He evacuated from the tub, letting the water drain all over his body. He walked, leaving the trail of water behind him until he reached for the blanket and tied it around his waist.
Bacchanal, he hated them. So many bodies rubbing each other between sweat and wine. The pleasures of the flesh he tasted in private, the last time one of his romances had been public he had had a very bad time.
His face turned red with anger just remembering it. The thick black smoke that gushed out of him when he was disturbed began to emanate. He would take revenge, on everyone...
But not now, no. Now he had other things on his mind. Things that had to do with art.
He came out of the bathroom and took the robe. It was white with red, and it really did look like a king with it on, or so she had once said.
