color:ffce00
-Grand Ball Room-

After the...inspiring conversation with his sister Ranya, Munir was forcibly cleaned up and physically restored to his former, more radiant self. His outfit betrayed the turmoil that raged within. His retainer, Hakim, accompanied him in a similar outfit appropriate for the evening as well.

Seeing as he was one of, if not the, first to arrive, Munir took his time to look at the banquet set out for the attendees. He offered King Edin a small bow as common courtesy but did not linger to converse with the man. He returned his attention to the banquet, feasting on the food through his eyes only. He was not planning on staying for longer than he has to, to greet his family that had just arrived and perhaps offer his sister Ranya a dance, but no longer than that. An unnamed servant walked past him in the still relatively empty ballroom and offered champagne. Munir reached for a flute, drank it in one gulp to calm his nerves. Then, after placing the empty glass back on the servant's tray, he grabbed another flute to have the feeling of holding something in his hands as a distraction to how out of place he is feeling.

"Shahzade." Hakim said softly "You should eat something. They have some tastes of home, that I'm sure you miss... "Mmm.. Maybe later. Hakim, how does my outfit look? Is my veil in place?" "Yes, my prince. Things are looking fine. Your outfit is splendid. You look like a prince of Alidasht, that has adapted to local sensibilities. "You did well. I think I'll just be over here.. Out of the way. If they don't spot me first, tell me when my family start arriving, please." "Certainly, Shahzade."

Hakim wanted to shake the man. This was still not the Munir of old. The charming, socially adept, never-shying-away-from-attention, prince of Alidasht. But. This was good enough for now. Hakim was happy that Munir decided even to attend the event and leave his hovel.

Even if it was with some coercion from Shahzadi Ranya...

Location: Grand Ballroom
Attire: Starry Night Attire
Interactions N/A

---

It had been a very long time since he had been announced like this. The wandering prince of Varian took his place among higher society, where fineries and trappings of decadence lined the halls. Watchful, curious eyes pierced into him as curious murmurs had not fallen deaf upon Attendants scurried about and music swelled to the movements of elegant movements of guests gliding across the dance floor dressed in their finest attires. It was business as usual, an eeriness that had not escaped his notice. The queen of a country had been burned at the stake and here they were gorging themselves and dancing the night away.

The dissonance had not escaped Askel. For lack of a better word, it was surreal how a beloved figure of a kingdom could so easily be betrayed and forgotten by so many of denizens that she ruled over, by her own husband. It was no wonder that his parents had wanted little to do with the kingdom, especially with a man like King Edin at its helm. All he wanted to do was to scoop his family and his beloved into his arms and take the first train out of this godforsaken kingdom, but alas that was not meant to be.

All he could do was to make the best of a terrible situation, but one would have never thought any the wiser if they were to look at him for Askel; he stood with a regal posture fitting that of a knight and a sociable, charming smile fitting of a prince. His attire of choice was a black suit, militaristic in nature that accentuated his powerful figure, with some gold ornamentations and a blue cloak that draped past his shoulders. The only thing that made him feel naked was the fact that he had to leave his sword at the door.

Held between his gloved hands was a glass of wine, his dark violet eyes scanned the room. While he could not deny the reservations he held, he could also not deny the light bubbliness that floated in his chest. It certainly was not from the wine.

Sleep had evaded him the night prior, boyish excitement with thoughts of a beautiful woman that he hoped to see again had ruled his mind. Never before had his heart had raced before and he could only wait until he sees her again so that they could once again dance like they did before.

So, he waited.

Ari lingered just inside her doorway, one hand resting against the carved wood as she watched Nik’s back disappear down the corridor. His footsteps faded into the hush of the manor, swallowed by thick carpets and stone walls. She found herself staring a moment longer than she meant to, curiosity prickling beneath the exhaustion.

With a soft exhale, she turned away and slipped into her room, closing the door behind her.

The space beyond it felt like a contradiction only Ari could have created. What had once been a pristine, stuffy chamber befitting a noble daughter now looked as though Rapunzel herself had claimed it and never quite finished unpacking. Hand-painted details crept across the walls—delicate vines, half-faded florals, little creatures hidden in the corners if you looked closely enough. Books were everywhere, stacked in precarious towers on tables and the floor alike, their spines cracked and loved. Bundles of herbs and dried flowers hung from hooks and beams, filling the air with a faint, earthy sweetness. It was chaotic, warm… undeniably hers. Seeing her touch layered over the manor’s former perfection was still strange, even to her.

She crossed into the bathroom, the marble cool beneath her bare feet, and shed the weight of the day piece by piece. The white silk nightgown slid over her skin, hanging from two thin straps that rested lightly on her shoulders, the fabric falling into ornate, almost too-delicate detailing. She followed it with a matching silk robe, tying it loosely before gathering her hair up into a messy bun atop her head. A few rebellious tendrils of red escaped immediately, curling around her face as if they, too, refused restraint.

Ari paused at the mirror.

She sighed, biting her lower lip as her reflection stared back at her. Pale. Too pale. Her eyes were shadowed, darkened by fatigue and something heavier she didn’t want to name. The bruises stood out cruelly against her skin—one blooming along her shoulder, another dark and unmistakable near her head. She lifted a hand, fluffing a strand of hair forward in a futile attempt to obscure the worst of it, then tugged the robe higher over her shoulders, as though silk could hide it.

It didn’t, but it would have to do.

Turning away, she left the bathroom and crossed the room toward a second door. When she opened it, she revealed the adjoining guest suite beyond. It lacked her flair entirely. No painted walls, no cluttered books, no hanging herbs. The space was still lavish, still undeniably part of a rich manor, but untouched by her chaos. Immaculate. Preserved.

This was where her governess had once stayed.

It hadn’t changed since then. The housekeepers kept it pristine, free of dust and time, as if its occupant might return at any moment. The bed was large, the furnishings elegant, and beyond it lay a private guest bath, all connected neatly back to Ari’s own room by the shared door she now stood in.

