[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/ssxt53R/Thalia-Evercrest.png[/img][/center][hr][right][sub]Location: Community Barn
Interactions: Virgal ([@Dark Light]) 
Mentions: Nyla [/sub][/right][hr]
[indent][indent] [color=#808080]The barn plunged into a smothering darkness, the staff’s comforting glow devoured in an instant. The last vestige of warmth was snuffed out along with it as if pinched between unseen fingers. Even the restless shifting of the animals Thalia had expected to hear was absent, seemingly swallowed by the void and leaving only the frantic hammer of her own pulse in her ears.[/color]

[color=#808080]Then came the sting in her eyes. Unwelcome. Inconvenient. A burning pressure that signalled tears.[/color]

[color=#808080]Their arrival startled her more than the sudden blackness. She hadn’t really felt them building until one escaped, tracing a cold, treacherous path down her cheek. She swallowed hard, pressing her lips into a thin line. [/color][color=#808080][i]Not now. Not in front of him. Not here, of all places.[/i][/color]

[color=#808080]But the morning’s events closed in on her, suffocating as the chill itself: Nyla’s too-bright, pitying smile; this lord’s infuriating condescension; the relentless reminders of the life she had lost. It all tightened like a vice around her ribs, making each breath a ragged effort. She couldn't even dwell on the absurdity of it all—that he had the gall to accuse her of lacking manners. The same man who had swaggered into a barn with silks dripping in mud, bellowed at a pig, and tossed innuendos about her mother’s bed as if they were high court wit.[/color]

[color=#808080][i]Manners.[/i][/color][color=#808080] The word was a bitter joke. [/color]

[color=#808080]In Aurelia, she had spent years honing every glance, every gesture, every syllable to the razor's edge of courtly etiquette. Sit straight. Speak softly. Smile just enough, but never too much. She had played the part of the perfect lady so flawlessly that it had nearly secured her a crown. Nearly. And now a Calistar—a name synonymous with brashness, not refinement—dared to lecture her while dragging livestock through Dawnhaven’s snow.[/color]

[color=#663399]“I—” [/color][color=#808080]Thalia’s voice caught, brittle as glass. She cleared her throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence, and tried again. [/color][color=#663399]“I… beg your pardon. I don’t—” [/color][color=#808080]She stopped, shaking her head in the dark as if to physically scatter the inadequate words. [/color][color=#663399]“I am sorry, my lord.”[/color]

[color=#808080]She didn’t even know what she was apologizing for. For her sharp tongue? For the crime of standing tall in her own boots? For failing to be the polished girl from his memory? Or simply for the humiliating tears now slipping freely down her face, a vulnerability he would doubtless see only as disgrace if only he could see them at all.[/color]

[color=#808080]Her hand flew up, brushing hastily at her wet cheek. She needed to escape, to put solid walls between herself and this unbearable situation. [/color]

[color=#663399]“My pup, I… I should see to him outside. Make sure he’s okay. So, if you will excuse me.” [/color][color=#808080]She shifted blindly toward the door, her steps uneven in the absolute blackness, the rustle of straw beneath her boots the only sound marking her retreat.[/color]
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