enmuni

Camp Athens - Closed

Popping in here to express my interest publicly—currently gunning for a daughter of Zeus!

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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Seluna Temple

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Up and away Elara crept, as Ramona continued her prayer. Though Ramona registered it in the moment, she scarcely paid it much attention…until the door cracked open again as she concluded her prayer.

Prince and Princess had come, and here she was, the fool who stayed. Had Elara known? Surely, that reassuring nod was not simply a trap set for an unsuspecting servant. No, it felt too strange, and as Ramona clung to the ground for a moment longer, she could feel—or rather—remember the feeling. Elara had not quite fled, no. She was somewhere around, perhaps anticipating the interruption to her prayer and having fled just before the danger arrived. And that was not an instinct that one could blame her for. Especially not as she was so recognizable, so dear to a Princess who she was conspicuously not in the company of.

Ramona stayed prostrate before the shrine, keeping her hands pressed firmly to the cold stone as she felt and listened. For a moment, she could not help but imagine that this odd perk of the blight she now enjoyed might have best suited Elara. The Princess, for whatever reason, had mastered not navigating the world with presence, but rather a shocking absence of it. She could drift through the world as a ghost, just as well as the most talented and unobtrusive of the world’s servants. And yet it was a Princess who managed to move with this frightful silence, slipping across life without even the ripples that a small insect might have left on water. With the clarity of an unnatural sense, Ramona knew the difference between Amaya’s careful footsteps and those of a timid servant. If there was little enough disturbance to allow them to shine through, the servant would offer a rehearsed restraint, one bound to the place for which it was intended. But the Princess? She walked as if she knew no other way but to fade into the background, as if it was something she knew as intimately as Seluna knew the night.

Ramona pressed her arms to the stone as well, feeling for the Princess’ movements to the best of her ability. The Aurelian Prince was easy. His stance sent clear ripples through the ground, the stance of a man who really was doing his level best to suggest that he was meant to be standing there, regardless of how certain he actually was. It was less consistent in precisely how he stood, but it was always fairly clear. The Princess needed all her attention if her stance was to be discerned through the ripples in the ground. It was like trying to pick out a creaking chair in a loud tavern.

Finally, Ramona bent forward a bit more, lifting her arms from the stone so she could look under herself. She’d have to collect the wax later. Everyone was looking away; now was the time to disappear.

‘Damnit.’

She couldn’t leave the handmaiden here. Had she ever properly snuck out? Did she know to? Did she want to? But her look—that look they’d shared—damnit, she definitely wasn’t meant to be here either. At least not like this.

In the spur of the moment, Ramona rose quickly and quietly, and slipped in the direction she’d felt Elara’s footsteps. Her flipped-back veil fell down and rested on her nose, not covering her entire face as it was meant to, but still covering her eyes. She shuffled into the corridor, out of sight to the others, and crouched, pressing her hand to the ground.

She was getting the sense that Elara was definitely still here. And definitely not doing well. Was she that frightened of being caught doing something other than whatever errand she must have put off to do this?

Ramona stood, and crept along the corridor, pressing her hand to each new column to keep tabs on the unmistakable feeling of someone being altogether too nervous.

As she approached the room Elara had hidden herself in, Ramona removed her shawl, preparing to offer it to Elara to hide her striking locks and facilitate a quiet, easy escape. In the dim moonlight, Ramona’s bare, pallid skin glistened as if she had just wiped away the sweat of a fever.

Without saying a word, Ramona stood there, shawl in hand, and knocked on the threshold to get Elara’s attention. She cocked her head, offering Elara the sort of awkward, tight-lipped expression somewhere between a gentle smile and hesitant grimace that one is apt to offer when offering help to someone that one imagines one ought to know better than one in fact happens to. And she held the shawl forward, trying to silently convey the sentiment of, ‘Will this help?’

Interactions
Elara @Qia
Mentions
Amaya @c3p-0h, Flynn @The Muse

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Joséphine B. L’Hôte

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As M. Herbachet offered his praises, Joséphine shook her head graciously and offered a bashful-seeming smile. Perhaps her hard work was worth some measure of recognition, but one would scarcely be decent to acknowledge it readily.

« M. Herbachet, you are entirely too kind; » she responded, « It is but a pursuit of joy! »

And no sooner had Joséphine taken her seat than another fellow rose to join the string of introductions. And an Englishman no less! It certainly begged the question: How far had the heirs to these old estates scattered as to see some of their closest heirs in the New World and perfidious Albion? Joséphine allowed herself a small exhalation of amusement at the thought, before returning her attention to the matter at hand. It felt a bit mean, really, but a part of her felt some measure of worry that another English-speaker here would see her mistakenly lumped in with the Anglophones. Not that there was any great fault with being a native speaker of English, but it often came tied with some implication of foreignness that bore little resemblance to her own reality.