A few minutes turned to several as Nik tried to find his way around the kitchen. There were a few straggling servants who gave him looks, but helped him and a vegetable broth wasn’t exactly hard. But, it took him a few tries to get it home he remembered his mother making it. Well, close enough anyway. He just needed to get some nutrients into her system, she’d looked awful and he knew that broth would go down easy and likely not upset her stomach as much.

The servants helped him find a tray and before too much longer, he was heading back up the stairs to Ari’s room. Luckily, even if he’d had a terrible memory, her door stuck out like a lighthouse against the lavishness of the estate at large. It was a beacon of creativity and personality, something he thought the rest of the place lacked.

He propped the tray up into one hand, balancing it carefully, and knocked firmly at her door. ”It’s me.” He spoke.

Ari nearly fell over, catching herself on the door of the guest room. She felt her heart nearly jump from her chest as she caught her breath. The situation at the tavern must have really stuck with her as she felt some flashbacks of the event.

”Come in.” she said slightly breathless as she used the door frame for support, trying desperately to compose herself before Nik noticed.

His eyes narrowed as he heard a quiet thud from inside her room. He couldn’t place what the sound was, but it stuck out in his mind. He reached for the handle and pushed the door open, his other hand still balancing the tray. He couldn’t help it as his gaze passed over her figure. He hadn’t necessarily been lying about not giving taking her to bed a second thought if she had been anyone else. Then again, Nik would sleep with any remotely attractive woman, so that didn’t say too terribly much.

”I’ve brought you some broth. Hopefully you can have some of it before bed and it won’t upset your stomach.” He explained, now taking the tray in both hands so he could more easily carry it inside. He glanced at her torso, his eyes darting to the bruise peaking out from the silk robe. Looked like it hurt.

”If you don’t want it, don’t eat it. I’m not going to force you.” He continued as he took the tray over to the table by her bed. ”Whether you want to feel better or not is up to you.”

Nik looked back at her again, watching how weak and fragile she looked. For an independent woman, he could understand how that feeling might be frustrating. Help would feel like a slap to the face, regardless of how warm or kind. His gaze shifted to the bruise again.

Oblivious to his glances, Ariella’s eyes fell to the tray on her nightstand. Watching the steam dance out of the bowl of hot broth as the smell of its inviting flavor hit her nose. Her stomach turned with hunger and nausea.

It felt slightly silly but she was strangely touched by the gesture. This man, this stranger, took more time out of his day to ensure she was taking care of herself. He put in more effort in the last 20 minutes than her mother ever had. Then again, he was being paid.

Trying to not linger on it, Ari smiled softly ”Thank you, I think my Father would be very happy with your efforts." she looked up at him. No one other than her brothers had ever been in her room before, not even Callum. Nik’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second at her comment. There was a very small part of him that felt slightly insulted by her comment, but he couldn’t refute that he’d mostly done it because of his position. While he would have slept with her in different circumstances, he definitely wouldn’t have made her food.

She felt slightly exposed but she also didn’t feel worried about it.

Gesturing to the guest room she looked over her shoulder then back towards him still using the door frame as support.

”This is your room. There is a large king bed, a wardrobe for when your things arrive. Private bathroom… and I'm sure I can arrange for the housekeepers to start servicing your bedroom. Though I do ask, for my sake… that you don't make one of them number 84…or was it was 85.” She tried to hold in her laughter.

”They bring breakfast to your room each morning around 8:00. After that, well the day is yours." she couldn’t help but wonder if he was used to this way of living.

Shuffling out of the way of the door she made room for him to explore the room if he wished.

Nik walked towards the door, pausing as he passed her. ”No promises.” He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. ”If you need me, I’ll be just beyond this door.” He added, his tone returning to it’s normal cadence again. He offered her a smile.

if you need me.. his voice whispering in her mind as she nodded trying to play it off.

”Please consider my position in all of this. If something feels wrong, if you don’t feel safe, if you need help, don’t leave me in the dark. We share similar cages, you and I.” Nik pleaded, his voice genuinely sounding concerned.

Her emerald gaze met him as she paused for a moment taking in his words. Why did she already feel so trusting of a stranger? It was as if she knew him but she had never met him before.

Reaching for the door she smiled.

”Goodnight..” She said softly shutting the door between with care.

Nik stood by the door for a moment, even after it closed. Listening. Listening for her faint footsteps to hear if she was heading for the broth he’d made her. Eventually, feeling a little silly about it, he walked away.

Ari stared at the door for a moment, her eyes glancing back towards the hot bowl of broth. Her arms instinctively raising and wrapping around herself as she let a breath out that felt like she had been holding in for some time.

Location: Grand Ballroom
Attire: Attire: Starry Night Attire
Interactions

---

This was a sham. That pompous troglodyte sat upon his thrown declaring that festivities had begun like they had not watched his wife burn at the fucking stake this morning for the crime of being a witch. Not a witch that had done wrong, not for cursing, killing, or manipulating the hearts of people, but for being a witch. There was no amount of gourmet food, no amount of fine wine, no amount of music and dancing that could gild what was a fetid apple rotten to its core and they were supposed to go one like nothing happened. The very notion of being in the same room with the fat fuck was nauseating, but here he was, among the vultures.

Nolan stood by Duke Gideon's side, holding a glass of champagne as his green eyes scanned the room for any familiar or friendly face. To say that he loathed these functions was an understatement. The peering eyes of his peers and his family's peers with judgmental stares, sniggering and whispering to each other with ill-intentioned, unfounded rumors though at this point he should be used to it. The stray that had been taken in by Duke Edwards, so often had he heard those words and so often had they been used to

He was too proud, too clever, just too much for what a stray should be.

