Dancer awoke slowly, her eyes wincing in pain at the sharp light of day. It seemed almost judging-not comforting as it had been before. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, yawning loudly. Where was she? She was nude, and her arms and armor were nowhere to be seen. She swung her legs off the bed, and made ready to stand, when suddenly the memory of her submission came rushing back in all humiliating detail. She gasped and fell back on the bed as her loins pulsed with need. So his magic was still in her...even stronger now, judging by the mark on her right breast.<br/><br/>It was black and green, like tarnished brass, and looked almost like it had been burned into her, like a brand. She wasn't sure what magic this was, but she knew what it signaled: submission. surrender. She could feel it in her bones. When this man asked her to jump, she would ask how high. If he wanted ot fuck her, she'd ask him what hole. She was his now.<br/><br/>Still dizzied at her realization but unwilling to remain idle, she forced herself to her feet and walked down the long stone hallway.<br/><strong><br/>"Hello?"</strong><br/><br/>OOC: I'll let you decide what the brand looks like.