Stretched out on her bed, door cracked open, Cara was once more attempting to read that book.

Well, it wasn't so much reading it which was the problem as the fact it didn't make any sense. It should have been clear to anyone with eyes that someone who made that big a show about their discretion then started telling anyone who'd listen about how terribly he'd supposedly been treated wasn't the least bit trustworthy.

[open! Getting NWS in the comments.]

There was only so many times in a day that Cara could clean her leathers, train, polish her agiels (not dirty), train some more, bathe, tidy an already organised room, and check her leathers again, before finally giving in the fact she was bored out of her skull.

Which is how she came to be stretched out on on her bed with a book.

This wasn't something forbidden among the Mord'Sith. Literacy was a vital skill, and no one in the Midlands had actually gotten around to inventing the novel in order for them to be banned. But that didn't stop the nagging sensation that she was doing something she shouldn't really, or keep her from casting glances at the cracked open door in case she got caught.

In between trying to figure out why exactly she was supposed to find a person 'rude and disagreeable' simply for not wanting to dance with total strangers, that was.

[ooc: door cracked, post open.]