The exposition! A wistful smile settled onto Joséphine’s face as she recalled the Panorama du Tour du Monde in some detail. It had been just the perfect time to visit shortly after the summer’s head had died down. Certainly some of her peers had insisted on going sooner, but by the time Joséphine herself had made her way to Paris to visit, the exhibits were all actually complete, the little difficulties of performances had been all but worked out, and the biggest influx of visitors had already seen all they’d desired to see. Not many of her friends had actually waited to go with her when she’d made plans to go, but the few that did had largely agreed that it was well worth the wait. Joséphine could scarcely recall a more perfectly-appointed, perfectly-executed trip than that. But of course, all the impatient and disorderly sorts had weeded themselves out by that time anyway…

…

How the time had flown! Before Joséphine knew it, the day had been spent, and it was time to retire for the day, being that there was an absence of other plans. L’Hôtel Saint-Pierre was a lovely accommodation, no doubt, but Joséphine found herself scarcely inclined to make a great fuss about the entire matter. Rather, after a quiet, brief supper, she found the good sense to keep up with her routine of reading, and delved right into her second rereading of her professor’s book, Précis de Grammaire Historique de la Langue Française...

…

Joséphine awoke with a start. Having dozed off in her chair while reading, as she had found herself apt to do on many other occasions, it was at first no surprise to awaken to a still-lit room, while fully dressed. No, the surprise was a smell. A ghastly, vile smell. As Joséphine fumbled with her book, slowly creeping into consciousness, she held a hand to her mouth, her half-awake brain fumbling for some sort of explanation for the odd experience.

But things were going so well! It only figures that something would have died in the walls tonight… she grimaced, recalling many such similar instances where the depths of the summer heat had transformed some unsuspecting vermin into a most abominable attack on the senses that could only be remedied with a thorough scouring of the spaces between the habitable areas to find the offending corpse.

Her bleary eyes drifted idly past the lovely vase and its flower arrangement as she contemplated the inconvenient turn of the evening. With her yet-unopened luggage in tow, and an eye on the time, Joséphine made her way to the lobby to inform the good people working the hotel of their unfortunate lot, and to request another room. Of course, it was only her luck that there was no such opportunity to find a new room, and so she made herself comfortable in the lobby for a spell to await daytime. Hopefully, the others would not have had such an unfortunate night! If nothing else, she’d get ahead on her reading, and could perhaps catch up on the lost sleep come the train ride back to Lyon.

…

That had been the plan, anyway. Joséphine simply couldn’t find herself able to return to her reading in such a public space, even with as quiet as the hour had left it. At a certain point, as the sun made its presence known past the windows, it became quite apparent that rereading every line thrice and then jumping back a page was simply untenable if she truly desired to actually read the book. A certain thought kept coming back, made entirely more vivid at the striking sensation of the cool morning air. This was not the sort of place—the sort of environment—where one might expect that old rot to take root so readily. In New Orleans, along the Gulf Coast, and so forth—in these places, certainly, it was a fact of life, something to be navigated around, most of all during the summer. But in the springtime, in a place doused in the cool, even weather of the Atlantic? It really felt more unexpected the more Joséphine mulled over her own explanation.

Ah, this entire matter was making an affair of itself. There was no need to ruminate on it. Joséphine left a note with her room key, and resolved to make her way to M. Herbachet’s office.

Hopefully, whatever it was Aunt Julie had been speaking of all those years ago bore little in common with the matters at hand today. Then again, wasn’t it strange that she’d been called here instead of her father? Perhaps M. Herbachet hadn’t wanted to trouble someone an ocean away with such things as this when his very own daughter was so much closer. But really, he could have sent a telegram or something; it wasn’t as if it were an exorbitant expense. And father would have sent his own message to her on the subject. Evidently, none of that had happened…

And things were getting stranger still. Joséphine gripped her luggage tightly as she came to find the Sœur raising quite a fuss. At the Sœur’s insistence, Joséphine only offered a restrained comment of, « But it is rather early all the same. »

Of course, Joséphine found it increasingly difficult to offer some account for the situation at hand as the man attending to the notary’s former office presented the facts as they were. Joséphine clasped the bridge of her nose at the implication that M. Herbachet had scammed them. She slipped the ring from her finger and quietly slipped it into her leather handbag. When she returned to Lyon, she’d need to have the gem and the metal appraised, for fear it was but a trinket.

« Yes, I suppose there’s nothing else to be done, » Joséphine agreed, shifting her carpet-bag up her right arm in anticipation of the rush ahead of them, « If any of you gentlemen are any more suited to running, I wouldn’t imagine it unwise that you might run ahead of those of us less athletically inclined… »

…

Joséphine let out a sudden, pained wheeze as the effects of the mysterious barrier overcame her. One hand pressed tightly to her chest as she took in low, shallow breaths, Joséphine slowly righted herself and began to carefully dust off where her knees had pressed her dress into the ground. Looking at how scruffed-up the palms of her kid-gloves were, Joséphine quietly slid one of them off and reached into her carpet-bag, in hopes that she’d had the good sense to pack the spare near the top of her clothes. As she did so, she set her eyes on the babbling Sœur and sighed.

