[b]Handmaidens![/b]

Aria Thendragon was a proud woman in her day. Her glory burned so, so brightly, as bright as the thousands of candles that lit her halls. Prior to her war with Heron, she had been a queen, she had ruled the Avel and the Kel with false justice, and she had built castle after castle across Thellamie. There was no reason for her [i]not[/i] to be proud, even in that disguise. Perhaps she even forgot, sometimes, that she was ruling in order to undermine the reality of Thellamie and ultimately plunge it back into dissolution and slumbering dragons.

To have that taken away from her by some Mystery Heroine absconding with the spotlight? That would be difficult enough for her to bear even if she did not have the bitter spite of a Fallen Star oozing like sludge in her veins.

"Minion," she growls at Cair, staring down balefully at Hazel Valentine Fletcher, "with me. I must prepare [i]panoply[/i]."

Let some other blushing maiden take the lead! She must be [i]dressposted.[/i] You know what's popular these days, right? You're in the fashion group chats, probably.

[hr]
[b]Yuki![/b]

Civelia lies in state down in one of the saunas, commandeered for purpose by the Civils. Her chest rises and falls shallowly, and dark veins run through her marble skin. Her eyes are closed and her lips are parted ever-so-slightly. There is an uncomfortable voyeurism to seeing her like this, isn't there? To see how almost [i]peaceful[/i] she is.

Outside, Paladins, big and burly and quiet to hide how much they're fretting. (Aadya got you through, and is grilling them over what went down.) Inside, a Civil herbalist fusses with the coals in the center of the sauna, finding just the right herbs and incenses to burn--

No, she's tossed some on the coals and looms over you now. "Miss," she says, politely, "the goddess needs her rest. We'll have her right as rain soon enough."

The word [i]rain[/i] left her mouth like a sigh. An orange curl hangs, a little messy, a little bouncy, out of her habit. Steam mists up from the coals, sweet and warm and tingling against the skin.

"...but I must admit that I am curious. What does the goddess mean to [i]you[/i], Miss Edogawa?"

[hr]
[b]Hazel![/b]

Your eyes meet. How could they not?

Hers are dark and ringed with kohl, but there is a fire inside them. Princess Sulochana of Crevas drinks you in, and a dark color rises to her olive cheeks. She is still, her tassels and bangles at rest as she savors the moment of looking upon you, of how you look in this moment, and there is no one else, just the two of you. Just here. Just now.

Which is why you are not prepared for being swept up into the arms and bosom of Purnima Karn-Pana. Her perfume hits like a wagon. Her powerful midriff also hits like a wagon. Her smugness also hits like a wagon. The world is suddenly cut off by the waves of her dark hair.

"It won't be hard to avoid a worse performance! Ballrooms, bah- everyone knows that it's [i]Crevas[/i] who knows how to dance properly!" Her belly [i]undulates[/i] against you, as she scoops you up--

And then you are aware of a [i]second[/i] Nagi pressed up against your back. "We should be dancing in order of [i]rank[/i]," the Princess Sulochana says, grabbing your wrist possessively. Her forehead is already pressed against Purnima's in a dominance display. Your feet are off the ground, but don't worry: you are in [i]no[/i] danger of falling. Not with Purnima in front of you and Sulochana behind.

Just like the fantasies you have [i]never[/i] dared to write down, Cutie~

[hr]
[b]Eclair Espoir![/b]

And the Nagi have already swallowed him up in their coils. Tsk, tsk. And after you tried so hard.

Ah, and here's Mayzie bustling up with two flutes of lavender champagne in her hands, beaming so hard that it's a wonder her head doesn't fall off. "That was- you- [i]incredible,[/i]" she enthuses, pressing one flute into your hands, her eyes sparkling with The Emotion That Dare Not Speak Its Name.

You can take a String on her if you linger here, in this moment, with her. With the champagne. With the adoration of the party.

But.

But but but.

Somewhere, ever so faintly, in the air, beyond the squabbling Nagi and the lavender hitting your nose and the color in Mayzie's cheeks as she sips an expensive vintage, diluted by distance to the degree that it takes time to convince yourself that it is not a trick of nostalgia...

Someone, close by, is burning the Goodnight Special. Designed to lull Morning, Noon and Evening into a pleasant half-slumber when they are too close to waking. Designed to lull exhausted members of the Order into the sweetest dreams. An expensive and secret blend. Not the sort of thing to be found [i]here[/i]...