The Den Of Ita Leola

I walked through the door, my hesitations barely outweighed by the urgency of the mission at hand.
“I have come, as the letter they sent nine days past said I would,” I announced. My eyes watered as they adjusted to the dwelling’s gloom, the green afterimages of sunlight obscuring my view.
A figure walked past the window, her silhouette one of ideal womanhood.
“Oh, lovely Bacio,” caressed the voice. “It’s so good to see your little cult finally adhering to polite visiting hours. I was slightly miffed when the last messenger came at, oh, what was it? Two hours past the moon’s peak? I admit, I was more inclined to stab him with my hairpin than accept that measly scrap of paper he proffered.”
She arrived directly in front of me as the last of those words left her cherry lips. Locks of deep red fell across the velvet dress of midnight blue that graced her form, and in the darkness her skin lustered like a pearl.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
I responded without pause.
“The Veneto Haven has been destroyed.”

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