The Infernal Itch Ch. 07

The Midnight Market was as bustling as it had been on their last visit, perhaps even a little busier. There was a subtly different energy though, under the bright pale light of the full moon. Plenty of species had a reaction to the moon, usually one that stirred them to restless activity. Beastfolk and shifters like Vyx would be irritable, hungry or lustful according to their individual natures. Any true lycanthropes were absent of course, forced into their bestial forms and doubtless prowling the quieter side streets in search of easy victims. That meant everyone else instinctively crowded together, the herd against the wolves. The spaces between the market stalls were crammed with people, noise, and nervous energy.

They were moving slower through the crowd this time, without a particular destination in mind. Ardour's plan had been to walk side-by-side (arm-in-arm perhaps?) as they browsed, but the density of the throng meant she found herself leading Aavi single-file. After her third worried glance back to check he was still there, he'd slipped a cool hand into hers and her heart had skipped a beat.

To her relief, the innocent Abbey boy was disguised well enough not to draw too much attention, wrapped in a dusty cloak with the hood up to hide his distinctive pale features. Actually it was Ardour who was having more trouble in that department. With the previous few days' adventures conspiring to destroy practically all of her clothes, she was naked save for a spare dark cloak Aavi had brought her. It was pinned closed at the front, but too loosely for her liking. Hands and bodies pressed against her as she forged through the press of people, never quite clear on which touches were accidental and which were opportunistic gropes. She bit her lip and tried to suppress the natural response to such attentions - the last thing she needed was an erection poking out from under the cloak.

Still, it was fun though. They stopped at whatever stall caught Aavi's eye, which was nearly all of them. Eager merchants offered them food, miraculous potions, trinkets and gear, all of it at exorbitant prices that made the paladin balk and stutter. He would never be a natural haggler, Ardour decided.

They bought exotic fruit that Aavi had never seen before and Ardour got to enjoy watching him blush as the satyr merchant described in lurid detail his 'negotiations' with the peach dryads that tended the wild groves across the river, fertile and blooming year round despite the desert heat. It was only as she ate her second delicious fruit, lips tingling gently, that she wondered if exposing Aavi even to outside food was a good idea, but he seemed fine. Actually he seemed to be enjoying himself even more than she was, judging by the wonder on his face.

Next came a stall selling travel supplies. Most of it was for trekking out into the desert, big waterskins, tents and so on. It was the sort of place she'd have passed by before, far too expensive for her meagre means, but the paladin's stock of borrowed ancient coins changed that. A silvertongued blue dragonborn took note of Ardour's hunched and sore back and somehow talked them into buying hammocks, a white canvas shade, light ropes and all the fixtures needed to turn a ruin into a comfortable shelter. When the cute reptile (she thought it was a she, but wasn't totally sure) offered them a discount for 'a few hours in the company of such a charming couple' Ardour nearly opened her mouth to agree, until Aavi's choked stammer reminded her of who she was with.

Mundane purchases of dried food, a lantern, and miscellaneous adventuring tools from a gruff orc proved somewhat safer ground, and swiftly both of their backpacks were filling to capacity. Soon they were just left with Ardour's clothing situation to deal with.

"So I know a place," she began, finding a quiet corner where they could hear each other. "But it's expensive..."

Aavi checked the coin purse with the air of someone not spending their own money. She wondered how much the Abbey actually had.

"We should have enough, as long as it's not magical or anything," he confirmed.

"Nothing magical. Just... the place is a bit weird. You'll have to trust me."

Truthfully she wasn't sure if she was over- or under-selling it, Ardour had only been there once to fetch something for Sivir. A whole bolt of drider silk had been exchanged for a supple black leather choker with a silver clasp, the simple piece radiating a strange sort of sensuous power. A day later, Toro had collected a handsome young drow male from the city gates, blinking and confused in the hot sun, and delivered him to the werespider's lair. They'd never seen the choker or the visitor again, but the whole mysterious episode had stuck in her memory.

"I trust you," Aavi agreed cheerfully, unaware of her wandering thoughts. She tried to suppress an image of the beautiful pale boy wearing a collar like that.

"Right... uh, this way..."

She found the place again easily enough, not a market stall but an actual storefront on a side road. The old building sagged heavily on its foundation, seeming to lean out into the street toward them. The door and the sign above it were both a handsome dark walnut, but the small dark letters decorating both were too faded for anyone to read. A large window would have provided a good place to show off merchandise, but it was blocked off by thick red velvet drapes that hid the interior. An iron lantern on a post outside was lit and flickering merrily, suggesting the shop was open at least.

A bell chimed quietly as they entered, the door swinging smoothly closed behind them. The shop was like she remembered it - overstuffed with more clothes than anyone could surely ever need. It wasn't just clothes, a teeming horde of mannequins filled the floor, dressed up in ornamented armour, jewellery, trinkets and all sorts of other wonders. More inventory was locked away in glass display cases, tucked high up on shelves, or spilling from half-unpacked crates in every corner. The rich red carpet underfoot seemed deep enough to swallow Ardour's toes.

The sounds of the market died away as the door clicked shut. A curtain at the back of the room twitched, then was drawn aside as the store's proprietor stepped out to meet them.

The most striking thing was her size. She was tall, yes, well over six foot, but more than that she was big. Not fat, not overly muscular, just... large, like she'd been scaled up from a normal elven height while keeping every proportion exactly intact. She was an elf, that was clear from her perfect sharp featured face and regally pointed ears, half hidden in lush dark hair that fell halfway down her back.

Richly dressed in a dark purple gown of crushed velvet, Ardour couldn't help but compare the beautiful woman with Sivir, her only other reference for elves. While the small drow was shadowy, this woman was pale as moonlight save for cherry red lips and dark, enchanting eyes. They shared something though, a presence, something that left the knees a little weak and made it hard to meet their gaze.

"Ah, visitors," the voice was rich and deep, perfectly matching her form, "I am Lady DeVelle. Welcome."

"Thank you, Lady," to her relief it only took Ardour a second to find her tongue, "this is Aavi and I am-"

"Ardour. I remember." DeVelle gave her a smile that sent a shiver through her. "How could I forget such a striking young face?"

She drew closer, seeming to loom over the tiefling until Ardour felt like she was being cast into shadow. Which was mad of course, the elf wasn't that big and the room was well lit. DeVelle took her hand gently and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. Both her fingers and her lips felt oddly cool, leaving goosebumps prickling Ardour's skin.

