[center][h3]Aymiria Unalim[/h3] [sub]Interacting with: Zakroti Unalim [@darkwolf687] and Aurora Liesma [@WeepingLiberty][/sub][/center] Miry’s grip steadily tightened on Zak’s arm as they made the journey back to the city manor. She scarcely noticed the guardsmen following around them, the other bride behind them - she focused with every fiber of her being on being as close to Zak as possible, matching his breathing and his stride (at least, as well as she was able to with her short legs!) By the time they walked into the door, her whole body was trembling, and she very obviously clung to him, flinching away from the serving-girl who greeted them, fully expecting to be told to follow... “-new bride’s room has been made...” Miry let go of Zak’s arm for a moment, shock and elation fighting on her face. Was.... was that to mean she hadn’t lost him yet? She dared not look properly at Aurora, not at the beautiful gown the tall bride wore, the likely ugly sneer that marred her beautiful features. She was too perfect, and she wanted nothing to do with Miry, so Miry would have nothing to do with her, and have to do everything she could to be better. She’d be the kindest, sweetest sister bride imaginable, the most devoted to their husband. She would not lose Zak to someone... like that. Who would put false pride before the notion of fostering love and care. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind then, melting against his side, pressing against him as he swept her off to the solar. Wasting no time as he settled himself down on one of the large cushions, she kicked off her lightweight boots and all but flung herself into his lap, arms looping around his neck and legs delicately wrapping around his. She pulled herself close to him, pressing her face into his shoulder, feeling the thrumming of his heart and the evenness of his breathing. Streams of water arced around them from the numerous fountains as Miry adjusted her position, leaning back, blue-violet eyes peering up into Zak’s turquoise ones. She had half a mind to lean up to kiss him, and half a mind to push him back onto the pillow and...please him, as he so clearly craved (at least, judging by his earlier conduct). Though she was acutely aware of the open door, that Narlemaewel or Gaikus or even Aurora would walk by... he had been willing to bed a common whore in front of her and all his guards. Surely it wouldn’t be so wrong for her to do her duty by him now, to make sure he’d stay firmly in her bed, thoroughly exhausted, for the whole night. Right? As she’d managed to make her mind up, leaning up to kiss him, he spoke. Asking what had been meant by Shattered. The drops of water she had called up splashed to the floor, quickly sizzling out of existence on the sandstone floors that still held all the sun’s heat. She recoiled, flinching from the word and from his touch, and rested her head lightly against his collarbone, not able to meet his eyes. “The Gemmenite people are ....proud of their complacency in their suffering. To be honored by being chosen in the Reaping, and to gracefully go but never forget or forgive the horrors inflicted on our people - that is the proudest duty a Gemmenite woman can fulfill.” She snuggled closer to his chest, eyes unfocusing slightly, arms curling in against her chest and thin fingers reaching for the ivory wyvern clasp at her throat, running her fingers over the contour of it. She hesitated for a moment, finally daring to speak after she collected her thoughts. “The day I fell in love with you, I ‘Shattered’, as they call it. If I was for some reason to go back to Gemmenia, there would be no place for me. I have committed the worst crime, see- the crime of forgetting. For any Gem, it’s a terrible accusation. But especially for- especially for a daughter of Naia. How can I turn my back on the suffering of so many thousands of women? How can I love one of these monsters?” the pitch of her voice rose and she swallowed sharply, taking in a breath. In a much quieter tone, scarcely more than a whisper, she continued. “Of course, I find that to be rather… convicting a child of the crimes of his parent. You have done no wrong by me, nor by my- nor by my sister. I cannot fault you for the crimes your people have committed. And, if I could do it over- I would still choose to fall in love with you.” She wiped her eyes, leaning up to kiss him, arms curling tight around him again and pressing him back into the cushion. “But tonight is not a night for such severe conversation. Let us retire to our bed, my love. The morning dawns dreary and far too soon.” The walk to their bedchamber was quick. Miry looked to the guard posted at the room just down the hall, wondering if Aurora was asleep, wondering how the poor girl was doing. But she put the thought out of her mind – the other bride wanted nothing to do with her, and hadn’t she just assured herself that she would not be the first to apologize? She stretched up on tiptoe, pulling Zak down to kiss her, guiding his hands to the ribbon that held her tunic cinched at the waist. A thrill of guilt filled her, guilt that she hadn’t done this in so long, but she pushed it down – she could not truly be blamed for her body’s natural changes. What mattered was that she was going to start being better at doing her duty by him. He would never again want for intimacy – he would never have need or want to spend the night with the new bride. [hr] When she finally drifted off to sleep, nestled against Zak’s chest, her dreams were quick to seize her. Dreams of once-possible futures filled her mind, some happy – Idyllic days in sunshine and rainbows, herself and Aery and Kasari, contentedly snuggled up against Zak and watching a small horde of children happily playing in the center of the great hall. She dreamed of the day she could marry him, properly in his peoples’ custom, though the ceremony itself was blurred by the veil of uncertainty – even in their extensive conversations, lessons of history and culture, the idea of marriage had been never even mentioned. Her dreams turned darker – remembering that evening. Remembering how much blood had been on the floor, being flung down into it by the explosion of steam and boiling water, the skin curling up off her shoulders in blisters and boils. Remembering what their bodies had looked like. So still and pale and streaked in crimson. Such beautiful lives gone to waste. And she was crying and shaking them and crying. Aery, wake up. Aery. Kasari. Kasari, please, Kasari, not you too, please-- She jolted awake, biting her lip to keep from crying out. A wave of nausea overtook her as her eyes snapped open to the gray light of early morning. Barely, she managed to free herself from Zak’s arms, stumbling and half-crawling to the washing room, coughing and throwing up into the chamber pot. She knelt there for a