Jack moved the wine goblet to his lips and pressed his bottom lip against the rim. The goblet was filled with hot tomato soup, and as he tipped the glass, the creamy orange liquid poured into his mouth, past his teeth. He swallowed and raised a brow. Warmed by its delicious taste, his eyes flitted and he couldn't help but smirk. It may not be wine, but Fliften now had a finer taste in a hybrid of beverage and sustenance. If only he could have situated himself nearest to a window, which was nonexistent, to watch the Autumn breeze blow away the dead orange leaves from the trees. He would feel safe in Lordy's adaptation of relaxation, as nothing defeats the enjoyment of relaxation. It has been so long since Fliften had a taste of its blissful lulls in the first place.
“S-Sir,” a woman's voice was heard emitting from the cracked wooden door.
Half-way through a sip, Fliften heard the uninvited guest loud and clear against the silence of his bed chamber. He flinched, spitting half a mouthful of soup back into his cup. He turned to face her. He gazed directly into her eyes - one yellow and cat-like, the other seductive and red. She kept her shoulder length yellow hair out of the way, into a ponytail that praised the perfectly straight cut of her bangs. Fliften knew those eyes. He knew the woman they belonged to. They called her Maram. She was a bad omen for those who valued their life.
Fear swallowed Fliften. On impulse, he threw himself from the comfort of his seat and ducked behind the sturdiest object in the room; a wooden table. The goblet cracked against the hardwood floor, splashing it with orange soup.