Brass Therapy

A red would not tolerate such blatant disrespect. No, Perseida thinks as the tinkle of her brass scales announce a sudden itch she works with a clawed foot. No, a red would tromp on out there and take the man's head as an appetizer. Yet she doesn’t because whatever deed brought them here some bard …



The evening smells like jasmine and a thin reminder cinnamon was an ingredient in dinner. Warm air and lilac clouds, even at midnight, remind her the sun never wants to set on Nippon. These are the perfect conditions for what she intends, revenge and she sniffs again.