She lifts her head and stands, stretching her back in a long, feline arch, and turns to survey the empty hall.  "Tsk..." she shakes her head before turning to sit in the Chair.  The girl is no longer a her, but a Her, crossing her legs at the knee from her throne where She perches, regal and sensual in black lace and silk, Her long-fingered hands resting on the oversized arms like a Queen surveying Her hall... bored, She waits for Her service to arrive.  Her dark eyes burn with a vivid, passionate imagination, as within Her mind She considers the infinite combination of senses and materials required to create the perfect lover... the candles continue to shed their soft, flickering light over Her golden skin, and She idly reaches one graceful limb out to toy with the soft plume of peacock feathers standing erect in the vase beside the throne.