Desi Aunty Recorded Hiddenly After Bath

Man, this room was like it was from a Hollywood spectacular or an HBO miniseries. The room was about twice as large as an average bedroom of the type I was familiar with, and it had a monster bed easily large enough to sleep five or six people. All about the room were dressing tables and loungers and places for storing clothes (I hesitate to call them closets). There were dozens of candles scattered about putting a gentle glow of light on the room. I don't know how it was done, but the temperature of the room was perfectly adjusted to allow for vigorous exercise without the participants becoming uncomfortable.The only jarring note was that, in one corner of the room, was a little nook screened by very sheer cloth panels. Sitting behind the screen was a woman holding a very long knife. I assumed that she was the bodyguard of final resort. I was dressed in normal clothes that a citizen might wear at home, nothing ostentatious, but something that was pleasing to the eye.On the other. Meanwhile the crowd ebbs away, no doubt to the inns and eating houses dotted around the stinking market. It is now that the gangly beanpole introduces himself to me. ‘Robert of the parish of Oaklea in the west of this fair shire,’ he declares seriously, puffing out his chest with pride, ‘But everyone at home calls me Robin,’ he finishes his introduction with a disarmingly shy boyish grin. ‘Good afternoon to you, young Robin of Oaklea,’ I reply with an easy smile. I try not to betray my inner emotions as the name of his parish careens through my head like the flooding waters of a collapsing dam. I concentrate on the youth, only the youth, with the cold calm I learned under fire in war: no matter how huge the horde of knights charging at you, if you accept that you can only deal with one target at a time, you might survive. Focus, Will Fletcher, this is not an army, nor a nightmare haunting your nightly sleep but a single near-child who should be shooting targets with the children.
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