Infante

The adult noble was the obese one I had seen before.  His body type could only be described as a cylinder.  Rolls of his chin disappeared beneath a huge ruffled collar, and his clothes formed a kind of drape that extended to his ankles, with war medals on his chest.  He’d chosen to look like this, or someone had chosen this aesthetic, and I immediately had an impression why.  He was a giant of a man, all size, and he radiated sheer, undeniable power.  He was a titan that I suspected the Duke of Francis would have felt small beside, decorated with alabaster skin and hair that was parted in the middle and curled at the sides, fine and like spun gold.

Yet for all that he made me think of an ogre, his eyes looked like they belonged on a fey trickster.  Almond-shaped, bright blue, and animated, they immediately locked onto me, supposedly a Warrick local, instead of on Lainie.

> >

“Elaine Dexter?” the adult spoke.  His voice was exactly as one might expect, as if the skies had opened and a higher power had spoken, words reverberating as if they rattled the walls.  The fact that the syllables were as deep and slow as they were made his voice sound distorted, akin to how I’d once heard an altered baby who had a crying scream of an adult.

In sheep’s clothing 10.17