So, he stood there with that patented aloof, cold expression while dressed handsomely in the suit that his mother, overbearing and perfectionist, thought perfect to represent the Edwards. Admittedly, it was a fine suit with many ornate elements and a green overcoat that was a particular shade of green he fancied, but he would rather be in his office with a cup of tea and a slice of cake than be in this room reading a book. It was a waste of time for him to be here.

He knew his reputation, so he doubted that he would find anyone that would be willing to put up with his neurosis once they got to know him. For now, he would just blend into the background and eat whatever food there was.

color:ffce00
-Grand Ball Room-
-outfit-
-Interaction: @HylianRose Nora-

There are a few more attendees to the ball now. Both had bits of red on their body. The man, red of fair and fair of skin. The woman, fair of skin adorned in a deep crimson dress. Munir, still nursing the half finished champagne, looked around the room, not sure who he should approach.

"Shahzade, you should go talk to them. Whichever one. This is a social event after all." Hakim gently urged his charge to step out from the proverbial shadows and make himself known. He had already chosen to not be announced on arrival, which was a complete one-eighty from how Munir usually approached social gatherings. Now to simply remain on the sidelines would defeat the purpose of coming to the event in the first place.

"Fine. I will, I suppose. I don't want to waste the effort you and my sister put in in getting me out here..." Munir said sheepishly. Contemplating for a few more moments, he recalled how the two guests were announced. One was a Varian Prince, the other was a noble lady from a house he does not have much knowledge on. He turned to Hakim "Go find out who that prince is. I'll speak to the lady from House Pawonstya. Or what was it again?...' "My prince, I am certainly not going to be able to pronounce that name. You can bet on that. Better you find out directly from her than me butchering it as you just did... Whatever it is, Pawonstya is certainly a bastardization of her name." Hakim replied with a small chuckle. Munir rolled his eyes and offer his own chuckle. Finishing the drink in his hand, Munir found a random table and placed the glass down. He took a final moment to smooth out his attire and gave Hakim a final look. The taller man offered a small bow before walking off quietly to mingle with the other servants in the ballroom.

Munir actually straightened his posture more than he normally would, making him look stiff. He strode up to the lady in red, gave her a slightly awkward bow and said "Hello, my lady. I am Munir Al Kadir. Pleasure to have made you"...

Thoughts began firing off in his brain. "My good man. What was that bow? That was stiffer than steel...AND WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO HER? PLEASURE TO HAVE MADE YOU? ARE YOU KIDDING? MUNIR IBN RAIF. GET YOURSELF TOGETHER. BY SUNA'S GRACE MAN."

Meanwhile, Munir held his lowered stance with his hand out, and the awkward smile still has not left his face behind his veil...

Somewhere else, as if through telekinesis, Hakim snapped his head towards where Munir was standing and physically recoiled slightly at Munir's awful display. He, however, decided to not come to his Prince's rescue.

---

Roman stood on the balcony, remembering the first time he came up here. The guard movements, although well-planned, are predictable, and the lamp at the back of the manor flickers for just a moment—still a moment long enough to slip by unnoticed. The path up to the balcony while evading the guards was also tricky, but with a strong grip, there were a few good handholds that were not illuminated. There were only a few awkward moments of having to be still on the side of the wall while a patrol passed underneath.

Those were good times, and security has only improved now. He still got up here with minimal suspicion. After tonight, he didn’t think he would need to do this again.

The door leading to the balcony was slightly ajar, and he couldn’t hear anyone inside. Slowly, he slid it open. All he could do was wait and listen. After a few minutes of not hearing a thing, Roman took the chance to etch a small rune under the balcony railing. It wasn’t magical. No, this one was more of a prayer—a rune of protection.

Violet closed the door behind her with a quiet click, the soft murmur of the house fading into silence. Night had fully claimed the estate, and the moonlight poured through her open balcony doors, carrying with it a cool, refreshing breeze. The curtains swayed gently, ghostlike in the dim light.

Her thoughts spinning…her killer…

He was there for a little while, sitting on the balcony looking up at the stars, when he finally heard it: the door in the room opening. Making sure he didn’t hear anyone else, Roman put the blindfold over his face and stood by the balcony.

Violet slipped off her heels by the vanity and crossed into the powder room. The faint scent of lavender and rosewater filled the air as she undid the pins in her hair, letting the long, dark strands fall freely over her shoulders. Her evening gown rustled as she changed into a light silk nightdress adorned with lace and her normal raven embellishments.

Feeling the chill from the open balcony, she stepped back into her bedroom, intent on closing the doors before bed…
But stopped.

A shape moved beyond the gauzy curtains. Tall. Still. Watching.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, all sound seemed to vanish except the slow flutter of the drapes. The moonlight traced the outline of a figure standing on her balcony. Her mind couldn’t help but race; it wasn’t Alexander…or maybe it was?

Violet's arms wrapped around herself instinctively as she slowly approached her balcony.
His heart raced with every step he could hear the person take. He was sure it was her; it had to be her; it must be her. Anyone else would have called for the guards by now.

Roman stepped just to where he could feel the curtains behind him and knelt down onto his knees, his eyes behind the blindfold looking towards the ground. His voice was just above a whisper and filled with sorrow.
Her breath caught. Her arms unwrapped themselves as she braced herself against the frame of her door. Her scarlet eyes looked down at the large man, so small now as he knelt before blindfolded.

“Please do not say who you are. These words are for Lady Violet Damien whether she is here or not…” He couldn’t risk seeing her. Right now, he could lie to Erik, tell him he hadn’t spoken or heard from Violet. But if he saw her, then there was no going back from that. “An apology... if you think she would want it.”

“Do not burden yourself with that, Violet. Roman’s behavior was not the work of his own interests. What you saw was no man in control of himself, but a pawn moved by another hand.”

Her father's words whispered in her mind as if it were a haunting hand pulling her. Her heart raced wildly in her chest as she continued to watch him. Was he indeed a man in no control of himself? A pawn… Yet beyond everything, here he was.