"Last time you were here for your Mistress Vriana," the elf purred, "but this time I think not. You are your own creature, no? What can I do for you?"

"... yes..." Ardour's thoughts were slow. The woman was still holding her hand, gazing at her with hypnotic eyes from beneath long dark lashes.

"Yes?" DeVelle prompted, and Ardour could sense the satisfaction there at unsettling her. She tried to marshal her thoughts.

"Yes, I am here for me. I need clothes."

That penetrating gaze flicked down and took in her cloak, still pinned around her but coming loose at the front. Amused, it came back to her face.

"So you do. Very well, come with me."

Cool gentle fingers became a cold iron grip that pulled her deeper into the shop, past rows of mannequins. Ardour wasn't given the chance to browse - instead the proprietor's attention flicked about rapidly, moving from garment to garment searching out the perfect thing. Aavi followed hesitantly in their wake.

"What do you think of satin?" the elf asked, pausing before a mannequin only for a second before moving on. "No, on second thoughts not that."

"This dress?" DeVelle held up a dark silk garment that Ardour was sure would be very short on her. "It would go rather well with your figure."

"I have some ideas..." she tried, trying to regain some agency before the elf chose for her.

"You do?" DeVelle seemed surprised. "Well, let's hear them..."

"I'm travelling a lot, and my clothes keep being destroyed." Ardour tried to make that sound normal, though she hadn't had too many garments shredded by horny werewolves until this week. "I need something tough but flexible. And... easy to get in and out of..."

"Ah!" the elf clapped her hands loudly enough to make Ardour cringe, then seized her wrist again. "Say no more! This way!"

They passed through the curtain and into a back room, less crowded with merchandise than the first. The inventory here was different. More like what she was hoping for? Maybe, but Ardour wasn't totally sure what she was hoping for.

Her eyes fell on a row of leather chokers, each resting on a fine silk cushion as if they were high-end jewellery. Her cheeks started to flush as DeVelle noticed the direction of her attention and chuckled.

"Beautiful, no? Would you like to try one on? Of course, they need to be made to measure..."

What? No, she didn't want to wear one, did she? She just liked the thought of them on cute drow men...

Wait. She glanced around the section of the shop floor DeVelle had steered her to. The clothes were... risqué to say the least. The elf seemed to have taken 'tough' to mean shiny and rubber, 'flexible' as incredibly revealing and... Ardour groaned as she was presented with a pair of lacy crotchless panties. Certainly easy to get in and out of.

"Mistress DeVelle," she began, trying to think of a tactful approach, "I think we may have had a misunderstand... ing..."

She trailed off, eyes falling on Aavi, who was examining a ball gag with the air of someone confronted with an unknown artifact. DeVelle followed her gaze and frowned, expression suddenly thunderous.

"Out"

Aavi jumped and put the rubber ball down hastily, sheepish expression switching from Ardour to the scowling elven woman.

"I was just following..."

Her glare silenced him. Something seemed to pass between them, a tension in the air that seemed disproportionate to the small faux pas. Aavi glanced quickly at Ardour.

The tiefling was about to nod her reassurance when DeVelle stepped in front of her, blocking her from view.

"Don't look at her, boy, this is my domain. Wait outside." Her voice was icy and brooked no argument. Ardour heard the rustle of the curtain a moment later as Aavi left in a hurry.

DeVelle turned back to Ardour, expression morphing from chill fury to polite interest in a heartbeat. Cool fingers tilted the tiefling's chin up to meet her gaze.

"Now, dear, you were saying..."

Ardour swallowed. "I didn't mean slutty clothes, Mistress DeVelle..."

She didn't know why she was falling back to the title Sivir always demanded, but from the sparkle in her eyes she suspected DeVelle did.

"Are you sure about that?" the domineering elf purred, thumb coming up to brush Ardour's cheek. "I am a good reader of people, you know."

Ardour wasn't sure whether she wanted to lean into that touch or slap the hand away. She had to get a grip. She'd already lost face with Aavi, she couldn't let this strange woman walk all over her now.

"I've had an unusual week," she tried, gently extricating herself from the taller woman's grasp. "Perhaps you're seeing that. But I'm not..."

"A slut?" DeVelle finished for her. Ardour nodded. The pale elf stroked her chin thoughtfully, dark eyes assessing her again.

"From your wrists and ankles I can tell you've been bound, a few days ago now. There is a burst capillary in your eye that makes me think it was upside down and for an extended period."

Ardour blinked, unsure whether she was expected to respond to the deduction.

"Remove that dreadful cloak."

The tone brooked no argument. The garment fell to the floor before the tiefling's conscious mind had much chance to form an objection.

"You have bruises and scrapes on your knees, breasts and..." the elf circled behind her, setting the hairs on Ardour's neck shivering. "Yes, and on your back. Rough intercourse on a bare floor."

Was she meant to explain herself? Or was the interrogation just rhetorical?

"Your gait says you were penetrated with something large. I surmise a beastfolk or monster of some kind. The absence of serious injuries tells me you participated willingly."

Diagnosis: monster-slut? Ardour blushed. An icy hand took hold of the nape of her neck, holding her still. DeVelle's face appeared over her shoulder, regal nose sniffing the air.

"And, to put it indelicately, you smell like pussy."

Ruby-red lips quirked into a smirk, then turned to address the tiefling's ear in a low purr.

"So... I ask again. Are you certain you are not, in fact, a slut?"

Ardour couldn't quite contain the soft moan that escaped her. How did she keep ending up in these situations? Her exposed cock, ever-treacherous, was hard.

But she wasn't broken yet. The elf was wrong about her.

"I'm not," she breathed, steeling herself. "Those things happened, yes, but not because I'm anyone's pet."

"No?" DeVelle's voice was either taunting or encouraging, she couldn't tell.

"I came here for adventuring clothes. I can fight." A spark of anger flared suddenly. "Keep pushing me and I'll show you."

Rich, dulcet laughter filled her ear. The cool hand on her neck released its grip and trailed down her spine before withdrawing. DeVelle circled her, but at a respectful distance this time.

"I believe you. And now I have your measurements, let me recommend something more you..."

