Irina awoke with a stutter, her breathing heavy and labored, sweat pouring in rivulets down her body, soaking her sleeping garments with a sweet scent. The discomfort she felt made her shiver in disgust; she felt the need to undress all that she wore, but there were things on her mind that overrode her discomfort.
Her pink sunset ruby-toned skin glistened under the flickering light of the lamps—so beautiful it could drive men to madness. Her curves were on full display, and the discipline that had shaped her body over the years showed clearly in her form and every action she had made so far. Even in a moment of instinctive reaction, she moved with such fluid grace that one might believe she was performing a morbid tale of waking from a nightmare.
She was panicking. That much was clear by the way her body moved, and the eyes, underneath her lids, rotated as though they could catch something that would help out.