” Violet is not here…” She wasn’t lying in a sense but her voice would likely tell him all he needed to know. ”I imagine she would be relieved to know you are in good health…As for the apology.” The world around them grew silent, the sound of the night's breeze haunting in its emptiness.

”I am unsure if Lady Violet would accept it, but I am sure she would at least give you a chance to speak.”
He could feel himself trembling, a shake in his shoulders and joints. The raw sensation of burnt-out, overstimulated nerves. His face was flushed red, and beads of sweat formed on his skin. He opened and closed his mouth several times before settling on the words.

“I told her once that my actions are not my own. I… I don't believe she understood what I meant by that. The lengths I would be forced to go to.” This was a shit way to start this apology, and his worsening tremors only furthered his frustration.
Violet's crimson gaze moved to him, her eyes softening slightly as she noticed his body tremor.

“I know not to call their bluff when they order me to do these things… The control I do have is fleeting, and there is always someone watching.” His mind was getting foggy, but he still pressed on. “I’ve tried to run before, when I was barely a man. I used that freedom and took my training partner… my friend, my first love…” His hands balled into fists on his knees, white knuckles clenching against the painful memory.

“We went through hell together, grew up together, fought together, bled together, were punished together. Never one without the other… Our last test, a test of faith and loyalty to the cause. It was a choice, not an order.” His tremors steadily became worse, shaking his body and voice, but still he kept it together. “Prove yourself and… kill your partner.”
His words were heavy on his voice and in his chest. Roman didn't know why he was retelling this story. The trauma from the morning events, maybe? Seeing what he did to that boy. Could be exhaustion from the magic use earlier. Yet it was a story he had not repeated to another. The weight of his own trauma was bound to his soul.

He lifted his head, looking at her as if he could see her through his blindfold. “We ran. They still found us a few days later in the mountains… That's when I was given my first order… to murder the young man I had fallen in love with. It nearly killed me… trying to resist it… refusing an order causes pain and more... That pain… it nearly tore me apart…” He let the silence fill the space between them. “That's why I have to do as I'm ordered… they won't hesitate to tell me to remove the problem. Regardless of my thoughts or feelings…”

Dropping his head, he could do little other than try to calm himself down.

Violet's hand extended her fingers reaching towards him, hovering just near his face. They hesitated, slowly dropping back to her side.
“I'm expendable… Just another weapon,” he whispered to himself.

She didn’t breathe.

Couldn’t.

Roman knelt there like a broken monument, trembling under the weight of memories he should never have had to carry but all Violet could feel was the tension tightening in her spine, pulling her in two opposing directions.

She should take a step forward. She wanted to. He was shaking. Gods, he was shaking, and some part of her, the girl whose nose was always in a book, the girl raised to tend wounds, whether they were physical or unseen, wanted to reach out.

You are too easily swayed by emotion. They will use that against you.

Her breath stuttered.

Roman’s confession spilled into the space between them, a story soaked in pain, control, and loss so violent it gnawed at her ribs. But the more he spoke, the more she felt the ground shifting beneath her.

Was this real?
Was this calculated?
Was she being guided again, pushed like a piece on a board she never agreed to play?

Her fingers dug deeply into her palms. It was grounding her, reminding her to stay where she was. Not to drift closer. Not to let her empathy walk her into another snare.

She could almost feel Alexander’s eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. Judging every softening of her expression, every doubt she held. Her heart was betraying her. Slamming in her chest, urging her to step out into the light, to kneel beside Roman, to peel away the blindfold and look into the truth of him.

Roman was suffering. She saw it clearly. He wasn’t faking the tremors. Not the way his voice snagged on the edges of words that hurt him to say. Not the way his chest quivered with restrained sobs, he refused to let escape. She believed that much. But believing his pain didn’t mean believing his intentions.

Not anymore.

Not with the way the world around her had started to twist, one manipulation at a time, until even kindness tasted like poison.
She let the silence sit. Heavy. Suffocating.

Her lips parted as if she meant to speak, to apologize for her hesitation, or to offer comfort, but no words came. Every instinct battled itself until all she could manage was a small, barely audible breath.

When she finally found her voice, it wasn’t empathy or forgiveness that surfaced. It wasn’t even anger. It was a distance.

“…Ro-” she paused “Lord Ravenwood” she corrected herself.

“I’m sorry you sit with those memories. I can’t even begin to fathom the pain you feel.” The cold air danced around them as her eyes slowly shut for just a breath before opening once more.

” Trust was not something that came easily for Lady Violet. She gave that to you with secrets she had never spoken to another soul. Only to watch it be burned, maimed, and mocked in front of her family and the rest of the kingdom's nobles.”
The pace of his heartbeat slowed, but his growing fever remained. His breath hitched, catching on every sound, every movement, hoping beyond hope that something was still there. Roman was very aware that it would not be; he knew and understood the toll he had exacted that night on them both. A part of him still held on, the part that wanted to run.

The correction, stumbling from the intimacy of his given name into the cold formality of his title, landed with the weight of a final judgment. Lord Ravenwood. It severed the thin thread he had foolishly tried to hold onto.

The tremors in his hands calmed but did not vanish. He had thought, naively, that if she knew the why, she might forgive the what. But as that correction and her tone washed over him, recounting the public flaying of her trust, he realized the truth. It didn't matter whose hand held the chains if he was the one who struck the blow. Trauma explains; it does not excuse.

He slowly lowered his hands from his knees, letting them hang limp at his sides. The fight left his shoulders with a deep, tired sigh. He knew he was just as at fault for this as those above him, but he would not allow himself to give in to his own self-loathing again. Not now. They were both hurting… would it always be this way?

“I cannot change what was done to her,” he said, his voice quiet and disturbingly steady, stripped of the frantic energy from moments before. “I only wished to understand and be understood… yo-… she should not trust me. Not while I still have this curse. Anything said or shared will be used and twisted for the schemes of others.”

