e last read The Twenty-Seventh Chapter, in which the mercenary discovered a rather unsettling scene. If you have recently joined us, start with The Prologue.
There was, in that town, a woman as beautiful as she was sensual. She knew she could not live out the modesty so desired of her, so when she found a man as salacious as she, she allowed herself to become completely enveloped by him.
At first, they were just a duo, but then there was a third brought in for their delight in him. Soon after a fourth was brought into their midst, and at last a fifth, so consumed were they by their love for one another. Thus that beautiful young woman found herself the beloved muse of a small quartet of men.
A rose delivered to her home was signal enough to abandon her life and flee to the one they created for her. She wore silk that caressed her waist and lace that slipped from her shoulders. Ah, those shoulders! How delicate they were and how adored by her suitors! When she arrived, one beau kissed such a shoulder as another kissed the other. Still another touched his lips to her hand as the last kissed those most elegant lips.
She was their muse, their inspiration. Her skin was the color of creme, her long brunette hair unencumbered by pin or pearl, her fragrance as spring blossoms, her fingernails as perfectly shaped as petals. The four delighted in the soft sighs of her lips, the whispered desires of her heart, the lingerings of her touch. Their love was more than desire, it was the complete adoration of her. They kissed her, and they kissed one another for their love of her, delighting in the sweet symphony their love for her inspired.
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