[center][h3]Aymiria Unalim[/h3]
[sub]Bride of / Interacting With: Zakroti Unalim [@darkwolf687][/sub][/center]

Miry dabbed at her mouth with the linen napkin, sighing lightly as she pushed her chair back from the table. The breakfast had been very good, and very filling - she just wished she could have eaten more of it. She had only managed about half the food on her plate, and had discreetly slipped much of the remainder onto Zak's when she thought he wasn't looking. As she stood from the table she slipped a piece of fruit - she couldn't remember the name of it, but it was another of the fruits commonly found in Zak's holdings - into a pocket in her trousers. Though her stomach was full now, and feeling altogether too unstable, she knew she'd be hungry again before dinner.

It was of massive consolation that she'd told him, she decided. Now he would know why she had been so.. off, and why she'd been so preoccupied and all. Though she also hadn't relieved the worries entirely, simply transferred them over- she glanced over to her husband and his vaguely unfocused expression and knew he was preoccupied by something. Likely the same thing that had plagued her mind for the last two weeks...

She promptly realized that she had risen from her chair and was simply standing next to Zak, staring at him with a vague, fuzzy grin on her face. She blushed, extending a hand. "My love, I am going to retire to the sitting room- would you like to accompany me?"

They walked out one of the doors at the side of the hall, arms linked. It was just a short corridor before it opened out onto an atrium, with a tall ceiling and balconies on the apparent second floor. It was a square room, with low padded benches and large cushions carefully arranged around a few small fountains that burbled out of the floor and filled the room with the musical bubbling of water. 

Miry disentangled her arm from Zak's, wobbling over to one of the large cushions - she was suddenly unsteady - and easing herself down. Her legs folded up underneath her, wide trousers pooling out around her as she settled into the seat, finally shifting to produce the well-worn book of poetry from her satchel. She also produced a wax tablet, which she carefully uncovered, laying it out flat in front of her. It was warm here; she'd have to be careful to not dig too deep into the tablet as she made the foreign letters. While she was getting much better at the spoken language, her attempts at writing still left much to be desired.

As she opened the book, turning to the page she'd last left on, she murmured, "I think I'm getting better at these poetic structures." For the last month she had been meticulously working at this book, translating a verse or maybe two a day. It was an epic work, a chronicle of creation. Whether it was of their own universe or another, Miry wasn't yet certain, and Zak had given her exactly no background information before offering the book for her perusal. Enough certainly seemed like the Gemmenite priest's telling of the tale, but it was just... wrong enough to confuse her. Of course she had attended service in the temple at Mu'Jupostat, it had been expected of her, but their rapidly spoken poetic verse had left her gleaning only snippets of her husband's family beliefs. But no author of fiction could have been this elaborate in their description... She had suspected for some time that it was actually one of their holy books, and he was deliberately not telling her so as not to cloud her mind.

She pushed all those thoughts out of her mind, focusing on the text and the text alone. The first few lines blurred, fairly self explanatory, but the concluding two of the stanza made her blood run cold.
[i]...E gandroz diil, haelia diil
E meldoz gehiez weli kalabe nagaia.[/i]

She read the words several times, heart racing a bit. She had to have mistranslated something. [i]...And she had given land, horrible land, and driven her children to go there to death...[/i] No, it had to have been wrong. Two lines to such a monumental atrocity, it could not have been right. And if it was the holy book, as she suspected, and was in fact speaking of their creation... where was the mention of the war? The three elder sons turning on the beauty of their mother's creation- where was the destruction? She had abandoned her children, yes- but she'd tried to save them, tried to heal them first.

Timidly, her voice trembling, she gave voice to her concern. "My love? Surely a mother would not... surely she would not abandon her children to die, right? I understand that is the custom of the east but..." She did not dare look up at him, afraid he would laugh- either at her terrible skills of the language or her ignorance and naivety.
[hider=summary]
Domesticky Zakiria fluff! They finish breakfast and retire to a sitting room, Miry works on her language lessons and gets confused by the Westerlings and their poetry.[/hider]