A wetness at his left eye pulled his attention; it wasn’t tears this time. A check with his hand revealed it to be thicker, warmer. He knew it was blood. Time was running out. This was a problem; many things were problems. His mind raced through possibilities and their outcomes, trying to find something resembling a plan.

“I… I will try to break this curse… find a way… But…” His voice grew quiet again, distant. He forced himself to stand and step back towards the balcony, a drip of blood falling from his eye. “We cannot do this; I refuse to endanger her life any more than I already have.” His head dropped again, and his words caught in his throat. “Until this curse is broken… this will be my last message to her.”

Blood…

The scent was unmistakable.

Her crimson eyes snapped to him, frantic, locking onto the thin stream of red tracing down his cheek as the large man loomed before her. For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Then slowly, and reluctantly, her hand rose. Her thumb brushed his skin, wiping the blood away with a tenderness that felt almost dangerous.

The quiet night air taunted them as it swept across the balcony, indifferent and cold.

He was willing to break what they had to protect her, to protect her from the thing she had already learned how to be.
She did not want to be part of anyone’s schemes. No more schemes. No more cages disguised as care. She was done being shaped by other people’s ideas of what she should be, what she could be, what she was worth.

Her hand lingered a moment longer on his face. There was so much she could say. She said none of it. Her hand fell back to her side as she took a step away.

For a moment, she simply stood there, fingers curling slowly into the fabric at her gown, grounding herself in the pressure. The air felt thinner now, as if charged and brittle, as though one wrong word might shatter what little composure remained.
When she finally spoke, her voice was not raised. It didn’t need to be. Instead, it was soft and calm.

“No.”

A beat.

“You do not decide this for her.”

She lifted her gaze to him. It was not pleading, not softened. Steady.
“If you leave because you believe she deserves better, because you tell yourself that your absence is her salvation.”

Her breath caught, only slightly.

“—then you are like everyone else. You are still choosing for her.”

Silence stretched between them.

“She is already in danger. She is already afraid every moment she draws breath.”

“She drinks blood to survive. She has killed to keep herself breathing, taking the breath of others so she may continue to live this miserable existence. Alone. ”

Her voice did not waver.

“And it will only be a matter of time before she becomes the hunted.”

Another pause.

“If you must walk away to survive, then go.”

“But do not dress it as mercy.”

Her fingers flexed once at her side.

“Everything she is has already been decided by others. Why not this too…”

He kept quiet as she spoke, hanging onto every word, every phrase. He was starting to understand, starting to see where he was wrong. How she felt. The choice was what she wanted. Did he believe she was better off without him? Maybe. But was he better off without her?
He wanted her. She was dangerous, but so was he. Their paths were dangerous, and he could very well be sent to kill her. But he had a choice, too. How… How could he break free? The knowledge was there, but the curse’s influence would always stop him. He needed help; he couldn’t do it himself.

Her hand reached up and removed the blindfold from his eyes.

Moonlight spilled over her pale skin, catching in the red of her gaze as she looked up at him, fully seen, fully present, unflinching.
Until she saw his eyes, a small gasp escaped her lips as concern washed over her face. Her composure slipped as she soaked in the state of his eyes.

“Roman…” she breathed.

His thoughts abruptly stopped when he heard her shift and felt her hands on his head. Her choice.

His eyes locked onto hers. Aside from their change in color and the broken blood vessels, they were heavy, filled with sorrow and a newfound determination—a feeling he thought he’d left buried on that mountain with his first love.

“My magic is powerful and always comes with a cost,” he whispered, while her crimson eyes searched his face.
His eyes stayed with hers, taking in her features as if seeing her in a new light. Like he was looking at a new person entirely. Not the shy bookworm he met back then, the one he felt he had been treating her as, even after her accident.

No, this time he truly took her all in. All of what she said, all of what he’d done. All her trauma, her rage, her fear—everything.
He took a step toward her, closing the distance. Violet felt her body tense with apprehension as his shaking right hand caressed her cheek, just as he had done before. This time, however, he didn’t hold her like porcelain; he didn’t fear his touch could hurt her. For the first time, he felt he could really see her. See her as an equal. She felt a rush of comfort flood her as her hand reached for his, gently touching against him as she leaned into touch for just a moment. Her eyes shut, soaking it in before her hand fell reluctantly.

“I… see you, Violet.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, then slowly down her lip, briefly showing her teeth. Her lip curled slightly as her mouth opened instinctively, her fang brushing against his thumb. His hand pulled away, clenching into a fist.
“I choose me.” Every word was spoken slowly. “I choose you.” Violet's breath caught as she looked at him, slightly stunned.

His mind began racing—creating a plan, calculating next steps, resources, timing… who to trust. Stepping back from her, his eyes darted around the room, working out the problem and the consequences of moving forward. Finally, he decided on at least one thing he could do now. His gaze connected back to hers, renewed determination in his eyes and the way he held himself.

“I’ll break this curse. Then we can figure out who we are again.”

He pulled a ring from his left hand—a simple band with four woven strands of bronze and one of gold, a small emerald set on top. Pulling a small metal pin, he began to engrave into it, stopping only to glance up at her.

After the banquet, trust felt like a luxury she could no longer afford. Everyone wanted something from her. Everyone hid knives behind softened words. She had told herself she would not bend, not this time. Not for him. Not for anyone.

But the moment he looked at her, everything unraveled.

His touch shattered what resolve she had left. Her body betrayed her first, tension melting where it should have held firm, breath stuttering as if her lungs had forgotten their purpose. She hated that weakness. Hated how easily he reached places she had sworn to keep guarded.

For a terrifying heartbeat, her mind went quiet.