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There were a lot of straps. In fact the leather harness was probably more strap than armour, with dozens of dark bands of the supple material criss-crossing her stomach and chest but leaving tantalising flashes of grey skin beneath. It was sturdy though, as DeVelle had demonstrated, with a few yanks on key features failing to damage it. A short kilt of the same dark leather hid her nethers, just, and came with a belt for her dagger. Matching soft sandals complemented her feet for long walks, though she'd probably kick them off for proper rogue work. The outfit even had pockets and buckles for the adventuring gear they'd purchased that day. Ardour had never owned anything like it before and she adored it at once.

Into her backpack had gone a selection of more mundane things. Shirts, pants, underwear. DeVelle had politely insisted on adding a comb, a washcloth and a steel mirror which she wrapped carefully in wool before handing over. Also into the backpack went the borrowed cloak, which the elf had decried as a shapeless crime against fashion. Ardour supposed she ought to know.

Aavi's mouth dropped open at the sight of her, which just about sealed her love for the new outfit. His cheeks were very pink as he quietly counted out the last of their gold, avoiding DeVelle's knowing smirk. They departed swiftly.

"So what do you think?" Ardour asked as soon as they made it outside, just about resisting the urge to do a twirl.

"It's... really something." Aavi bit his lip, searching for a compliment but clearly distracted.

"What is it?" she teased, but his pensive response caught her off-guard.

"Did you know Lady DeVelle is a vampire?"

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Zarel spent the night hunting and being hunted. She'd fallen into that strange semi-lucid state again as the moon had risen, ruled first and foremost by her nose. She loped around the city streets, following scents on the still night air, hunting for something familiar. Sometimes she was aware of people slipping furtively away into hiding places as her monstrous form approached, but she wasn't interested in them. Her full moon self had an obsession.

Even without higher reasoning, she'd instinctively headed for the bell tower, the day's haunt. She found it empty but full of scents. Aavi's roses, the tiefling woman's sweat, the lingering smell of her own arousal after their encounter that afternoon. She emerged confused, aroused, and determined to track them down.

But that hadn't been easy. There was nearly no scent to mark her prey's passage on their night's travels, just the faint indentations of their footprints in the blowing sand and dust that covered the dry streets. Tracking them to the edge of the market took nearly all night, and it was only when she heard the bustle and babble of voices up ahead that she realised that was where they had gone.

She was beginning to follow, heedless of the scene her enormous monstrous form would create amongst the nervous crowds, when a low warning growl from an alley drew her attention. A tawny furred werewolf with a torn ear and a missing eye skulked there, Alva, she remembered distantly. A distraction she didn't need.

She ignored the competitor and started to move past the mouth of the alley, toward the market. A much louder growl followed her and she felt her hackles stand on end. A challenge. She swung back toward Alva and stood upright, freeing her huge clawed hands and showing off her full eight feet of intimidating height. Alva wasn't quite as large, but she was scarred in a way that said she was an experienced fighter. A fair contest then.

Zarel was preparing to charge into the alley and drive off the interloper when a blur of white fur sped past her, sharp claws slashing into her legs as it passed. Pain flared and blood oozed, even as the wounds began to close on their own. With a furious roar, she turned and thundered after the retreating white werewolf.

It went on for two hours, Alva and Salis working together to harry and distract her. Each time she thought she had one cornered, the other would strike from some unexpected angle and distract her just long enough for the first to escape. The regeneration granted by their lycanthropic curse meant that all but the most grievous wounds would heal nearly instantly, but the pain of each cut and bite was just as savage.

A furious and then exhausted Zarel was led further and further from the Midnight Market. She struggled, tried to lose them, then fought back even harder when that failed. She got worse than she gave, two-on-one against wily opponents, which infuriated her even further. She was taller and stronger than either of them, but could never quite get to grips.

The sun rose almost unnoticed. Zarel was flagging, but she would have kept fighting all day too rather than admit defeat to the two irritating interlopers. It was only when she found herself running on pink bare feet, loose gravel biting painfully into weak human flesh, that she finally relented. She collapsed, gasping for breath, in the shade of a vaguely familiar looking ruin. She realised with a groan of annoyance that she had been led right back to where she'd left her belongings at the start of the night.

"You've been... watching me..." she panted, accusing the shadow that fell over her sprawled and exhausted form. It turned out to be the dwarf, Alva.

"Aye. Don' take offence, it's a normal thing," the one-eyed woman advised.

"Normal?!" Zarel raged, "you've already ruined my life and now you're spying on me as well!"

"The chief bit you, not me. I kept it in me' pants, so to speak." Alva was annoyingly unfazed, it seemed.

"But you work for him," she protested, "now you're out here stalking me for him..."

"Just keepin' you out of trouble for your first few nights 'til your curse settles down." The dwarf explained.

"I'm sorry we lost track of you on your first night," a soft new voice added. The eladrin Salis had arrived without a sound. "By the time we located you, we thought intervening would have done more harm than good."

Zarel looked around blearily, wiping away the sweat that was trying to trickle into her eyes. The blue skinned druid was crouching beside a withered bush, little more than a spiky collection of twigs. As she watched, the eladrin murmured a spell and the plant began coming to life, sprouting new leaves and green shoots.

Salis glanced over at her. "But I am glad that no serious harm seems to have come of it. Your friends seemed like good people."

Zarel found herself bristling. Just how much had these two nosey women witnessed? She wasn't sure she even wanted to know. She turned her attention to Alva again.

"So you... follow new werewolves around, spy on them and... what? Fight them?"

"Keep 'em out of trouble, I said," Alva grunted. "Could mean anything. Back you up if someone picks a fight with you, stop you from fucking any devils, stop you from wandering straight into the middle of a crowd of terrified folks..."

"I tried to hunt a bull minotaur on my first full moon," Salis confided, "he fought so hard, Marek had to drag me off before one of us was killed."

"Aye, supposed to be your sire doin' this," Alva grumbled, "but the chief's busy bein' all moody, so you got us."

"Moody?" Zarel's head was starting to ache.

"Winding up Ruus, griping about that devil, kicking stuff. Just manly rage, y'know?" Alva drawled. She lowered her voice. "Swears he's regrettin' you as well, but I reckon he'll come around."

"Alva," Salis chastised gently, "these are trying times and Marek is doing his best to keep the pack together. Don't paint him too harshly."

The dwarf snorted in semi-contempt and Zarel found she had to agree.

"He's still responsible," she pointed out, "for what happened with the devil and the Seraph."

Alva and Salis exchanged an uncomfortable glance. The eladrin looked away and fussed with the still-growing bush.

