“How are you feeling?” a sweet voice echoed from the doorway. The room was brightly painted white and Menshin was lying in a single bed dressed in white sheets.
He slowly opened his eyes to the white light and saw a familiar face. “Ah, Izabelle.” He smiled coyly.
In the doorway, Izabelle leaned against the frame and smiled back at Menshin. “Crazy, we shouldn’t be meeting like this.” She swayed her hips as she slid from the frame to Menshin’s bedside. “What did you do to yourself, you wild soldier?” she spoke in a lullaby tone as her fingers played with Menshin’s tussled hair. She then seated herself facing Menshin on his bed, lightly laying her arm on his left side and pressing her left hand on his chest. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“And I of you, m’lady.”
Izabelle was beauty to Menshin. She had lightly curled, brown hair that shone like an autumn day’s light and danced around her cherubic face. Her nose was buttoned neatly in the middle of her face and was upturned slightly like her check bones that kept her auburn eyes situated perfectly like vases on a shelf. The aura that surrounded the lady could melt any soldier hardened by years of war to a mere pool of liquid.
“I can’t believe what those awful heathens did to you, Menshin!” Izabelle exclaimed as her facial expressions emulated a distressed lover.
“Oh, they weren’t so tough,” Menshin grinned at the lady.
“Of course not. You are my soldier, I would expect nothing less.” She never left the stare of Menshin’s eyes, even when a knock at the door interrupted them.
“Ahem. Izabelle? Menshin needs his rest, come now dear, your mother doesn’t like to wait,” and older man stood by the doorway; he must have been a doctor of sorts to the king and was watching over the wing.
She stood from the bed and held Menshin’s hand. “You get better now, you understand?” Menshin nodded with a crooked smile as Izabelle leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. She turned her back, letting his hand drop to the bed, and slowly walked to the elder man. Once she turned her head towards Menshin and smiled sweetly. The man opened the door for Izabelle and allowed her to walkthrough then followed her out, closing the door tightly behind him.
“Well, who’s next Edgar?” Izabelle asked the old man.
“Demitri, on the right. I’ll see you in 10 minutes.” Izabelle nods politely and wanders into the next room next to Menshin’s. She quietly opens the door a crack and peers in.
“How are you feeling?” she grinned, much the same way she greeted Menshin…