Violet took a half step back, as if distance might give her back control, but his touch still lingered on her cheek, fingers trembling despite herself. Crimson eyes searched his face, fear and longing tangled so tightly they were indistinguishable.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she admitted, the words tearing free before she could stop them. Her voice was unsteady, stripped of the sharpness she used as armor. “I don’t know if I can trust anyone.”
Her jaw tightened, as though ashamed of the confession. She swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze again.

“I told myself the next time I saw you, I had to stand my ground,” she continued, quieter now. “Ready to be cold. To be careful.”
“But the moment you touched me…” She shook her head faintly, frustration and vulnerability bleeding through. “It felt like my mind stopped arguing.”
A breath hitched in her chest.

“And that scares me more than any threat you could bring to my door.”

She pressed her hand to her chest as if to steady the storm there. Still, she didn’t turn away. Couldn’t.

“So if you’re asking me to believe you…to trust you…” Violet said, voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze softened despite herself—damn her heart for it. It was clear her heart was her weakness, and she needed to protect it.
He listened but didn’t stop his tinkering. A small engraving, an oath, a promise. A choosing of fates. He didn’t care if, after all of this, they ended up together—just being alive was enough. Friends would be better, but anything more? A relationship? No, now wasn’t the time to think about such things.

He could see her struggle with every word and every breath, the war she was fighting in her head to keep herself safe. He could understand that: the feeling of trying to keep yourself sane while trying to keep yourself alive. He had failed at that a couple of times, and the cost was heavy.

His inscription was finished. Small runes were etched into the inside of the gold band, simple and true: “ᛁᚴ : ᚴᚢᛋ : ᚦᛁᚴ”. He stepped up to her again, taking her in as if it were the last time he would ever see her.

“I want to tell you that you can trust me… but as long as I'm under this bond, you shouldn’t. Just as you saw, I will be forced to do so much worse.” He took her left hand again and held it in both of his hands, his eyes, never leaving hers. “After tonight, you must treat me as an enemy. Just know that my heart does not follow my sword.”
Violet's eyes softened as she listened.

He slipped the ring over her middle finger with a soft smile. “I know the symbolism of this, but this ring is enchanted.” The ring looked like one solid piece, but when he twisted the gold band to the left, it shifted under the emerald with a silent click. “This setting hides your presence from being detected by most magical means, including your aura. It will look like you don’t have any magical presence at all.”

Her eyes fell to the ring on her finger admiring its beauty, it was old and clearly meant something too him. Removing it meant that his aura would no longer be protected, her eyes flicked up at him at the realization before she looked back down.

He shifted the band back to the right; it clicked softly once. “If it's in the middle, it won't do anything. If it's to the right...” He trailed off as it clicked further to the right. A faint warmth emanated from the ring, accompanied by a subtle vibration that felt like a heartbeat. The sensation was strange as she felt the pulsing warmth along her finger.“This ring is tied to me, the warmer it is the closer I am. It was meant for someone else, but they don’t need it anymore. This way, you will know if I'm close, and you will always be able to find me if you want to.”

If I want too… but what he if turned her away. What if history just repeated itself and she looked more like a joke to the courts.
He held her hand tighter. “If it's ever cold like ice, then my soul is no longer tied to this realm.”

Violet’s breath hitched at that—at the quiet finality in his words. Her fingers curled instinctively, not away from him, but around the ring itself, as though sheer will might keep it warm forever. The thought of it going cold, of him being gone, sent a sharp ache through her chest she hadn’t been prepared for.

Slowly, she lifted her hand between them, studying the faint glow and feeling the steady pulse beneath her skin. Proof. Promise. Burden. All tangled together. Her thumb brushed over the metal, reverent, before she looked up at him again, eyes glassy but steady.

“I don’t want a compass to a ghost,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite herself. “And I don’t want this to be some… relic I’m left holding while the world laughs again.”

She took a step closer instead, closing the space between them, and pressed her ringed hand flat against his chest, right over his heart, as if to test whether the warmth matched the beat beneath. It did.

“So don’t turn me away if something happens,” Violet murmured. ““Don’t disappear. If you’re giving me this…” Her fingers tightened in his shirt, grounding herself. “Then I’m choosing to believe it means something.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she laced her fingers back through his, deliberately, claiming the connection rather than shrinking from it. Her shoulders straightened, resolved, settling in beneath the fear.

“And if it ever starts to grow cold,” she added quietly, “I won’t wait for fate or courts or history to decide what happens next. I’ll come find you. One way or another.Regardless of any curse…”

Her fingers slipped from his as she took a small step back. “...but for now, I will become your enemy.” she said softly, her eyes glossing over as she attempted to hold back her emotions.

Reaching into the pocket of her dress she pulled out a handkerchief, it was folded neatly with a Raven embroidered amongst red and black roses. A “V” stitched within the design. It was simple but something she made with her own hands.

Her thumb traced over the stitching as she spoke softly “Perhaps when this is all over, when we both free ourselves from these curses…You can come back here and return this to me. So I know that you're finally free of what haunts you.” Her eyes flicked up with tears as the small wet spots formed on the handkerchief. Violet moved forward, tucking the fabric under his shirt against his chest.

Her hand lingered for a moment, the ring reflecting against the moonlight as she looked back up at him with a reassuring smile.
“I guess…this is it then…

He watched her, listening intently to every word, every unspoken promise, every break in her voice or hitch in her breath. He almost winced at the sound of her voice, at the weight of her words. He knew why they had such an effect on him, why he was even here in the first place. He knew he wouldn’t put himself in this predicament if it weren't true.

But what was it? It had a name he would not admit. Why? Simply because he was afraid. Afraid of the feeling itself? No. He was afraid of what it could bring. The uncertainty, the pain. Death and destruction? Yes, all of it. This was his last chance—perhaps the last one for a very long time.

He looked away from her for a moment. Whether in shame or fear, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t be undecided about this. Removing this curse could get him killed—assuming the process didn't kill him first. And then what? He would have pushed her away so far that there would be nothing left between them.

