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She sat up looking down the novice hall bathed in faint moon light feeling miles away from everything she had believed she had become. Quietly, she slipped from her bed, her feet wincing against the cold stone floor. But they did not complain for long as she ran out of the novice hall and slipped into Mr. Leif’s chambers, her heart thundering in her ears as she closed the servant’s entrance, turning to look at the solitary form in the bed. The door to the room opened, and Sir Glen appeared crossing his arms looking straight at Taylor. He sighed and beckoned her out into the hall with a slight motion of his hand. Taylor stole a hesitant glance at the bed then scurried across as the guilty mouse in the cookie jar. Sir Glen led her to the bench that had been placed outside of his room and sat down appraising Taylor before he spoke. Her eyes fell on his rumpled clothing from the previous night and it was clear he hadn’t slept at all. ‘I had a sneaking suspicion. I am not unaware of what. There was something about the artist that Jack just didn't like. Something about the way his voice could be lilting one moment, then rough as a lumberjack the next. Something about the familiar way he treated Paige. She denied ever having any kind of involvement with the artist - said she barely even knew him. But still... there was something about him that Jack didn't trust. Jack tried to account for his feelings about it - he was generally a very organized man. There was no rational reason why Jack didn't like the man, he decided as he straightened up his tie and donned his tuxedo jacket. He just didn't. All his feelings of misgiving were washed away as Paige made her entrance down the grand staircase of the Brewster foyer. She was the type of woman that could make a potato sack look good. Her slim 5' 5" frame was accentuated by her 35B breasts and her 34 inch hips. She had chosen a relatively modest gown for tonight's opening. It was a black, sleeveless, floor-length number with.
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