I sigh heavily, passing a hand over my brow - it feels hot, though my body seems to me chilled. "I grow tired, child, I do not wish to talk longer."
        He remains a moment unmoving - undoubtedly hoping I will yet say something further. Ridiculous boy. I close my eyes and settle deeper into the chaise lounge, turning my head away from him.
        After a minute or so of prolonged silence, I hear him rise. I feel the feather brush of his lips on my feverish forehead, and he murmurs some nonsense about hope I "feel better soon". As if this illness should fall so easily from me! It has plagued me beyond a thousand years, no pithy wishes of a mere human child should cast it from me.
        The room is silent, and I sense I am now alone. I carefully turn over, to lie on my stomach - my back is wracked with pain, but it is so undignified to lie face-down in public. It is too awkward to speak or make eye contact. (Also, there is something that leaves me feeling nervous, keeping my back to everyone in such a way.) Not that I had really desired to do either, but it was expected... really, I should have found a private room, instead of reclining in the library.
        But there, neither had I wanted to be alone. Meres had abandoned me in some lonely corner of the garden - which, yes, had been lovely for a time, it was a pretty little spot and I needed some quiet rest. But when it began to grow dark, I grew cold, and I had to rely on the care of mere servants to guide me back to the house. Whatever has happened to Meres, I wonder? He really ought to have made sure I returned indoors before the chill dew fell, he seemed so concerned during the afternoon... oh but I suppose he has found some exotic little dancer or some such, who lead him to indulge in some exquisitely rare thing to smoke or imbibe or who ever knows.
        I had the fire built up large in here, for I felt so cold. As I had hoped, several others were drawn to the quiet comfort of the hearth, and in natural deference to the setting, their voices remained low and unobtrusive. But their casual chatter gave my mind comfortable paths to wander...
        They have gone now, so near the pallor of morning, to beds with other warm bodies held close, to food or other pursuits. I had been speaking with the boy - a painter, I believe? Though what sort of paintings he does I do not know, nor really care. His adulation was appealing but I knew immediately I should grow tired of him before much time had passed. And, as I had supposed, I grew weary of his questions, and all others had left, so I sent him away. My back aches so, I have not the energy to focus on anything else.
        The library is quite warm from the blaze on the hearth, and the walls are insulated by countless volumes bound in jewel-toned leather. The chaise is low but delightfully over-stuffed, so that it is quite comfortable, even by my standards. The decor is suffused by a culturally refined air, with its worldly array of furnishings and decorations, but classic dark colors, leather and deep velvety plush. It is a room suited to drowsy contemplation as much as intellectual pursuit. Which, really, is an odd find in a residence of Luce's. Not the duality of purpose - there is duality in all he does, every action full of some duplicitous intent. But I suppose even Luce is allowed some brush with the conventional... No, more likely, the room appears typical only to add some false pretense of normalcy to outside visitors. He brings them in for a drink, invites them into the library, and just when they have settled in for a leisurely evening of the sort they are much accustomed to, ha! He springs on them some bizarre or outrageous or entirely blasphemous entertainment.
        Oh but I tire of analyzing Luce's endless trail of ever more subtle meanings. I should not have sent the boy away, my back aches so, I should like it soother. There must be some means hidden in the room to call for a servant, a bell-pull or some such; my lungs do not feel equal to speaking loud enough...
        Ah! but the search is not needed, one appears of his own accord, to stoke the fire it seems. "You there. I presume there is a masseuse somewhere on the premises?"
        "Of course, sir. Shall I have her brought to you?"
        "At once. And have her bring also some warm and soothing drink."
        "Certainly, sir."
        He leaves the room, and I nearly call him back. I do not know if I want a woman near, they are always so... so soft, which at times is pleasant but... condescending, I think. If they see a man (or one like a man) in any condition but that of domineering strength, they assume he does not possess that strength at all, and take the weakness of a moment to be the whole that he can offer. But I, I! I merely wish to make use of the amenities I am deserving of. Even in my comparative weakness, I am far more than they!