"Aye, well..." Alva scratched her chin. "We'll have to see what can be done about that. Maybe he'll come around to helping."

Zarel was too tired and angry to take much hope from the statement. The werewolf pair looked ready to take their leave.

"Here-" Salis handed her a single purple berry, plump and ripe, plucked from the miraculously regenerated bush. "To keep your strength up. There are more on the plant, but they'll only last the day."

"See you tonight, newbie," rasped the dwarf, as they turned to depart.

Zarel eyed the goodberry for a moment before popping it into her mouth. Sweet juices quenched her ravenous thirst and she felt new energy fill her tired limbs.

"Not if I see you first..." she murmured.

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Refreshed, re-equipped and now guarded by the rising morning sun, Ardour and Aavi went in search of the ancient library. Ardour was delighted to find that the well-fitted leather armour didn't rub and the sandals barely needed breaking in. She touched the dagger at her hip, then the roll of picks, wire and other thieves' tools at her belt. She felt like an adventurer.

"So what makes you certain she's a vampire?" Aavi had been quiet all morning and she'd decided it was time to tackle the issue.

"I have a... sense. It's hard to explain," he replied, "it came to me with the oath but that was the first time I've used it. I should be able to sense fiends too."

Huh, that might be useful. Devils were known for their trickery and lies after all.

"I didn't know," she ventured, meaning DeVelle.

Aavi nodded pensively. "I think... she knew... that I knew."

"When she shouted at you?" Ardour was still somewhat mortified at the memory of the store's back room.

The paladin nodded again. "There was a moment, when she had her back to you. I thought she was going to attack me, but then I realised she thought I was going to attack her..."

"Smite her like in the stories?" the tiefling asked, smiling faintly.

Aavi blushed and clutched the silver bark stave, the only weapon he carried, a little tighter. "It hasn't happened yet."

They walked on in silence for a bit, Ardour watchful and focused on following Zarel's directions to the library the Seraph had visited. She didn't know the whole city, just the parts around her home, the market, and near to the Abbey - that was the outer city, furthest from the river and the most sparsely populated. This library of Zarel's was further than she normally travelled, and much further than she had ever seen the Abbey folk go on their lonely patrols.

Aavi was still looking pensive. Eventually he spoke up again.

"It's so... different, seeing this place with you."

"What do you mean?" Ardour asked.

"For years I thought it was just empty. I knew there were people out here, because our donations were always taken. And at night you can see fires from the Abbey wall sometimes, hear noises..."

He swallowed, then carried on.

"But I never saw anyone until you. Everyone hides from us-"

"Because the Seraph grab them if they don't." Ardour interjected, and he nodded.

"But now I've seen a hundred people, maybe more. And they talk and trade and, um-" he trailed off.

"Fuck, a lot," she supplied helpfully "life goes on. The Itch is a bitch, but you can survive if you stay away from the really bad stuff."

Aavi nodded slowly, still thoughtful. He was overthinking it all in Ardour's opinion, but then he didn't have the curse to distract him. How much more thinking would she get done if there weren't fire ants crawling over her skin most of the time? Well, it was too late for her but she damn sure wasn't going to let it happen to him.

She gave the pensive paladin a friendly nudge. "So you just keep that shiny new sense of yours open for the really bad things. I'll handle the rest."

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They found the library before noon. It was a fairly grand building, but tucked away in its own small courtyard behind an unstable looking archway. A marble facade still shone in a few places where ambient dust had been unable to fully coat the exterior. Wide stone steps led up to a heavy door, which the visiting group from the Abbey had left ajar.

Ardour went first, padding quietly up the stairs to peer in through each window before finally slipping inside. The interior was vast and echoing, a two-storey room with a balcony running around the edge. Bookshelves filled much of the space, but there were also desks and tables for reading, chairs for waiting, and a grand marble counter for a librarian to sit behind. Nothing stirred.

She crept about the downstairs room, checking for dangers but finding none. A narrow spiral staircase in a back corner led up to the encircling balcony, which she checked next. Lots of books, many of them turned most of the way to dust, but no dangers. There were a few offices and store rooms up here, but they turned out to be empty too. Ardour was surprised there was nobody living here - it would make a great den, if a little spooky.

She met Aavi at the largest table on the ground level, its dusty surface still showing signs of its earlier use by Brother Kaidus and the Abbey novices. The paladin already had a long parchment scroll unrolled, edges held flat with some books selected at random for the task.

"This is a list of topics they hold," he explained, "it's the same type of thing the Abbey uses."

Apparently libraries hadn't changed much in the past few centuries. Ardour watched as he swept his finger down the page, muttering and making scratches with a quill. It was all meaningless to her, but interesting enough to watch him decipher the inscrutable marks on the sheet. Finally, after many minutes, Aavi looked up at her.

"Ok. There's lots of things. We should start with the obvious and see if it's still here. Plagues, curses, medical texts, that kind of thing."

He was looking expectantly at her, so she nodded vaguely.

"Sounds like a good idea?"

Aavi frowned, then pointed at a sign on a shelf about halfway back through the aisles.

"Should be over there."

Ardour gave him a blank look, then sighed as she understood what was going on. She rubbed her temple with a sigh.

"I can't read."

There was exactly one school in their world and it was guarded by Seraph with pointy sticks.

"Oh..." Aavi slapped his forehead. "Of course."

"Sorry it's going to take twice as long as you thought," she grinned, "hope you didn't have any plans."

Aavi set to work and she followed him around for a bit, with nothing better to do than watch him work. The section of the library he'd suggested starting with had been stripped nearly completely bare, with just a few lonely and irrelevant (according to Aavi) books lying on empty shelves. That made sense - they couldn't have been the first people to come here looking for a cure. It also meant this was going to take a very long time.

They piled up a desk with big stacks of anything the paladin thought might be of interest. In the absence of any medical texts, Aavi had turned his attention to the same sorts of topics that Brother Kaidus had been collecting on his ill-fated trip here. Big books about temples filled the air with dust and the smell of paper - 'library smell' Aavi called it fondly. Combined with the inactivity and the dim interior light, it made Ardour feel very sleepy.

"I'm going to go and find somewhere for a nap," she announced with a yawn.

She climbed up to the balcony again, remembering a decrepit sofa up there that overlooked the door and Aavi's workspace. She'd have a good view from there if anything happened.

The seat was made of fabric and somewhat moth-eaten, but it didn't fall apart when she lowered herself into it. If she sat up straight she could just about see over the brass railing that ran around the balcony's edge, but she was hidden from below when she slouched.

