[center][img] https://i.imgur.com/rAa2bpv.png[/img] [/center] [color=firebrick]Time:[/color] Nighttime Sola 28th [color=firebrick]Location:[/color] Dinner event [color=firebrick] Interaction: [/color] Roman [@ReusableSword] Alexander [@FunnyGuy] [color=firebrick] Mentions:[/color] [color=gray] The evening dragged like a blade across Violet’s skin—every tick of the clock a cruel reminder of how exposed she was, how hollow the walls she had built truly were. Alexander’s voice cut through the tension with sudden urgency, snapping her attention toward him. Her body sank back in her chair, arms folded loosely across her lap, brows drawn not just in anger but in something far deeper—something broken. Violet was unraveling. Scarlet clawed at the edges of her soul, trying to hold the seams together, but pain bloomed like rot in her chest. All Violet wanted was to scream—to release the poison coiled in her throat, choking her silent. Alexander’s apology landed like cold ash on her skin. [color=gold]“Especially you, Violet. I apologize for betraying the trust we have built so far…”[/color] [i][color=firebrick]The nerve.[/color][/i] She recoiled, shrugging his hand from her shoulder like it burned her. She turned away, refusing him the satisfaction. But then her eyes caught Roman’s—and she couldn’t look away. He was the crash she saw coming and still couldn’t avoid—the slow, inevitable destruction she had braced for and still couldn’t survive. Her walls cracked. Shattered. And for the briefest, most fragile moment, she saw him hesitate. Her breath caught. She knew that look—had memorized it so many times but never dare speak aloud. And then it was gone. He looked away. Her eyes dropped to her plate. The food sat cold and untouched, but her chest heaved like she was drowning on dry land. Her fists clenched tightly in her lap, the only thing anchoring her to the moment. [color=f26522]“As the king decrees I acquiesce. I shall not pursue courtship with Lady Violet Damien until it is otherwise allowed by the powers that be.”[/color] The tiny, trembling hope she had clung to—so desperately, so foolishly—crushed to ash in her hands. [color=f26522]“Am I of the understanding that these wishes apply to Lady Crystal Damien as well?”[/color] The sound that escaped her throat was barely human. Suddenly, Violet shot to her feet, the chair scraping sharply against the floor. The table clattered from the force, silverware jumping, her wine glass nearly tipping over. Her napkin floated to the ground. Her hands slammed down onto the table, her body rigid with rage and devastation. Her scarlet eyes locked onto Roman—piercing, burning, accusing. And then— Her hand shot up. It hung there—half-raised, trembling violently in the air. Her fingers twitched, her entire arm quivering from the desperate, visceral urge to strike him across the face. The weight of betrayal, humiliation, and heartbreak screamed through her bloodstream, begging for release. But she couldn’t. Her hand shook harder, suspended in air like a sword caught between fate and choice. Her fingers curled inward—slowly, painfully—as if each joint fought her. Bit by bit, she closed her hand into a trembling fist, nails digging into her palm. Her chest rose and fell in frantic rhythm, her eyes wide and glassy but unblinking. She wouldn’t hit him. No—she would make him look. She would make him see the ruin he made—and know it was his. Tears welled up, hot and helpless, blurring her vision.The heartbreak spilled over as her fists quivered against the table. Her body, exhausted from the restraint, sagged slightly. Her hand fell slowly to her side, curling against the fabric of her dress as if holding herself together by force of will alone.Still she stared at him. Still she burned. Violet reached for her glass with a trembling hand, lifted it to her lips, and drained the wine with a slow, deliberate motion. The tears fell freely now, each droplet striking the table like tiny daggers. Setting the empty glass down with a soft clink, Violet found her voice—shattered, raw, but hers. [color=firebrick]“Excuse me...”[/color] It cracked in the middle, barely a whisper, but it carried every ounce of her devastation. She turned on her heel with a grace too furious to be called delicate, her black hair whipping behind her like a final blow. [i][color=f26522]“You don't scare me, you're still just as beautiful as the moon, my Raven.”[/color][/i] Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled toward the exit, desperate for air, for distance, for something—anything—that didn’t feel like bleeding out while still breathing. Lilianne stood, pressing a hand gently to her husband's shoulder—a silent promise—and followed. She found Violet slumped on a stone bench in the gardens, hands covering her face, body racked with sobs so raw they sounded like dying. Lilianne sat beside her daughter without a word, simply there. Violet raised her face, flushed and broken, her soul laid bare. Lilianne brushed away the tears with a hand as gentle as a whispered prayer. [color=teal] “We don't need to talk,”[/color]she said softly.[color=teal] “I just don’t want you to be alone.”[/color] And Violet, for the first time that night, allowed herself to fall apart completely.[/color]