He placed his hand over his shirt, right where she had placed the cloth. His eyes slowly moved back to hers. The silence sat heavy between them again. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to form the words he so desperately wanted to say. Fear held his tongue, until he finally made his decision and silenced every doubting voice in his head.

“Fuck it,” he whispered.

He stepped closer to her. He placed one hand on her waist and cupped the side of her face with the other. His heart was pounding, adrenaline flaring through his veins. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Violet,” he whispered through the thunder in his chest. “No lies, no manipulations… You scare me—not for who or what you are, but for what you can do to me. For what this burning in my soul means.” He remembered this feeling; one he thought he had buried long ago. He just had to name it. “I'll come back to you again, and then we can fight this world together. Just promise me: until I'm free, show me your safe. Don’t hesitate, whether it be with words or steel.”
He paused again. His heart hadn’t slowed; if anything, it beat stronger now. He could tell her. He had to. He must.

“Violet… I lo-”

Violet’s hand gently rested against his mouth, stopping the word before it could exist between them. A single tear slipped free, tracing a quiet path down her cheek as her breath trembled.

“Shhh…” she whispered, barely sound at all. The cold night air closed in around them.
Her thumb brushed his lower lip, slow, reverent,before retreating, as though even that small touch risked undoing her resolve. She leaned into him more, continuing to rest her forehead against his, eyes closed, breathing him in like a memory she knew she would one day ache for.

The Silence between them grew in comfort.

“Don’t,” she murmured softly, her voice breaking despite her efforts to keep it steady. “Not because it isn’t true… but because if you say it now, I won’t be strong enough to let you go.” The words struggled to leave her lips.

Her fingers curled lightly into his shirt, not pulling him closer, just anchoring herself. His feelings pressed against her like heat, like gravity, and for a moment she allowed herself to exist inside it—to feel chosen, wanted, human.

“I see your words…” Violet continued, her voice low, raw. “I’ve felt it every time you look at me...” She swallowed hard. “But it isn’t just words. It’s timing. And fate has never been kind to either of us.”

“If you say it now,” she whispered, “it becomes a promise I will keep… and a hope I can’t afford.”

“So let this moment be what it is,” Violet said, brushing her thumb gently against his cheek. ”For once,” Violet said softly, “let’s not sharpen this into something that can cut us later.”

“I don’t want to be the weapon they use that costs you your life Roman.”

He couldn’t speak. His heart was pounding, yet it felt like his stomach had dropped out from under him. So he listened. He just listened to every spoken word and held onto it. She was right; it was there—unspoken, but real. He could feel that thread between them. And so, unspoken it would remain.

When he tried to speak again, he found that nothing came out. Instead, a wave of heat and nausea flooded his skull. He blinked, stumbling back from her. The potion was wearing off. He was out of time.

The sudden change made Violet gasp as she braced herself against the balcony. Like something was being ripped from her, her breath catching.

There was a hint of desperation in his voice, a shudder in his chest. “What comes next is not my design. But I will carry it out.” This was not part of why he came here, but it might as well have been. “My mission is to protect my home, my people. From those that would spread their corruption. That sickness comes from here—this kingdom, this city.” He couldn’t tell her everything. She was too close to them.

“So please, promise me you won't hesitate. Don’t defend me. Don’t give them a reason to suspect you. Don’t—” She took a step forward, her hand reaching out but he crumbled.

His knees hit the floor, and he just barely caught himself with his hands. A hard cough racked his body, dripping crimson onto the floor. Blood…Her hunger roared as the scent hit her, her fingers clenched drawing her hand to her chest.

With a shaky breath, he stood, somehow feeling smaller before her like this. He stumbled back against the balcony railing. “My time is up. I have to go, or I'll never leave.” Her feet slipped through the blood, slick and warm, and she nearly fell into him. She didn’t stop herself. She rose onto her toes, hands already on his face, breath stuttering against his mouth. There was no time to think,only the pull, sudden and fierce, as she kissed him.

His blood was still on his lips. The taste hit her like a spark, and her fangs throbbed, aching, demanding. Need surged hot and frantic through her chest. She pressed closer, held the kiss a heartbeat longer than what was safe. She forced the hunger down with a trembling breath, clinging to him as if letting go would mean losing herself entirely.

...and that's exactly what it meant

”...Goodbye, Roman.” Her voice faded off into the distance as if caught by the wind.

Leaving only Roman there…

Alone.

---

Starry Night ball

Location: Grand Ballroom

For a room of such size and opulence, this ‘Grand Ballroom’ was terribly stuffy. Perhaps it was a lack of airflow or the masses of conversing nobles, or that lingering spice to the air of some improperly prepared food.

Fareed was a man alone in a sea of faces, merely waiting and observing near the table of Alidasht delicacies. Not eating, watching. Amber eyes scanning across crowds, lingering on the foolish display being enacted by Munir as he seemingly flirts with yet another woman. All he can hope is that his sibling does not cause another incident or require him to step in and stop another rightfully scorned lady from stabbing the playboy. Ranyas talks of her brothers possibly manipulated mind seem to not have ground, but it would be remiss of Fareed to dismiss them outright. That rake of a sibling had been out of sight for far too long to not have fallen into some deception as he is wont to.

Regardless of possible plots, this was not an event a man such as Fareed could merely relax at. No matter what his dear siblings asked of him. The only reason he was here was to keep an eye upon that flirting fool over there and because many of them promised to attend shortly after his arrival.

Lies, most of them. Fareed was long used to them trying to deceive his wit to get him to relax, but sometimes it is a plot he must go along with. In truth he had little doubts many would be along any time soon if at all.

So he stands as a statue, watchful gaze silently seiving though these attendants.