moment, chest heaving, shaking her head to dispel the lingering panic. There was a basin of cold water resting on the long counter. She splashed her face, washing the sleep from her eyes and quickly washing her hair, swirling some of the water through it thoroughly before pulling it all out, leaving her dusty-gold locks dry and soft and ready to be styled. The dirty water ended in the chamber pot as well, leaving a clean basin for Zak. Her long hair was quickly braided, two thin plaits on either side of her head pulled back and woven into the rest of her hair, the woven strand left to trail down her back, tied off with a silk ribbon of a deep lavender hue. After a moment’s consideration she took her small supply of cosmetics – a stick of ground-and-pressed charcoal to line her eyes and darken her eyelashes, and a small container of a lip stain colored with the juice of kiondu fruits and various herbs – and went to work on her face. As she did she wondered why she had suddenly decided to go all-out with her attire and appearance today, and was not willing to admit that she felt she had to compete with Aurora. Her face applied, she tiptoed through their room, not wanting to disturb Zak’s slumber any more than she already had. She pulled one of her dresses from the closet, probably the flashiest one she had, and tugged it on over her head, careful to not muss the hair or makeup. The long lavender-and-violet silk skirts skimmed just millimeters above the floor, hugging the curves of her body as they connected into the dark violet bodice, meticulously embroidered with a pair of entwined wyverns along the front. The high collar forced her to keep her head high, though the low neckline showed off a bit more skin than she was comfortable with. The sleeves were tight around half of her arms, and then opened out into sheer lavender silk that skimmed almost to the floor. This was a dress made for a duchess. She’d never worn it before, but thought it would be fitting to bring. Just in case. And today, given her need for confidence, she thought it was as good a time as any. She laced the corset in the back, expertly tightening the dress to hug every curve she had. As she did, peering in the silvered mirror at her reflection, she winced. The extra curve of her abdomen was, though slight, definitely there. Her fingers came to rest over the bump, turning slightly to see in the mirror. There was a new life growing inside of her. Such a thought filled her with amazement, fear, and apprehension. But she put it out of her mind. She would have several months to come to terms with such things. In the meantime, she was awake and Zak was not, and so it was a perfect time to practice. Her musical instruments were still meticulously packed in her saddlebags. Reverently she removed the leather case that contained her flutes, and the slatted wood envelope that held pages upon pages of weathered music, and crossed to the door, slipping out and quietly shutting it behind her. A salute was offered to the guards who stood beside their door, and Ro’s, and she then made her way to the solar. The room was sufficiently high-ceilinged to have good acoustics, and far enough from their rooms that she shouldn’t disturb anyone. She laid her instrument case down on one of the low tables, setting the folder of music beside it, and quickly going about assembling the two instruments. They were a mismatched pair. One was a thin ivory transverse flute, clearly of Gemmenite construction, ornately engraved with a pastoral nature scene and covered by intricate golden keywork shaped to be like vines and leaves. Scarcely visible on the body of the flute were thin discolored lines, as though it had been cracked and then fused back together. The other instrument was entirely different, a heavy recorder carved of a wood so dark it was almost black. This instrument was clearly of fine crafting, inlaid with lighter wood in intricate geometric patterns, but it lacked the precise keywork of the Gemmenian instrument and was altogether bulkier and of somewhat cruder lines. A “reed-whistle” (she couldn’t even begin to pronounce the actual name given the instrument) from the far western realm of Kalderas. Zak’s people held an alliance with them, enough of an alliance that Zak had promised they could visit and see all the sights of their capital and their realm. She picked up the whistle first, blowing a few notes through it to warm up the instrument and get a few drops of water into it. The recorder had a surprisingly deep, warm tone, though a bit breathy. It was likened to the humming that came of the reeds when they vibrated in the mist, or that was what she’d been told. The lilting melodies of her homeland always sounded so strange when played on the Kalderan recorder. It was at times downright unpleasant, but most of the time could be seen as uniquely haunting. She reasoned that it was a musical metaphor for her own situation – a familiar tune forced to adapt to a strange instrument and a strange environment. Some countless amount of time passed, Miry remaining fully absorbed in her playing. She was very good at it, barring the unfamiliarity that came with the new instrument – it was clear she hadn’t had it all that long. As she played she worked with the water droplets that collected inside her instrument, moving them in tiny, precise amounts to interfere with the airflow and thus alter the pitches, sometimes splitting the note altogether into two or even three different tones. A skilled air gem could do the same, arguably with much less effort and concentration – after all, they would only need to bend the air! – but it was doable with a water affinity as well. It had just taken her years of lessons, countless hours of practice, and even now took her full focus to maintain complete control over. But it was worth it for the skillset that would have become her profession, had she stayed in Gemmenia. After rehearsal, she strolled through the house, vaguely intent on waking Zak for breakfast, and stepped into the hallway just as his tall bride happened to poke her head out of her room. Miry froze, composing herself, painting a bland smile on her face before stepping fully around the corner and slightly waving a greeting to the taller Gem. “Good morning, Aurora. Did you sleep well? I do not believe my lord Zakroti is awake yet, but if you are hungry I can certainly show you to the dining room, there’s bound to be something set out already.” There. That was innocent and bland enough. She hoped she wasn’t going to get her face burned off for this… [hider=summary] Woooo long post finally! Miry and Zak have a conversation. Go to bed. Fun times ensue. Miry wakes up with morning sickness, dresses herself up real nice for the day, and practices her flutes before bumping into Aurora in the hallway as she’s returning to her room.[/hider]