Privacy, good. She'd been on her best behaviour all day, but now she could reach under her new skirt and give her itching balls a good scratch. It didn't help much, of course. With a sigh, Ardour turned to lie on her side and sprawl out over the old sofa, searching for a good daydream to distract from the incessant itching and help her fall asleep.

She'd been working on that one involving Aavi and the goopy cactus salve he carried, before she'd been interrupted yesterday. Maybe that was a bit too raunchy, given she'd been imagining him ready to stroke her with it, 'to soothe her terrible burns'. Hmm. How had she got the burns then? Saving him heroically, no doubt...

She pictured rushing in through the doors of a burning mansion, searching for him. She wasn't sure what mansion interiors looked like, so she filled it with the plush red carpet and velvet drapes of DeVelle's shop. Confused servants and butlers, all immaculately dressed, scattered as she ran through them in search of Aavi, doubtless imprisoned in some forgotten corner of the estate.

Her fire resistant tiefling flesh would take a lot to burn, but actually the flames didn't seem so bad. The further she got into the mansion, the less noticeable they became. The staff here didn't seem to notice them at all, nor did they seem to be concerned by her presence as she hurried through the gothic, dark wood panelled halls.

Soon there was no sign of her paladin-in-distress or the fire that her dashing princess-self had come to rescue him from. She stopped to ask a maid for directions, then noticed the woman's outfit. She was wearing a frilly black and white costume so short that it barely covered her thigh. It lifted even higher to bare pert, pale buttocks as she stretched to dust the top of a painting.

Ardour blinked and felt herself start to stir beneath her kilt. She shook her head, she needed to focus on Aavi, not get distracted by random dream-wenches. She was about to tap the oblivious maid on the shoulder when her eyes fell on the painting she had been dusting.

It was a portrait of a haughty and beautiful elven woman. The clothes and style were ancient, she was wearing a formal grey blouse and seated beside a window. The sky outside was thick with clouds, the window coated in raindrops. The colours in the oil painting were very muted, but Ardour recognised the dark eyes at once. Lady DeVelle.

"Ardour..." a distant voice, deep and sultry.

Ardour felt herself shiver, feeling for a moment as if the cold rain-soaked air from the painting were gusting over her. She glanced back at the maid to check if she had noticed the wind and saw with a start that the girl was wearing a black leather choker.

Perhaps she didn't need to ask for directions. She'd look for Aavi the old fashioned way - back to rushing around as if the house was on fire. Ardour hurried onward through the corridors, a cold damp breeze at her back.

She passed more servants and they too paid her no heed. She couldn't help but notice that one of the footmen was bare chested, wearing only a pair of formal trousers and a familiar black collar. A butler caught her eye and looked like he wanted to speak to her, but there was a familiar looking black ball gag in his mouth.

Ardour blushed, ducked past him and fled down another hallway. Rich, velvety laughter seemed to chase her.

"Are you?" a painting asked as she ran past.

A backward glance confirmed it was the elf again, this time in old fashioned outdoor garb and surrounded by a pack of hunting dogs. It was only as Ardour replayed the image in her mind, while trying to get as far away from it as she could, that she realised many of the figures crowded around the gothic huntress's feet were not dogs but collared people.

Ok, this daydream was getting a bit spooky. Which way to the exit? Aavi could fend for himself.

She turned left and right, but the way back to the outdoors eluded her. The sprawling mansion seemed to ramble on forever. Ardour gave up on the corridors and picked a door, hurrying through it and slamming it behind her.

She found herself in a grand library. This one was windowless and quite dark, lit by a guttering chandelier. The layout was similar to the library she knew though, the one she was apparently asleep and dreaming in. Mahogany bookcases groaned under the weight of huge collections of books, each tome uniformly bound in imposing dark leather. A balcony ran around the room, accessible by a brass spiral staircase.

"I ask again. Are you?"

The words came from a painting at the far end of the room. A huge piece, another portrait, but it was too far from the chandelier to see well, cloaked in shadow. The flickering candlelight picked out only dark hypnotic eyes and ruby red lips.

Ardour turned and tried the door. It was suddenly immobile, held so firmly in its frame that it might as well have been a wall.

"You can't run from it."

She wanted to reply, but her words caught in her throat. One of those dreams, then.

"Make a choice..."

What choice? Before, DeVelle had asked her 'are you a slut?' It hardly seemed like a life-or-death decision she needed to take right now in this pseudo-familiar nightmare library.

Then she heard it. A muttered word and the faint scratch of a quill. Aavi was here!

She started toward the noise. The desk he'd been working at was out of view of her current position, blocked by a bookshelf, but it wasn't far. She'd grab him and they'd find their way out together.

But something was wrong. She felt her steps slowing. A strange creeping dread gripped her chest.

"What's the matter?" chuckled the painting, "Go to the boy. Make your choice."

It took Ardour a minute to find the source of her doubt. Everyone else she'd seen in this dream world was collared. A plaything of the vampire. Somehow she knew Aavi would be too. Collared meant he was a slut. If she grabbed him and they escaped, he would be her slut...

Did she want that? A familiar pulsing in her groin said yes. Very much. But she didn't listen to her dick where he was concerned - that was the whole point.

No, if she didn't see him then he wasn't collared. Dream logic.

Where to go instead? She turned and headed for the stairs up to the balcony. Dark laughter followed her upward, but it didn't sound displeased.

The upper level was much as she remembered it from real life. More bookcases and more doors, though the latter were as impassable as the first had been. She was in the centre of the balcony, with a wing on either side. Right led nowhere, left led... to the couch she was sleeping on...

Her heart fluttered again. What would that look like? The railing obstructed her view of the sofa and her sleeping form from here fortunately, but again she knew what she would find. She could practically feel the dark choker around her neck.

"Choose..." the voice purred, now seeming to come from within her very bones. Her cursed cock pulsed, seeming to reverberate with the words.

Choose what? Choose to be a collared slut for the vampire, gagged and bound and dressed up like her other servants? Or else go back downstairs and choose to claim Aavi, collar and despoil him like the slutty boy she wanted him to be? To be a master or to be a slave, but to give up so much either way.

Her breasts ached, her skin tingled and her erection burned. But that was all just a distraction. She hesitated, casting about desperately for any other options...

