<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c4/a2/eb/c4a2eb3622a5fd5f4149b8e094a22fa3.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Danae Vine-Lott (https://ddb.ac/characters/13428552/TAFm5K)<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Asylum - Second Floor - Dr Noire's room<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Dr Noire's set<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Dr Noire<br/><br/>"If you know, you must speak, and I shall listen." Danae said, and followed cryptic, feline eyes, distrustful, like the good Doctor's namesake may have been a black cat.  A witch's cat.  They had kept shorthairs in the loft and in the storehouses for the mice and they were fierce.  Never docile like tavern cats but yowling, angry, inflamed with insatiable wanderlust, massacring mice, bird, and all manner of vermin with well-practised cruelty.  She had dispatched a few with a silver knife, but the taint of evil did not fade.  The familiar had been crafty.  Had she ever found a witch's teat on Polly?  Her eyes were sharp, her memory good and she knew those fleshy, exaggerated curves well.  Built for sin like the lusty country lass she was.  Smooth, milky, freckled - a nest of glistening russet hair in the cavernous crevasse or her fat arse anointed with Danae's spit, back arching.  Grunting, bestial coupling.  But the girl had been smooth. No raised bumps.  Nothing at all.  Unless the cursed thing was hidden.  She had been denied answers before.  Too long. She would have them now.<br/><br/>"All I would know is that the source of madness was not within me.  That I have seen true, and that my mind is not enfeebled, and dimmed with delusion."  There was something uncanny in Dr Noire's touch.  It was soothing, and Danae feared she might know the secret configuration of the nerves of the human body, and be counted among the number of those mystical practitioners from other lands of whom it was whispered in portside taverns - those who could induce sleep or trance with their hands alone by mastering certain secret arts devised by heathen priests and cenobites.<br/><br/>"What will you do?  Entrance me?  I was made to see an alienist, you know.  He sought to soothe my nerves with mesmerism.  And laudanum.  So do what you must," she peered straight into Dr Noire's eyes, asserting her physicality as a soldier, "but if you seek to make resections of my mind and deceive my recall, you shall most assuredly regret it."  No, she could not put herself in the hands of this demented practitioner.  Not after all that she had seen.  Every instinct told her to demur.  But if there was any prospect of exiting the labyrinth of her own doubts, she would seize it.  "Do what you must," she repeated, and gripped Dr Noire's wrist, "but do not tarry."