[ Shadowheart ventures to the Boudoir well before they're set to meet, largely to ensure their privacy. The dressing room is empty but well-appointed, as before: she suspects, given the nature of this place, that none of this is coincidental.

She wonders what she's looking for, with Silco, but only skims the surface of that thought, a swift on the wind rather than a diving bird plunging deep. Here, every captive is allowed to do as they please, fed and watered and left wanting for nothing. It doesn't sit well with her, and she knows it doesn't sit well with Silco, either.

So she seeks his company. Perhaps it can be as simple as that.

Shadowheart is lounging on a velvet settee when Silco arrives, dressed much like before-- in a simple, form-fitting black dress, long-sleeved and high-necked, her hair done up in its usual braid. She's lacking accessories, though, instead offering the impression of a blank canvas. The fabric, clinging to her curves, leaves little to the imagination: she's a blank canvas underneath it, as well.

Shadowheart's gaze flicks over Silco, open enough in her appraisal (and appreciation). When she rises, she wanders to one of the lingerie racks. ]

I wondered if you might choose something for me, again. Since your taste served me so well before.

[ Mild, confident enough, though her composure masks the tension of one who's braced for potential rejection.

With slightly more ease, looking back at him from the silk shift she's examining, ]

But we should also enjoy the wine, of course. Thank you for bringing it.