza would say.
Ahziza. That woman, that temptress, that predator. At the thought of the Ohmes conflicting emotions swirled up to grab onto her heart, tugging it in a ferocious battle between love and hate. Perhaps both applied equally—she certainly felt strongly about the thief, though what the intense emotion signified she couldn't really say.
Chewing on the orange, juice dripping onto the stinking pillow, Lilia tried to determine how she felt about herself. Ashamed? Angry? Impressed? Even though she'd fallen hard into the hunter's trap, surprised like a napping alfiq woken by the snapping jaws of the senche-raht, she found she couldn't work up the outraged fury she was probably entitled to. After all, she'd asked for it—no, demanded it.
And oh, how she'd then demanded more and more...
Swallowing the fruit, she noticed she felt a little better. Further experimentation led her to realize there was more to the meal than sustenance—somehow, in some way, it eased her aches and pains. By the time she felt well enough to sit up and sip at the accompanying beverage, the plate contained nothing but sticky memories.
She still felt awful, but at least she could move without wanting to scream. Her first act involved checking her pack—every ugly, ruined piece of clothing lay securely tucked away inside. Finding nothing missing, she then inspected the unexpected, additional items. The silken annoyances she'd worn yielded curious prizes—the lockpicks she'd whittled, and the practice trap she'd spent so many frustrated hours playing with. Moving to set it back down, she paused when a dull thump reached her ears.
Not having the patience, or the coordination to do it the proper way, she opened it with a spell. A chuckle rumbled out from her chest, followed by a squeaked groan when her body protested the laugh. Unfurling the scrap of parchment, she read it with a bemused grin.
The prey is worthy. Wear it well, ja'khajiit, as you hunt your sweetest pleasures.
Tugging the amulet over her head, the mundane chill of silver settled on top of her heart. Lilia wasn't sure how to feel about the gift—or if it even was a gift in the first place. She could almost as easily call it payment, or perhaps a bribe. With Ahziza one couldn't so readily tell.
To be given something as rare and valuable by anyone else would be a generous impulse of the highest order. To be given it by a thief who had no use for it, didn't care for it, and considered it unsightly...well, it no longer appeared quite as magnanimous.
Idle curiosity over the gesture occupied the part of her mind that wasn't either throbbing in pain or muzzy with lingering drugs. The hours passed with surprising speed, afternoon slipping away in the idle luxury of cat naps and pleasant remembrances. By the time the innkeeper banged on the door, eager to evict her disreputable guest, Lilia didn't feel exactly well, but she certainly felt better.
Stumbling out into the sunset, blinking against the over-bright glare, it took a few moments before she could properly shade her eyes to see the remarkable change the rare spell of rain had caused. Against the garnet expanse of sunlit dunes, small blossoms flared an impossibly beautiful magenta, miniature examples of patience and perseverance dotting the desert sands.
After passing her bag off to be secured for the long journey, Lilia hiked up to the top of a nearby dune, waiting for the final preparations to finish. Surveying the beautiful landscape, she couldn't help toying with her prize as she listened to the perpetual silken rush of sand ebbing and flowing on the desert breeze. To her surprise she heard the counternoise of something shifting inside the locket.
Curious, she opened it to find an achingly tempting sight—the silver glow of crystallized moonlight blazoning in the brilliance of fiery sunlight. The little grains of sugar winked at her, sparkling with secrets, blinking with bliss.
Suddenly her mouth went dry as an overwhelming feeling of need ran through her. No...it wasn't need, sharp and biting, the way hunger or thirst cut straight to the core. No, she felt want, an oily, succulent sensation, oozing over her resolve with false promises of enjoyment and the lure of hollow satisfaction.
With a twisted smile, bemusement and disappointment equally upon her lips, she turned the amulet over, loosing its treasure to spill out onto the winds, the grains of sugar to hide in the shadows of the rippling desert sands.
She knelt down, scooping a small amount of sand into the hidden compartment, taking care not to fill it too much. After snapping the lid back into place, she held it close to her ear, tilting it back and forth, hoping it would finally share its secrets.
Her smile blossomed as she listened, almost certain she could hear whispered tales of hunters prowling above the silken sweetness of shifting sands.