Captain Stratya Durmand

Time: 10th Ignis, Evening
Location: Castle Ballroom
Interactions: King Edin, @Remram Askel
Mentions:

She was not looking forward to this. She should be at home, mourning.

The harold announced

“Her Excellence, Knight Captain Stratya Durmand,”

and she entered. Must be Garcian, again. While she resisted the formalities, he pushed. Military dress boots crossed the precipice and stood long enough to be seen before proceeding into the ballroom proper. She must be flawless. Perfect. Demonstrate her continued worth to the Crown. Her accolades decorated her lapel. For the Kingdom and its People, she would partake in this facade, if only for the chance at opportunity.

Promptly, she approached the Crown, her gaze mostly flicking between Wulfric and Auguste as she did, before it finally settled on the King as she came to stand before him. She stood at attention, posture inscrutable. She just had to address the King. Correctly.

“My Liege.”

He hadn’t even shown up for her knighting. Queen Alibeth had knighted her.

“Trruly, the rrealm is guided tae peace underr yerr diligen’ ‘and. The faverr o’ t’ Gods trruly finds us thrrough you, Yerr Majesty.”

His diligence stemmed from the necessity brought about by his now-absent wife.

She certainly didn’t want to stay beneath his gaze for long, she’d seen the eyes he gave women, even when he had a wife. … That wasn’t something she wanted to think about right now.

“I am thankful ferr t’ opporrtuni’y tae parrtake of the grreat boun’y afforrded us by t’ Gods and yerr rrule. May prrosperri’y rreign o’er t’ Kingdom. Gods bless Caesonia.”

Gods, that had been harder than she thought it was going to be. Speaking so falsely was trying for her. At least the food would be good. She offered a bow with her conclusion and turned with a sharp pivot. She went to find herself a glass of.. anything. Wine? Fine. She drank it too quickly, though she stopped herself from downing it in one breath.

It was then she noticed she’d come to stand next to Askel. She made a small noise as she turned her head to see him as though he’d materialized. “_Askel.” This was not how she would have wanted her new friend to see her. Her expression whinged, “_{ooh, rreyt, yerr a-,}” as though a switch were flipped, she remembered where she was and slipped the mask back on, “Prrince Askel, so good tae see you again.” Her eyes glanced toward the King for an instant.

Knight Captain Stratya Durmand was in a very tough position.

“I..” Already her mask cracked, “hope t’ day’s even’s ‘ave nae been too trroubling?” Was that all she could think to talk about?! Her voice withered at the end, followed by the rest of her wine.

Location: Grand Ballroom
Attire: Attire: Starry Night Attire
Interactions: @Redking0380 Fareed

---

So, this was what a king chosen by holy decree was like. If there was an argument for atheism, it was sitting upon a throne for no just and all-knowing beings would have picked a poor specimen such as King Edin. Magnus could barely fathom the kind of barbarism, the willingness for violence even against your own family, and then have it be applauded by the masses. How could his own family even be willing to breathe the same air as the man let alone sit next to him? The very thought of being in the presence of a man who murdered his wife, their own mother, would have made him sick with rage.

But this was business, as awful as it was to say. Witches get burnt at the stake if they're caught. It was a reminder to stay vigilant, especially with ever growing presence of Witch Hunters in Sorian. All he needed was to lay low and make sure that his siblings had some fun despite their situation, especially Nora. Of all the people that he hoped to gain something from this absurd venture, he hoped for her to make the most of their time in Caesonia. She deserved it.

Magnus had accepted a glass of some sort of sparkling rosé and hung back to watch the people dance. Try as he might, it was quite hard for him to blend into the background. He stood over people like a wall of muscle, imposing and yet elegant in his blue jacket with golden filigree stitched into it.

A bored sigh passed his lips. If he was going to be here, then at least he should sample some of the foreign foods. The spices of the Alidasht cuisine were quite enticing, a collection of various spices and foods that he was unfamiliar with and yet, wetted the appetite. What awaited him at the table, was, well, a giant. When was the last time had he needed to look up at anyone? The man certainly looked less than pleased for some reason.

Magnus followed his line of sight and saw that Nora was speaking to a man, an Alidasht delegate likely. With a polite clearing of his throat to get the man's attention. "Pardon me, I couldn't help, but to notice your... disapproval of that man over there speaking to my sister. Should I be concerned?"

color:ffce00
-Grand Ball Room-
-outfit-
-Interaction: @HylianRose Nora-

Munir stood back up, squaring his shoulders, when Nora took his hand. He decided to move past his blunder immediately, not to not dwell on it.

"The pleasure is mine... Moonear?"

A smile appeared on Munir's face, beneath his veil. He has never heard his name pronounced like that. "My lady. That is a wonderful accent. A most interesting one, I must say. Moonear is just how I would like my name to be pronounced. I'm sure they announced your arrival and said your name. But. If I may be so daring. Please introduce yourself, so I may learn your name and commit it to memory."

Munir released her hand and stepped back, allowing the appropriate amount of space. "And if I may, again, be so bold, the dress you have chosen tonight. It is simply radiant. I cannot help but notice you." Munir said softly. In his mind, he had hoped to be her first dance of the evening. But he did not ask. As there was no dancing amongst the attendees yet.

The Munir of old would have certainly simply taken her hand and walked into the dance floor, without regards to her desires. But, after the events that had transpired, Munir has learned to keep distance. To keep his armor on.

---

Starry Night ball

Location: Grand Ballroom

. "Pardon me, I couldn't help, but to notice your... disapproval of that man over there speaking to my sister. Should I be concerned?"

The man who approached was one of sturdy build, one who had the smell of oil amongst them to match that steely look in his eyes as his neck craned.

”Not so much disapproval as worry. Munir is a man with far too much heart to give and a mind too slippery to realize not all should hold it.

He turns back to the wayward brother, noting as he prances round like a bird with less rhythm.

”I would think you would have more disapproval for one who courts your sister, less so question a watcher of their ceremony.”