<div align="center">(http://i1137.photobucket.com/albums/n520/undisclosed2you/Clip%20Art/13147526698443955457050.png)</div><br/>Still flattered from the parting comment the housekeeper gave her Fiona descended the stairs with her thoughts distracted aware that there were no Johns or Janes...yet. They would come, evening was falling in a beautiful deepening shadow over the world. And patrons of the Teahouse would come and eave their own illusions and fancies where whatever they desired could be had. Everyone longed for something, for someone, it was simply human nature.<br/><br/>The redhead stilled at the foot of the stairs, hearing the strains of piano music that meant that Zara was in residence at the piano. So she would not go anywhere near the piano. Certainly just thinking of the dark haired woman made her stomach twist and her breath quicken with the memories of earlier in the gardens. No, she didn't believe any of it. Zara was wrong.<br/><br/>William. Zara.<br/><br/>For the first time since the worst of her grief passed she glanced back up the stairs wishing she could retreat to her room. But she was dressed and ready for clients and so she would. She trailed toward one of the elegant couches that sat nearby meant for whores to loung, perch or otherwise display themselves as visual enticement to patrons. Fiona settled down elegantly to wait for the first line up should it come, flouncing out her tulle skirts. One elegant curled lock of cooper hued hair lay over her right shoulder, trailing down almost to the smooth slopes of her pale cleavage.