• The twosome snaked through the house until encountering Osmund’s back door
    “I didn’t realize that such a small house could be so... Big on the inside...” Sabrielle gasped, awestruck that their journey through the hallways was so intricate.
    “I assume that’s a complement,” he mused, opening the creaky portal. Light cascaded into the dark domicile as the door groaned towards an open position. The instant luminosity forced Sabrielle to squint her delicate amethyst eyes out of complete surprise. “When did it stop raining?” she inquired, amazed at the drastic change.
    He shrugged, grinning as he absorbed the pleasant sunshine. His dazzling smile did not help the issue of extreme brightness for the nearly blinded woman.
    They slowly strolled toward the center of his elegant garden. She gasped at the surreal beauty, taking in the vibrant scene that flanked her at all sides.
    “Wow...” Her mouth hung agape as she stared at all aspects of the marvelous open area, her eyes now adjusted to the sun.
    “That’s enough,” he cooed, referring to her motionless observation. “Let’s begin...” His hardly noticeable limp deterred him infinitesimally as he approached an inconspicuous cupboard propped against the home’s backside, just to their left. Upon opening the olive cabinet, a work of art in its own way, sunlight refracted off of the contents inside: various swords of differing sizes.
    Sabrielle drew her sword cautiously, hoping to initiate the fight by her simple gesture. His acute hearing notified him of her temporary adversary’s action; he was ready to counter what she may attempt to do.
    She was confident that this man would prove to be much less of a match than he claimed to be, in which she proceeded to react accordingly to her reckless assumption. The solar rays glinted from her silver blade as she took three long strides and a leap, closing the gap between the two contenders.
    One swipe is all it will take to entice him to fight back, she thought, swinging her sharp weapon in midair. She awaited a reaction from Osmund, some move that may save his life.
    None had occurred.
    Maybe I expected too much from the old man she imagined, horrified. Her steel came into contact with a solid form as its path neared its end. The dull ‘clank’ of metal upon metal appeased her previous fear.
    Osmund had turned so abruptly that Sabrielle failed to register the minuscule movement during her fantasies. His sword was raised before her own, halting the forceful slash she had exerted.
    “Nicely done, old man...” she taunted, recoiling from him in preparation for his offensive. The two stood completely still; Osmund refused to attack and Sabrielle was much too suspicious to execute another assault.
    “One of us has to move, my dear,” Osmund muttered without altering his stance. He chuckled at her expression; his muscular abdomen rippled with laughter, his stomach was now exposed through his partially unbuttoned top. She suddenly realized how much younger he appeared. Whilst in the sunlight, Osmund’s grayness retreated, replaced with smooth skin and billowing golden hair that sparkled inhumanly beneath the shining rays.
    Her cheeks blushed a bright magenta.
    Osmund grinned; her face’s change in color was invigorating. He utilized the opportunity. A swift flick of his hilt disarmed her incredibly easily, then he effortlessly aimed his sword-point at her heaving chest.
    “How did you–“ she stammered as anger returned to her body, causing her thin figure to shake unevenly. His breathtaking smile and victorious posture forced her to involuntarily swoon.
    He took note of her motions, laughing to himself; his musculature vibrated in a masculine manner once again. He then paused, cautiously scanning his surroundings as though an invisible danger was approaching.
    There was.
    “Uh...” Sabrielle began, an air of apprehension had abruptly arose deep within her throat, “What’s wrong?”
    Osmund’s urgent gaze silenced the young woman instantly.
    “Mr. Gilliam,” someone called from inside the house. Osmund remained still, whereas Sabrielle flinched as the voice resonated throughout the garden. It was a gruff sound, one with suppressed fury, and shortly after it came, a rugged man entered Osmund’s backyard.
    “Mr. Gilliam,” he repeated, now slightly surprised as his topaz eyes fell upon the unexpected visitor aside Osmund.
    “Vyktor... Vyktor Cael, right?” Osmund inquired in a falsely friendly tone, “What brings you here?”
    Vyktor averted his piercing gaze from the quavering Sabrielle. “Why is she here? You know better to endanger young women, Osmund...” he barked gregariously.
    “You didn’t answer my question, Vyktor... Why are you here?” Osmund retorted, now angered. Sabrielle’s eyes flashed from Vyktor to Osmund, horribly confused of the issue at hand.
    Vyktor was immensely more attractive than the older Osmund; Vyktor’s hair was a shimmering jet black, his long bangs were parted to the side, revealing his burning golden eyes. He had angular features upon his bronze face and his chiseled jawline was lightly spotted with overgrown stubble. His broad chest rose and fell while he took ragged breaths as though he was wounded; she soon discovered that he had sustained a winding gash just below his visibly defined pectoral muscles.
    She inhaled deeply, but quietly, eyes fluttering sporadically for but a moment.