She was contented when she saw him and relaxed back into the pink-tinged bathwater. A soft sigh. She was comfortable in her own skin, verdant woman, and settled low into the tub. Her long fern-lush hair flowed around her like sea grass and drank the iron from the water. Iris blinked at him with those large, alien black eyes. She did not seem to mind being anyone. She’d worn Greta’s autumn shades like they’d always belonged to her, but it was hard to deny that wore her native spring the best. It let her be a wild and inhuman thing, which made her the most accessible conquest of all. Iris might not have been proud of that, if she’d better understood her master’s desire for conquest.<br/><br/>“Next time,” she agreed, and said it like it was a promise. Iris drifted a little closer to the edge of the tub, rising from the water like his personal siren. She stared up at him, and there was a subtle shift to the size of her eyes and the tilt of her brows. Expressive, and then some. She felt his blood whisper and her skin drew a little more porcelain out of her sun-warmed hue. When he pulled away it was as if he’d hurt her physically, the way she flinched. Her lips parted, Naella’s lollipop red, but it was a passing trick of angles and washroom lighting. He paid her a compliment and she settled back into the water to roll over its worth with her back against the hard tub. Not that it lasted her long. She whipped her head in his direction with such ferocity she could have damaged her slender neck.<br/><br/>“You won’t?” she asked, and there was such genuine confusion in the question that it required no follow.<i>But, I know you</i>. Her inhale seemed to test the truth of it, and her following mute left it apparent she had not found an answer. She could feel the things he wanted; they coursed in shades of her own desire through her vine-weaving veins. But she also felt his tangle. It was remarkably superficial, and yet he seemed dedicated to the act. “I’ve displeased you? I’m sorry, Master.” she asked with a little waking horror.<br/><br/>“Will house work make you happy?” a small voice, hopeful and willing, but clearly unconvinced. It was Iris’s, but the jade shades of her hair seemed a touch faded as the tresses waved on the surface of the rippling bathwater. Her small fists curled. “Please allow me to be of assistance.” She said. Her green hair was a spring meadow, but her voice sang like a memory of his sister.