And saw something she hadn't before. Some quirk of her heightened dream-like perception, perhaps? On the far side of the balcony, away from her sleeping form, one of the bookcases was standing at an odd angle, not perfectly flush with the wall.

She hurried over, noting the silence from the dark inner voice. The bookcase was definitely askew. Why? She reached around it to grab an edge, then heaved, dragging it further away from the wall. It was heavy, laden with books, and she shouldn't have been able to budge it an inch. But this was a dream and she wanted it moved, which was good enough apparently. Three great heaves had it dragged out of the way.

The space behind was not a wall, but an archway that led into a small room. A room lit by dozens of flickering candles. What had she found? Ardour stepped into the hidden room, heart pounding.

More bookshelves lined the walls to her left and right. The books here were much less regular, not a featureless row of dark leather spines but rather an eclectic mixture of all shapes and sizes. Several were padlocked shut, she noticed with confusion, while a bright red leatherbound tome was physically chained in place. Forbidden knowledge.

The third wall, opposite the archway, was decorated by silver sconces and tasteful urns containing beautiful red flowers with large petals that seemed to burst outward from their buds. Roses, Ardour guessed, having never seen any. Then her attention fell on the wall's other feature and her breath caught.

Velvet curtains hung from a small silver rail, about two thirds of the way up the wall. The perfect height for another portrait. A couch - this one a beautiful brown leather loveseat that promised far greater comfort than the dilapidated one outside - faced the wall as if for a viewer to sit and gaze on the painting that must surely hang behind the curtains. She reached for the drapes with shaking fingers and pulled them wide, bracing herself.

Ardour frowned.

There was a painting in that same oil on canvas style, but it did not feature the vampire she was expecting. Instead, it showed a pair of humans, both slender and dark haired, holding hands. They were a handsome young couple, formal and immaculately presented, with him wearing a well tailored waistcoat and her a matching dark blouse. They were standing before a couch very much like the one behind Ardour, with a window in the background looking out over rain soaked hills.

All in all, it was a very ordinary seeming portrait. So why was it hanging here in the secret room of a vampire's manse in the dream of a tiefling who'd never even seen rain? Ardour studied it closer - it had to mean something.

She scrutinised it intently for long moments, looking for clues but finding none. The style was similar to the other paintings in the dream, clearly depicting some more temperate place in a bygone and better dressed era, but nothing special stood out to her. She sighed and closed her eyes, massaging her temple.

Suddenly she could hear the pattering of raindrops. Wind whistled and a cold wet breeze played over her back, at the same moment as the warmth of some welcoming fire suffused her front. Ardour's eyes snapped open with a gasp.

The painting had changed, she saw at once. The window in the background was open, curtains blowing into the room. The lighting was different, warmer, as if the couple were standing in front of a lit hearth. Both were holding wine glasses and the girl was leaning into the boy's side, his arm draped around her. Both were smiling and pink cheeked. A much cosier, more informal scene.

Ardour thought she felt something - a presence, a slight weight against her side. Startled, she looked around, but even though she was alone in the room she could still feel that presence. It was soft and warm and light, person shaped. She put her arm around them without thinking - it felt right. She even felt a little tipsy.

She blinked and the scene shifted again. The rain had stopped and the curtains hung limp, the fire dying down. The boy had his arms wrapped around the girl's waist from behind, drawing her back against him as he kissed the side of her neck. Her blouse was looser, several buttons undone to reveal a hint of her cleavage. Now it was an intimate painting of lovers, beautiful and sensual.

Ardour realised the presence at her side had vanished. She reached forward, wondering if she would find the girl in front of her now. Instead she felt ghostly arms slip around her waist and warm breath on her neck. Without a care, she leaned back into the boy's touch, enjoying his warmth in the cooler night air. She felt his lips brush her skin and shivered.

What strange magic was this? And what distant depths of her imagination had summoned it up? She was certainly pleased with it, though it was getting harder and harder to remember that it was a dream.

Suddenly her harness top was unbuckled and falling away from her body. She refocused on the portrait, which had changed again. The boy's top was unbuttoned and open, revealing a slender chest and lightly toned abs. The girl had her back to Ardour, facing him, and her hands were obscured by her body, but the tiefling knew what they were doing. She could feel them tracing her own abdomen, following the curve of lean muscle, tracing her ribcage, then up over the swell of her breasts. Her nipples were stiff from the cold and she gasped as warm palms slid over them.

Ardour focused hard on the painting. It seemed to shift every time she closed her eyes, but she wanted to let it linger this time, to test its limits. The girl's invisible hands paused on her breasts - surprised maybe, if she was expecting her lover's flat pectorals - then squeezed them gently. Ardour groaned but kept her eyes wide and fixed on the canvas. She thought she could see a hint of dawn in the light from the window. And was the perspective different? She thought the girl seemed a little taller than before, or the man a little shorter.

A ghostly hand moved over her cheek to brush the hair from her face. Hair that hadn't been in her eyes until just that very moment. She blinked rapidly and the painting changed.

The boy's hair was longer than it had been, long enough to fall across his face. The girl's seemed a little shorter. They were in the middle of undressing, pressed together chest-to-shirtless-chest, lips locked in a passionate kiss. Ardour hurriedly took in the rest of the scene, knowing what was coming. It was daytime outside the window now, a bright hot day, and the grass on the hills looked dry. A piece of wallpaper was starting to peel from the wall. Warm lips searched out her own and the boy drew her close to his chest.

She had to close her eyes, because kissing a ghost with her eyes open was too strange even for a dream, but she could still feel him there. Their stomachs pressed together, then their chests. Her aching nipples rubbed against... breasts? Small, very small, but soft and capped with their own sensitive nipples that made him squirm as they dragged against her flesh. He ground himself against her and she felt his hardness send confusing spasms of pleasure through her as it brushed against her own.

She slid her hands around his waist and held him close. The kiss was warm and lingering, familiar and intimate. The tiefling hadn't shared too many kisses in her life, and certainly not one like this. It felt like she and this ghost were old lovers. Again she let the moment linger, before a tantalising thought finally struck her - if the perspective shifted again then she might get to kiss the girl too...

Sure enough, when Ardour's eyes fluttered open the painted scene had changed yet again. The two figures had noticeably changed too. They were still in the same state of semi-undress, but the pale skin of both was turning grey. They were the same height now and both becoming more androgynous, as if converging toward a common appearance that combined the beauty of each. Their expressions were hungry, no longer the same near-innocence they had first held.

