Hilda meets her charge

Hilda descends the stairs and marches with a steely determination towards the main hall of her keep, as if she was going off to war and planning never to return.

It has to be done. There's no other choice...

Hilda takes a deep breath and enters the hall.

Victoria is standing there, in the latest, trendiest, most expensive and impractical fashion trends, silently judging the decor.

"Ah, Lady Hilda," Victoria says as she eyes her escort up.

Hilda bites her lip in irritation as she looks the smug, perfectly proportioned woman over.

Big chest, small waist, big hips and ass. The woman is sporting an almost cartoonish hour-glass figure. The kind all the women have in Hilda's trashy romance novels. And it's only made more obvious by the clingy cut of her body-hugging dress.

The dark green gown is covering everything below Victoria's neck, except for her hands (which are covered with black leather gloves). It would almost be comically prudish, where it not practically skin-tight.

Wish I could wear something like that...

Hilda blushes, and squirms as she thinks about the corset currently keeping her soft, un-toned (and in her mind, flabby) tummy in check.

"Lady Victoria..." Hilda curtly responds.

The tension hanging in the air is agonizingly thick, just like Hilda ("HEY! Who's side are you on! I'm not that out of shape!").

The two stare each other down until Victoria finally speaks. "Well then, shall we get going?"

"Fine." Hilda answers as she steps outside, without any proper plan of where she's going or how long it will take to get there.