[color=gray][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/FVPEy13.png[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/NVSCwCf.png[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/jv5Pcmc.png[/img] [h3][color=teal]Part 3[/color][/h3][/center] [color=4C93C2]Time:[/color] 2nd Ignis, Evening [color=4C93C2]Location:[/color] The Damien Estate [hr] Violet listened. Or rather - she endured. Every word Alexander spoke seemed to land on her skin like cold fingertips: deliberate, admiring, assessing. [i]Alexandrite.[/i] [i]Diamond.[/i][i]Potential.[/i] The room heard flattery. She heard appraisal. Inside, something in her stomach twisted so sharply she nearly lost her breath. She swallowed wine instead of the nausea. She felt less like a woman and more like a stone sitting on a velvet cushion while two men debated its market value. A precious thing. Rare, yes. But still a thing. [i]And stones were only precious until someone found a better one.[/i] She wondered, for a fleeting and shameful second, if he would cast her aside the moment her shine dimmed. Yet she didn’t have to wonder; he did so after their date. If all this talk of potential was simply a way of saying she was still unshaped, unpolished, unfinished. [i]Worthy.[/i] But worthy for what? Affection? Utility? A place in someone else’s future? Or perhaps she was simply the convenience of being a pretty object with a well-connected father? Her fingers trembled once against the stem of her glass before she stilled them. [color=firebrick]“Mr. Deacon… Your words are… overwhelmingly kind.”[/color] she said softly, giving a faint, practiced laugh. [color=firebrick]“I fear I don’t quite know what to do with so much flattery at once.”[/color] She dipped her head in a gentle gesture of gratitude [color=firebrick]“But I do appreciate the time you have taken with me. Truly.”[/color] She glanced briefly toward her father, then back to Alexander. [color=firebrick]“You have given me something I did not expect to find tonight.”[/color] She took a small sip of wine, more for the pause it afforded her than the taste. [color=firebrick]“For so long, I believed my future could only be measured in how well I prepared myself to be a wife.”[/color] Her tone remained light, almost self-deprecating. [color=firebrick]“A pleasant ornament at a husband’s side, perhaps, if I were ever fortunate enough.”[/color] [color=firebrick]“That… however, is a dream that has since passed.”[/color] she admitted, the honesty cloaked in gentleness. [color=firebrick]“To hear that you see something more in me has given me a different kind of confidence.”[/color] Her fingers relaxed their hold on the glass, just enough to keep from revealing the tension. [color=firebrick]“Giving me the confidence that perhaps there is a place for me beyond doting on the notion of a husband that may never come.”[/color] she continued, her voice soft but clear. [color=firebrick]“Perhaps there is work, real work, that might be… fulfilling.”[/color] She let the word linger, as if tasting it for the first time. Then, with a final, graceful nod: [color=firebrick]“For that, Mr. Deacon, I am sincerely grateful.”[/color] Her eyes looked over to her parents, [color=firebrick]“And I am so very grateful to my parents for allowing me the space to do so.”[/color] For a good, long moment, Cassius had simply been listening to the conversation unfolding before him with an amused smile. But soon, he grew bored with this monotony. Not even his little barbs at Alexander could entertain him any longer. Not tonight. Too much had happened in the last week, too many theoretical demons to chase and metaphorical dragons to slay for him to care about the verbal chess playing out around him. His poor sister…a pawn in the games of others. He could tell she was more aware than she let on, but it did not change her role. Something needed to, though, as despite her [i]unclear[/i] disposition of Cassius, he could sense that they had grown closer. The dreadful night of the banquet had bonded them in its way. There’s something about almost bleeding to death in the arms of another that gives one a distinct appreciation for them. She deserved better than this…disgusting game. Not just from wretched Alexander, but from her father as well. The man’s willingness to let her be involved with the Black Rose, even in a minuscule way, drained some of the respect Calbert had earned from him in recent days. Cas felt his mind wander away from the conversation entirely. Images of the night they were attacked flashed in his mind, as did the weight of Kira’s revelation. He thought of her actions at the auction…then he thought of his date there, with Charlotte, where they decided to part ways. Her face lingered in his mind but only for a moment, as the sound of the door opening brought him back to reality. [Color=palevioletred]“Beautifully said, Lady [i]Viola[/i]!”[/color] The nearly pining voice of Lianna Deacon shot through the dining room like one of Persephone's arrows. Her hands remained neatly folded in her lap as a tall man in black pushed her wheelchair through the door. The familiar voice and calculated mistake of her own name didn’t go unnoticed as crimson eyes flicked to the doorway. Alexander had failed to mention his wife's attendance. Perhaps this was a surprise to him as well, but frankly, she was starting to wonder if she would even believe him had he said it was. Before their eyes could even process the details of his face, a cold draft filled the room. It slid in under the doors like a warning, a breath of cold that curled around the candle flames, making them tremble in their cups. The dark-haired man stepped in slowly, wheeling the woman forward with an unhurried gait. His hair fell in loose strands around an aged face, streaks of gray in his beard. His eyes were the worst of him—flat, brown, and old in a way nothing mortal ever was. The fire from the hearth painted his skin in copper on the edges of old scars, but nothing touched those eyes. Shadows clung to him a millisecond too long as he passed, dragging very subtly behind his shoulders. He settled Liana beside her husband carefully before taking his place at Alexander’s flank. When he lowered himself into the chair, it was with a silence that felt deliberate. Cassius lifted his eyes to the man pushing the chair, and for the first time since he walked into the room, he felt sober. [color=#7D2933]“Good evening… I hope I have not kept you all waiting…”[/color] His voice was low yet resonant when he finally spoke. No smile formed on his lips despite his greeting, only the faint suggestion of one. His gaze moved once along the length of the table, brushing past each person without settling on any single soul. His next words slid slowly off his tongue, as if rolling off a nearly flat decline, [color=#7D2933] “...Time.. moves.. differently for some of us.”[/color] [/color]