Nameless Faces

Daphne peered through the foggy glass, down at the bustling Waterdhavian streets below. Gas lamps illuminated and radiated their yellow heat, making the people below glimmer like gods in their gaudy, yet glorious attire. Their nameless, beautiful faces left the woman in her lonesome in awe. Daphne rubbed the hem of her silk gown, a stunning lavender fabric that slipped through her fingertips. She never doubted her attraction for the women on the other side. She adored their fashion sense, their standard. All the nameless faces no doubt have outdone Daphne’s impressions of nobility, even, in her mind, the Duchess of Daggerford.
However, every noble that passed below her window never held themselves up like the Duchess. The Duchess’ existence seduced and courted Daphne into wanting more. More than the wheat farm. More than the creaking floorboards. And most of all, her good-for-nothing father. He never had plans to at least marry her off. All the people her age from Daggerford left to… somewhere. Anywhere that was not Daggerford. Daphne’s “somewhere” was Mythrite at first. And while her brotherly companion, Blaine Lohk , made his new life into a musical venture, Daphne flirted and went home with wealthy men with a hopeful heart. Daphne waited for a letter addressed to her with warm, melodic prose to arrive in the back alley inn she invited the nobility to spend the night.
She felt the cushion under her shift and turned her gaze to the man beside her. His finely shaped jawline and stubble contrasted with the unkempt curly hair. Why did she invite him again?
The man beside her released a guttural sigh. “If it’s the furs you want, I will bring some for you, if you were to have me again.”
Daphne snapped her head up. “O-oh?”
“You know? The Hunabars, we make those people down there as beautiful as they are.” Right, the man in front of her will own the largest textile trade in Waterdeep. And he is engaged to Miss Dezlentyr. A lucrative marriage at that. She stared at his chocolate brown eyes for a moment. His face raised the hairs at the back of her neck and her cheeks warm. He looked at her with his lips apart. Daphne scanned his pink and swollen lips, to his prominent nose, and leaning into lustful eyes.
“What is it like?” He gave her a bewildered look. Daphne sneered. “To have so much money that work does not leave you smelling like fish, piss, or alcohol? To know how your years will proceed and still have money and time to give to a mistress?”
She watched his expression soften and head bob in a lazy nod. He leaned against the mahogany wood behind him. “You know, if you were mine, you would look like them.” He turned to the frosted window.
“If I were yours, I would have a ring with your signet that I would flaunt to everyone.”
“Daph, what difference would it make? Do you not want to never work again? You can have all the clothes in the world and paint over all the canvases you can have!” He threw his arms up like he was ready to give all of Faerûn to her. Daphne’s heart pounded in her chest, but she could not help but snicker at the idea.
She fancied the idea of being a mistress to the lord of a modest noble house. She, covered in silks and foreign fashion, while painting whatever muse enticed her that day and never had to worry how she was going to put food in front of her that night. Hell, this man offered a life of comfort on a glimmering silver platter. But the thought did not sit well in her mind.
Daphne gazed down at the people walking the streets. As otherworldly the nobility looked, they lacked the allure and command the Duchess of Daggerford possessed over the town. Waterdeep housed dozens of noble families, too many to memorize. If you were a mistress to the Duchess, people knew and revered such a status. Would people outside of House Hunabar even know of the existence of a concubine? The man in front of her could not even name any of the minor houses of Waterdeep.
“Well, I am sure if I got what I wanted, I would go to parties and balls and show the new gowns my Lord has given me. What use would such stunning garments make if gone unseen, my Lord?” Daphne stood and the young lord shrunk beneath his hovering harrower. “What use am I to have such fortune if I am as nameless as your servants, my Lord?”
She watched as the young lord’s face twist from disconcertment to a sneer. “Ah, little Daph, that is what you want from this,” he twirled his finger around the empty space between them as he matched her stance, “then, clearly, you do not know how we operate in Waterdeep.” He stepped back and gestured to himself.
“You should really take my offer, Daphne. You’re not going to get anything better.” He pointed at her and proceeded to put on his clothes again.
Daphne jerked her head to the side and tsked. “I definitely know something better.”
“I never took you as a fool, Daph. You said it yourself, there is nothing for you in Mythrite.”
“Perhaps in that aspect, I was a fool. Mythrite has everything for me” Blaine.
“You were an insatiable barmaid with an itch to share a bed with the nearest gaudy-dressed person.”
“’Were’, my Lord? It must be a shame to be an enabler to such unscrupulous behavior.” A grin grew on her lips as he glared at her. “I’m going back there, and the next time you see me, I will be in a better place than what your whole fortune could give me.”