Rivannah Fallowsun

In Treatment: Lucia

It all started in the brothel in Silvermoon.

One of the other apprentices at the Academy (who I think had a crush on me) whispered in group about The Wandering Songbird. Word on the street was that all desires could be fulfilled there and he was going to check it out, and did I wish to come along? At first I was unsure, but he smirked and said that a mature woman such as myself should have nothing to fear from such a place. He was daring me of course, hoping I would come along and perhaps something would develop from there. I suppose I wasn’t above being baited at that point, even though I shrugged it off.

I admit I followed him there one evening after class. The bouncer saw me lingering outside and whispered to one of the attendants, who smiled and coaxed me to come in. Descending the stairs there were smells, sights and sounds both alluring and confusing. I was, at that point, well used to the staid, routine nature of the classroom. Discipline bred order, which was required for harnessing magic safely and effectively, they said. But this place…in this place, magic was utilized with careless abandon, all clearly in the service of satisfying customers every whim and desire.

I remained in the lobby that night, and the next, and the next; watching folk come and go as shadows from behind a gauzy privacy curtain. It was a fascinating study of personality. Short, tall, young, old, wearing robes and wearing leathers, male, female and everything in between. Some slunk in, sheepish and quiet; others burst in all boisterous voiced and ready to play.

Many came with surprising regularity to find sinful succor at the Wandering Songbird. I started studying my texts there in the evening, ordering a simple wine and cheese to tide me over while I sat quietly at my voyeuristic perch.

Eventually someone alerted the proprietress that I kept coming back and not engaging, and I suppose she was curious as to why she had a loiterer. She approached me without fanfare, seemingly materializing before me as I sat quietly in the corner.

“So, what? Do you want to partake, or do you want a job?” Her voice was smooth but stern with an edge of sarcasm, jolting me from the text I’d been skimming. She was tall and blonde, with a mane of flaxen hair such as I’d never seen before. Her gown clung to her figure as though it was a living thing, a part of her, sewn with jewels which winked in the magelight, demanding exploration with the eyes.

Blinking, I attempted to pull my gaze from her bosom back to her face. “Um, I’m sorry ma’am, I was just…”   

“You’re pretty,” she interrupted. “Put a bit of oil in your hair and give it a few curls and waves, and you’d be a right exotic specimen.” Her eyes slid downward and she squinted at the book in my lap, flapped open to a page on a basic magic technique, then peered back into my face with a knowing smirk. “A bit late to be starting your studies, hmm? You’re probably the oldest one in your class if you’re at -that- level.”  

I flushed when she said that. She was right of course. I’d come a bit later to the study of the Art than most. She leaned down, her bosom hovering in my face as her voice took on a conspiratory tone. “Believe it or not, I’m an accomplished Magistrix," she stated matter-of-factly. "Graduated some time ago, and I’ve found many outlets for my magic that have served me well.” Peering about the room, her face was awash with pride, her voice nearly a purr. “Since you like it here so much, and I cannot blame you...perhaps I could tutor you, in return for some...simple favors.”

My stomach lurched. We had been instructed to be wary of pacts - such was the congress of petty street magicians and those cavorting dangerously with the demonic, known as ‘the impure’, and was to be questioned rigorously at the least and avoided altogether at best. “What sort of favors?” I murmured, glancing about furtively as a sharp moan pierced the air and was immediately silenced.

The Dame kept her attention focused upon me, watching every move like the falcon intent upon the mouse. “I have a young son. He’s a bit unruly and has a ‘condition’ which often gets him into trouble. You will watch him in the evenings while I’m the most busy attending to the needs of my establishment, and in return I will instruct you in more tacit uses of the magical arts.”

I admit I was intrigued. Repeatedly returning to the Songbird had apparently rubbed off on me. However, it wasn’t my wish to be so owned, as it were. “Surely you understand that I cannot come here every night? My studies are rigorous, and I…”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes yes, I understand that there are evening practicums, as well as whatever might be going on in your personal life. Give me what you can, such as it is, given you’re here so often anyway, hmm?” Standing up, she took her fragrance and warmth from my sphere and I felt pulled like a magnet, blossoming with a strange yearning which was at once intriguing and uncomfortable.

“Just know that the more you help me, the more I’ll help you.” And there was that famous smile of the Dame of the Songbird…how could I say no to that?