You actually have a fairly strange dream tonight.... wait, is it even a dream?

You roll over in your sleep, as strange thoughts take hold of your brain and imagination. You're taken into a strange dream, where you aren't yourself. Strangest yet, is that is doesn't even feel like a dream, but instead like a memory does. But somebody else's memory. It's really weird! That's probably why you're rolling over and stuff, huh?

* * * * *

siggghhh.

Well, here you are again. The hostess of another dull house party. Or at least, it's dull for you.

Just like always, it began fine enough -- drinking, laughing, general merriment. But just like always as the night went on, your guests paired off into romantic partnerships and left you to fend for yourself at the wine and cheese table.

Of course, as the host of the party and a well-liked noblewoman, you'd be able to join with any grouping you pleased quite happily. But you only have so much tolerance for observing loverbirds, and only so many times you can be pumped and dumped to enjoy being the second fiddle in a threesome. And so, the continent's most eligible bachelorette sits at the table on her own, sipping from her twelfth glass of red wine as the room around her is filled with the sounds of kissing and passionate lovemaking. Ugh. On second thought, maybe you'll go for a stroll in the estate courtyard.

Few could have guessed that this would be the fate of the buxom noble lady, Bonnie "Bonfire" Beaumont. Being the picture of beauty can most certainly have its downfalls after all. Global envy, for one, but also how you seem to intimidate and scare away even the richest and most handsome noblemen without fail. Feeling down in the dumps, and buzzed on more than your fair share of wine, you're essentially stumbling through the cobbled paths of your luscious courtyard as your not-fully-functioning mind fires off in emotional bursts. Each haphazard step sends a ripple up through your ripe body that jiggles your gigantic porcelain white chest, which spills out of your tightly-bound expensive corset.

It's in this emotional and drunken state that you bump into the young Lord Harville -- the famously successful hunter and invitee to your party, who apparently came to a similar decision that a walk through the roses and the greenery could do him some good. "Bump" is a fairly accurate description, too -- considering the gentle collision of your bodies as you stagger into him around a corner of the courtyard. Your ample chest, white as snow, is squishing up against him as he fumbles against you awkwardly. Your long and shapely legs see you standing significantly taller than him, so you look down at him after the initial impact.

"Oh dear." You say.

"A-ah! Lady Bonfire!" He exclaims, taken aback. He tries to back away from you without pushing, but it seems that some threads of his clothing have gotten caught in the straps of your corset. Drunk and generally upset at how the day's been going, you simply observe, making no move to help him back up away from your noble cleavage pressed against him. Besides, you're too regal to lift a finger in situations like this. I-it's not that you're just craving human touch, that would be far too common for you. "A th-thousand apologies, my lady...."

He squirms for a while longer, and you shut your eyes and tighten your mouth in frustration. Lord Harville has a reputation as one of the strongest and toughest gentlemen in nobility, having been given his land by the King himself after numerous successful hunting expeditions rather than being born into it. For the fear and respect that such a reputation commands, you give him some lenience as he fumbles with the entwined straps and strings, but your patience is wearing thin.

Lord Harville is also known for being a single man for the past several years, which was part of the reason he was included on the invitee list alongside many other eligible partners for you, but the entire night he had avoided anything but the most mundane conversations. By his going out for a walk after everybody else partnered off, even your plan of having an odd amount of guests to guarantee that one be left open for you after the inevitable pairing off was ruined. In a way, he is singlehandedly responsible for spoiling your night again.

Your mind snaps back to the present at the feeling of something growing and bulging in the hunter's pants to press against your meaty thigh as he finally looses himself from you. All pretence of concern for what such a man might do to you if given cause dissolves and is quickly replaced by a fiery rage. How... how dare he!

"Mind your manners!" You shout, raising an open hand and smacking him across the face. To your surprise, it seems that for whatever reason Lord Harville was presently too weak to fight back against your chesty and womanly self, as his legs fail beneath him and he falls to the ground from your slap. Your single slap. You gasp out in surprised delight. "O-oh? Oh my....."

Your heart is pounding in excitement inside of your oversized chest as you look down at him, half-sitting on the ground before you, head lolling as if almost asleep. Did... did you really just do this? Did you really just do this to the fearsome Lord Harville, of all people? After such an emotional night of feeling so powerless, suddenly....

"Y-you're not so tough....." You mutter to yourself, breaths coming in gasps. You gently bite your bottom lip and roll it over your teeth, a look of combined mischief and triumph on your face, as you peer down at him from on high. This was certainly unexpected. How is this even....

You quickly shoot a glance to either side of yourself, but as suspected, nobody can see the two of you. They're all too busy on the inside of the estate. You press your lips together determinedly. With your privacy confirmed, your mouth curls up into a smile as you look back down at him. For whatever reason, it doesn't matter -- Lord Harville may just be yours tonight after all.