🎀 Wisteria 🎀

I was actually planning to go the next day. So, does that mean Mirastir is both normal and abnormal at the same time?

Late in the evening, towards the end of dinner, finally having gotten his blood flowing and allowing himself to fully relax after a hearty meal, Raphael sat, deep in thought – practically nodding off – and replaying all the events of the day in his mind. One thought, fueled by alcohol, just wouldn't leave his head and made his heart beat faster...
The other companions and servants had retired to their rooms, and Raphael clapped his hands, signaling Kaya and Viola to follow him into their shared chamber – the most secluded and luxurious of the available rooms, which he had taken befitting his status. This room was decorated with all the most precious items for his sensitive heart – expensive candelabras, mats, paintings, collectible tableware; all the furniture was covered with cushions and light silk blankets, and even a canopy was installed above the wide bed.
In addition, the walls of the room were hung with thick, plush Lisliarian carpets, providing tranquility, privacy, and soundproofing both from the outside for the resting lord and from the inside of the room – for outsiders.
Locking the door and settling into an armchair, the aristocrat ordered Viola to change into her armor and Kaya into one of the many unassuming dresses they had brought with them. While they were doing this, he watched, filling his goblet with a special kind of wine that he didn't even share with his closest friends, and loaded a pipe with a special evening Lisliarian tobacco, which he only smoked during such rare moments of complete peace.
When the preparations were complete, and a pleasant warmth spread through his body, he rose to his unsteady feet, took a small chest decorated with floral patterns, hearts, and soft-colored flowers from under the bed, and took out light but sturdy shackles, lined with soft material.
“Am I hallucinating?... The great warrior, Br... Braheya Arme... Are... Air el Sufir?” he croaked, his tongue slightly slurred. “And her younger sister? Here, in Lower Clematis, without an escort?... Aren't you afraid that... some scoundrels might attack you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he snapped the clasps on Viola's wrists.
“I heard that you are an indomitable warrior, Lady Braheya...” said the rogue, taking out intimate instruments from the delicate chest and showing them off one by one. “I've long wanted to test these rumors...”
He glanced at Kaya.
“As for you, Miss... hmmmmm... to be honest, I don't even know your name... We are just simple, God-fearing people here. No one here will harm the venerable priestess of Arteria...” he nodded to imaginary accomplices. “Unless... she herself, in her boundless... generosity and patience, decides to ease her sister's plight...”

If the room had not been soundproofed and thoroughly prepared for living in, any random person passing by in the middle of the night could have heard exclamations of “Is it hard for you?”, “How about like this?” and many other male voices – inhuman, rogue-like, Lisliarian-dissident-smuggler-like, interspersed with female prayers, knightly oaths, promises of revenge, and finally, repeated admissions of defeat.