In the painting, the girl was embracing the boy, dipping him backward as she leant down toward his face for a kiss. Her larger breasts just barely brushed against the small ones forming on his chest, her hand was trailing down his body and into his trousers.

Ardour felt herself embraced, swept suddenly off her feet and dangling backwards in a ghostly grip that she could not see and yet trusted completely. Warm skin dragged across her nipples, sending a pleasant buzz through her. A hungry mouth descended on her lips. This kiss was passionate, powerful, commanding. A hand with long fingernails reached under her kilt and grasped her sex, causing her to moan. It came out muffled, stolen by the invisible kiss.

Ardour felt the Itch stirring suddenly, a commanding throb of need and a prickling across her skin. That wasn't unusual, but it made her realise what had been - she hadn't felt the curse at all until this moment. Was that the painting's doing too?

Her spectral partner set her back on her feet before the canvas and she drank in the new scene at once, eager to see what was coming next.

The parched hills outside the background window were on fire and wreathed in smoke, which Ardour could smell. The wallpaper was peeling from all the walls now and the air was hot and sultry. The two lovers either hadn't noticed or hadn't a care. He was fully undressed, standing with legs apart and fingers laced in the hair of the girl kneeling before him. His face was still handsome with high noble cheekbones and a regal nose, but gaunt too, as if haunted. It seemed familiar in a way Ardour couldn't immediately place. His eyes had turned red and his pupils to slits.

Ardour felt her kilt being unclasped and warm wet lips pressed to the side of her straining erection. A dainty hand cupped and massaged her balls, sending a flare of unnatural heat through her. She shivered and felt her hands come down to settle in the girl's hair - she knew right where to reach without ever tearing her eyes away from the painting.

The girl in the painting was kneeling and facing away from the viewer, so Ardour couldn't see her features. What she could see though was her back, and it fascinated her. The girl's skin was darkening to an ashy grey and taking on a slightly inhuman shine. She was slimmer around the stomach and waist, again almost gaunt looking. Her spine definitely wasn't human any longer - the vertebrae were pronounced v-shaped ridges like those of an infernal. A tiny nub at the base of her spine suggested that a tail might be in her future. Were they turning into tieflings?

While Ardour was examining the painting, that invisible mouth was greedily exploring her cock. She felt herself slip between warm wet lips and a powerful inhuman tongue lashed over the sensitive underside, extracting an appreciative moan from her. As the mouth worked her though, ghostly hands were questing further. A fingertip traced its way between her legs and circled the entrance to her ass, before pushing smoothly inside. Ardour's knees went weak but she found she couldn't move even if she wanted to.

A particularly exquisite squirm of the tongue forced a blink from her at last and the scene changed again. Suddenly Ardour was sprawled backwards on the couch, legs spread wide and hands wrapped around something smooth and hard between her thighs. A pair of horns.

In the painting it was the girl on the couch, or rather she was the girl on the couch, Ardour saw. An ashen-skinned tiefling with pupil-less red eyes and bull's horns that she recognised, and a hungry, predatory expression that she did not. A fire burned everywhere under her skin, but most of all in her cock. She used her grip on the boy's horns, exactly like her own, to drag him down and try to quench herself in his throat. She felt him twitch and quiver, trying desperately not to gag. She tightened her grip and pulled him lower. He could take it.

His throat was tight and wet, spasming and clenching around her. Bliss. In the painting he was on his knees before her, leaning forward as she pressed him down right to the base of her impressive demonic member. A shame she couldn't see it immortalised in paint, but this act of worship was good enough. Facing away from the viewer, his buttocks were spread just enough to see his entrance and his smooth grey sack dangling beneath it, shiny and compact like her own. He had a tail now too, dextrous and powerful like hers, arched upward over his back for balance.

Now this was a scene to linger on. She felt powerful, worshipped, dominant. Her balls practically fizzed with the Itch, brewing up a huge corrupted load to dump into her submissive partner. Her submissive self, given that the two figures in the painting were near-identical to her now. She yanked him down, ignoring his struggles, until she felt his lips reach her base. Spit and tears oozed down over her sack. She could cum from this if she was cruel enough, and he wanted it, the slut.

Without warning she was picked up and thrown bodily over the back of the couch, her back arched and her ass up. Hands grasped her hips, nails digging into her flesh, and she was penetrated roughly. Spread too quickly, her ass ached and burned, suffused with a feverish tingling warmth that radiated further as the invading length thrust deeper. Gods, she wanted it deeper. She must have been well trained, because it took only a handful of thrusts before the intruder bottomed out, hips grinding against her buttocks.

A hand gripped her braid and pulled, tilting her head up to see the painting. She was fucking herself. Her own face, gasping and needy, stared back at her from the painting, where she was bent over the back of the couch. There was an intensity in that gaze, a need that she felt echoed in her own body. She needed to be filled, to be fucked.

The other version of her, the dominant one, had her braid wrapped around one hand and she felt it yanked again, forcing her back to arch higher. The other hand was wrapped about the base of her tail, using it as a handle to pull her back into each steady thrust. Each one sent a gasping jolt of pleasure through her as it drove the breath from her lungs. Her cock, trapped somewhere beneath her, oozed over the sofa cushions.

Ardour tried to take in the painting, even as it fucked her senseless. The tasteful room that had been its backdrop was a ruin, its wall partially collapsed and all of the formal decor gone. The sun burned hot above and the scorched hills were turning to sand. The fall of a civilisation witnessed on canvas - there must be a meaning to it! But she was too busy being railed by herself to grasp it, whatever it was.

Fuck, she was going to cum soon. So was her domineering doppelganger, judging by the increasing tempo of her thrusts. With her back cruelly arched like this, each one battered against her prostate and sent a pulse through her trapped cock which oozed more useless mess to ruin the battered and ancient couch beneath her. She wanted her counterpart's cum in her, her curse calling out for more of their shared corruption.

Her eyes were watering too much and she had to blink rapidly to clear them. Fortunately the presence within her didn't disappear, in fact if anything it swelled larger. There was a weight on her back, pressing her hard down against the back of the couch. That made it hard to breathe, but what made it even harder was the constricting presence around her neck. Not hands, but a slender black choker.

The two Ardours in the painting were diverging again. The one on the bottom was smaller, skinnier, prettier. She was collared, her expression exultant and adoring as she tilted her head to bare her neck for the creature above her. That other vision of her was dark and powerful, with great bat-like wings that spread out above her. She loomed over the other, eyes like smouldering embers, mouth open to reveal sharp vampiric fangs.