        The girl appears, and to my relief she is cool and professional, not the twittering pitying gossip I had feared. She closes the door behind her, that we shall not be interrupted. She kneels beside the chaise and holds out to me a steaming mug of something made of healing herbs. I roll carefully onto my side and drink it slowly, savoring the feel of intense warmth moving down my throat, and from there, spreading throughout my chilled body, reaching into my veins and almost my bones, pushing aside the coldness which too often stiffens all my body.
        For a moment, the warmth flowing into me, the quiet secluded room, the attentive and beautiful form kneeling before me... I am almost content.
        But just as my body is about to relax utterly into the soothing peacefulness - my back explodes in a spasm of blinding pain, I cry out, falling back onto my stomach, clutching at the cushions, writhing deeper into them, as if I could claw myself away from the flames consume me.
        The girl immediately moves into action, placing her cool but firm hands onto my back, pressing and kneading steadily, constantly, unyieldingly, until my breath returns to me. When I am able to again open my eyes, I see that what was left of my drink had been thrown by my convulsions onto her - there are stains on her dress, and a few droplets clinging to her arm and neck. But she had shown no sign of the burning heat of it, only attended to me.
        Which is precisely how it ought to be. Luce's servants are always perfectly trained, I ought really to ask his secret, I am forever frustrated with the faults in my own.
        She pauses only a moment, when it seems my fit has been soothed. "Shall I remove your clothing, sir?"
        Her voice perfectly suits her hands - gentle yet with strength behind it. Perfectly placid and cool, with no hint at all of emotion. I find myself liking this one.
        "If it will better your results, by all means."
        She makes a quiet sound of affirmation, and deftly removes my jacket and shirt, taking care to fold them perfectly before setting them on a nearby chair. Ah, her hands are so cool upon my burning back! Those hands are now in constant motion, rubbing and kneading and caressing. She is not always gentle - but it would be a mistake if she were, a mistake often made by those without proper experience. Pain as this needs more firm persuasion before it will release its hold. My body slowly loses its tensions, my breathing growing softer, my eyes blinking lazily between the warm colors of the room and still warmer darkness...

        There is a burst of raucous laughter from outside the room, and a rapidfire explosion of knocks on the door. "Hello! Is anyone at home?"
        "Daaarlings, do let us iiiin!" This second voice is female, and slurs terribly. In fact both voices are slurred, and constantly breaking into laughter as brittle - and painful - as broken glass.
        "Do come on and open the door! We want to... to read a book! Yes a book, just what we wanted this evening!"
        "Yesz, the most, teeeerrr'ble example of lusty debau.. debauzsh... whatever is that word!"
        "Oh I don't know, does it really matter?"
        "Of course it doesh! You're aaalways trying t'tell me thiiingzsh don't matter but they dooo!"
        The masseuse leans close to me, and murmurs gently. "Shall I bid them leave, sir?"
        I groan and nod my head weakly, grabbing a pillow to press against my ears. "At once. They are giving me such an awful headache."
        She gets to her feet, and quickly crosses the room. She opens the door only the slightest crack, angling herself in such a way that she is all they might see into the room, getting no glimpse of my prone form. I do not hear what she says, for her voice is low and... again, gentle, but with an irresistible firmness to it, that will brook no argument. Their protests are loud, but they do leave.
        I allow myself to smile at her as she returns to my side, after again locking the door. "Thank you, my dear."
        She smiles in return, but, still, there is that marked detachment about her. I wonder vaguely about it; I do not know if I find it attractive or repulsive. But it does not matter, she is not here to entertain me, and I do not want her for such. I want her to soothe my back, a task she is quite adept at.
        "Shall I massage elsewhere, sir? Or shall I continue to focus on the area in pain?"
        "Do remove the rest of my clothing, and continue your ministrations over the remainder of my body. The pain centers most in my back, but it lies all through me."
        She follows my instructions promptly and effectively, and it is only a matter of minutes before I am as completely relaxed as I was before the interruption. I simply must find some thing that Luce does not yet have, to use as a bargaining tool in convincing him to loan me this girl from time to time...