psl

[enthraller]

[Saralegui frowns at a page in his book as he realizes he hasn't actually read any of it in the past few minutes. He couldn't really be blamed for his lack of engagement. He must have gone through it cover to cover four or five times now in just the week since he'd managed to beg it off one of the servants. It was better than nothing, but already he was wondering if he could manage to sweettalk someone into getting him another, and how much of a library he could amass before it was noticed. The room he'd been "given" -- that is to say, locked in when he wasn't being dragged out for some event or outing -- didn't have much in the way of storage options. What drawers there were were already full of clothes or things better left unacknowledged. The rest of the room was largely devoted to soft surfaces; a large and overly plush bed, more than one couch, plenty of cushions and sheets strewn everywhere. It didn't take a genius to see it was styled less as a guest room for a foreign prince and more as a courtesan's quarters. At least he never had the sort of guests that would judge him for it. No, the only visitors that came by were very aware of the reality of his situation, and those sneers were more than enough. Heaving a sigh through his nose, he just gives up and sets the book aside for now, flopping back into a mass of pillows to stare at the ceiling. No one had been by yet today, save for one servant with a meal, but that wasn't unusual. Aside from politically-motivated displays, what visitors he got only sought him out for activities most commonly pursued later in the day. He shouldn't complain, really. It wasn't as if he wanted any visits of that sort. But such visits were the some of the only novelties in painfully boring days that seemed to stretch on even more endlessly the longer he'd been here. When he was dragged out to play the content and grateful "guest" it was always a draining experience he couldn't wait to be done with. And when he was sought out otherwise he could only pray for it to be over quickly. But the rest of the time? When he was left alone for hours at a time and without anything to occupy himself with? Eventually he began to crave whatever stimuli might come, whatever humiliations it might come with, and then he could only hate himself for the thought. Perhaps he'll find out soon enough if one really can die of boredom.]