That dark laughter came again at last, rich and throaty, from right beside Ardour's ear. The vampire was still in her dreams it seemed, and that choice still needed to be made. She closed her eyes and felt her perspective waver, flickering between two realities.

She was violated and violator. She was strong and she was weak. She was a slut and she was a breaker of sluts. Her Itch burned brighter than the harsh desert sun, her body demanding climax, resolution.

This was absurd. This was her dream, not some vampire's playground! She didn't want either of these visions, not with the ruin they clearly brought with them. She had a better idea.

Ardour steeled herself, focusing on what she wanted. This was her dream, she reminded herself, and hers to shape as she wanted. She opened her eyes again.

She was sitting on an aged and comfortable leather sofa in a richly appointed room lit by a roaring fire. Rain pattered against the window, left open just wide enough to allow a cool moist breeze to seep inside - it was the best thing she had ever smelled.

Strong hands lifted her and transferred her to a warm lap. A familiar dark coloured length ran up between her thighs to nestle against her own cock, the newcomer just slightly larger than it. Those hands roamed her body possessively, tweaking her nipples and caressing her thighs. Sharp but delicate teeth nibbled at her neck, powerful but restrained.

"Ready?" a purring voice asked at her ear, her own voice but richer, more confident.

Ardour nodded and those hands lifted her again, seating her on that cock she knew so well. It entered her smoothly and easily, filling her perfectly as she lowered herself back down to that warm and welcoming lap. Pleasure and warmth radiated from her core. She barely needed to move, just let her dominant self's size and gentle rocking motions do the work.

She became aware of another figure joining them on the couch and reached out a hand to catch them by the collar and pull them in for a gentle kiss. Her submissive form was meek, cute and as light as a feather - Ardour positioned her atop their pyramid, aligning herself with the skinny girl's entrance. She sank down onto Ardour's cock, drawing a collective sigh of approval from all three.

Ardour smooched her submissive self some more as they both got accustomed to their respective penetrations. Sandwiched between two bodies, penetrated and penetrating, Ardour was as hard diamond and could feel herself leaking copiously. There was no Itch, though. No all-consuming urge to rut and ruin her partners and herself. This was pure and right.

They started to move. Her other selves controlled the motions, gentle thrusts and bounces that drew appreciative gasps and moans. Sandwiched between them, Ardour could only squirm and murmur her encouragement. Two sets of hands roamed her body, at the same time soft and strong, worshipful and possessive. Two mouths kissed her skin and she couldn't tell them apart.

She was going to cum for real this time, there was no way she could resist it when overwhelmed with this much sensation. Each scrape of that generous length inside her made her own iron-hard cock twitch and pulse. Each time that velvety soft vice constricted around her cock, her muscles writhed and squeezed down on their own prize.

Her submissive self let out a mewl that became a panting moan as she came suddenly, cute neglected cock painting Ardour's stomach and the underside of her breasts with silvery cum. Ardour felt each spurt of seed with the clenching quivering pulses around her cock that accompanied it, covering the girl's mouth with a kiss and stealing away her moans.

They fell into shadow a moment later as great bat wings embraced them from below. A hand took Ardour's chin and turned her head, pulling her into a demanding kiss. A questing tongue invaded her mouth and duelled with her own, just as her dominant self redoubled her thrusting from beneath her.

"Take it," the winged tiefling growled, hips slapping into her with new force. Gasping, she couldn't form a response.

"Take it," her dominant side huffed again, as Ardour felt her muscles starting to tense in anticipation of what would surely be an earth-shaking climax.

"Take it!" the dark and beautiful demon girl roared, spearing Ardour deep and holding her close as she trembled. Ardour felt each powerful pulse of that infernal cock as it spent itself inside her, filling her.

Her own peak was right there, seconds away. They were both still moving, grinding, sweet lips pressing kisses to the sides of her neck. This was so hot, she'd cum any moment for sure...

Dark mocking laughter filled her mind.

Two pairs of vampiric fangs sank into her throat, one from above and one below, pain flaring and smothering pleasure in a heartbeat. She awoke with a desperate howl.

---------------------------------------------

Bleary eyed and confused, Ardour rolled off the decrepit old couch and landed on the dusty floorboards of the abandoned library's balcony. Her heart pounded and blood roared in her ears as she gasped in the dirt and dust, trying to get her bearings.

She knew right away she'd napped for too long. Her limbs felt leaden, her tongue was dry and she had a terrible crick in her neck. She was fever-hot, head aching and dizzy. Her body was in a panic, making it hard to get enough air. It was darker than it should have been and for a stupid moment she felt like the world might have ended, again, while she slept.

With a groan she stirred herself into motion, using the side of the couch to drag herself to her knees. Her sleeping spot was warm, unpleasantly so, and drenched with sweat. An unpleasant stickiness clung to the fabric, a mixture of sweat, drool and pre-cum. Gods, she was gross.

She hadn't cum, she realised. Actually that was part of why she felt so bad. The Itch was all-consuming, a ravening monster under her skin that burned and ached and tortured her nerves. Her cock was bloated, unnaturally hard, and she dimly wondered if it was possible for it to burst. Each beat of her racing heart was being accompanied by a twinge of pain from swollen and tortured balls.

She'd left her waterskin downstairs, which felt like it might as well be a mile away.

"Aa-" she croaked, mouth dusty and dry. "Aavi~"

No reply. Ardour shuffled over to the balcony railing, grasped it and shakily pulled herself to her feet. The room spun alarmingly and when her vision settled it was the dull monochrome of darkvision. She could make out Aavi's shape at a desk, slumped forward atop an open book.

"Aavi~" she called again, her throat raw enough that it came out as more of a whisper.

He looked to have fallen asleep reading, snoring softly and peacefully. Nothing else moved. Good.

Her knees shook, legs weak as she stumbled toward the staircase. There was a now-familiar aching emptiness in her core, eating away at her as surely as the unnatural fire in her sex. She had to get that sip of water, had to clear her head, had to find relief...

Trembling, Ardour reached the top of the small spiral stair near the centre of the balcony. She paused there for a second to gather her strength, not wanting to fall down the narrow steps. Something drew her eye, a detail she'd missed while scouting the place earlier.

One of the bookcases was slightly askew, angled ever so slightly away from the wall...