« Sœur… Bisson, was it? » she began, closing the gap between the two of them even while still fumbling for her new gloves, « Seeing as this…rather…unnerving occurrence has seen to it that we’ve thoroughly missed any chance of catching M. Herbachet, might I suggest we find some small café to have a bit to eat, settle ourselves, and determine a course of action regarding contacting and perhaps engaging in any necessary litigation around this troublesome affair? »

Having found her fresh gloves, Joséphine slipped one on without doing-up the buttons, removed her other sullied glove inside the bag, and did the same with the other, turning both old gloves inside out so as to avoid getting dirt on what in her bag was still clean. Joséphine did up the last button on one of the gloves to secure it well enough, and offered a hand to Sœur Bisson as she concluded her statement.

Interactions:
@Olive Fontaine, @BurningCold, @Ducksworth

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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Seluna Temple

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Initially, Ramona offered Katherine no response, no confirmation that she had even heard her at all. From behind her dark mourning veil, her eyes remained, dimmed by yet still piercing in their cerulean shine despite the fabric, fixed in the direction of Elara. Her mouth remained small, restrained to a neutral expression even as her rigid stance suggested anything but a lack of sentiment. And yet, Elara looked back, offering not a suggestion by her looks that she was any more supposed to be here than Ramona herself was. Elara seemed pensive, more pensive than Ramona herself had meant to muster the look of. And yet, it held behind it some shadow, some flicker of disapproval—but not directed at all where Ramona expected it to be. For Elara offered not a scowl, not any sort of expression that suggested Ramona leave or avert her gaze, but a little nod. Ramona returned a tight-lipped smile to Elara, at once offering a silent thanks and reciprocating the sentiment.

Suddenly, an owl swept in, and like a fearful little creature, Ramona flinched sharply, pulling her cloak ever-tighter around herself as she did, as if the bird were creating a frightening draft. As she again moved to relax herself, Ramona cast a silent, tired gaze at the owl and its owner with a slight tilt of her head. A quiet, strained sigh escaped her nose as she tried to convince herself that the animal would not ultimately disturb the calm of the temple.

When the priestess offered her welcome, Ramona offered a small bow and murmured, “So be it,” before continuing on her way after Elara. While Elara took the first alcove, Ramona stopped and knelt by the pool. Carefully, she removed her right glove, keeping her hand, already regrowing its webbing bit by bit as it was, close to her body so as to keep it hidden. She dipped two fingers in the frigid water as she lifted her veil with her other hand, bending closer towards the water as she did so. Bringing the wetted fingers to her face, she traced an arc along her forehead, from one eyebrow to the other, from right to left. Then, rewetting her fingers, along her chin, she traced a matching arc from left to right.

She flipped her veil back so it stayed out of her face as she turned to claim the next alcove down from Elara. As Ramona approached the alcove, she removed her other glove, and tucked both gloves into her pouch. At last, she knelt there, and produced from her pouch the three candles that she had packed. In a motion so natural she had no need to look, she set them in a row from largest to smallest, with the largest at the back. Each sat firmly attached to a little metal basin, where she would collect the wax and make new candles from the used wax. Taking the largest candle in hand, she rose again, bringing to the nearest candle in the temple to light it.

Ramona brought the candle back to its place in the row at the alcove, and bent forward as she knelt, until her forehead came to rest before the candles. There, she let herself sit in silence for a moment, before lifting her head again. She gazed into the flame, completely still, completely silent, until at last, from deep within her, she began to softly hum. Though it was not loud or forceful enough to echo, it was audible all the same, for how she had to force it out past her resistant vocal chords.

As she completed the song, she redoubled as she moved to light the second candle from the first, beginning to sing softly. Her voice, as it always did, crackled as though she had been crying just before, as though tears had been shed and she was singing through them, even though she was not yet, not today, in any such way. As Ramona slowly sung, she rocked back and forth on her knees, nodding her head forward and holding her hands to her chest.

“Youthful years, oh sweet youthful years,
You stay alive, here, within my spirit
When I’m thinking of those days,
I feel sad and desolate,
Oh, how soon we’ll all have been forgotten…

That little house, which I remember,
The place where I was born, and was raised
And I see it, my cradle there,
It sits in that same corner,
It seems like a dream so long abandoned…

And my mother, oh, how I have loved her
So too am I mourning now my father
Whenever we clasp our hands
Be we though in distant lands
I am still reminded of their warmth”

Ramona lit the last, smallest candle off of the middle candle as she continued to sing. Still rocking, she reached into her pouch and produced the bread and cheese, and began to break it into pieces. First, she split the bread and cheese into halves, then quarters. She placed a quarter on either side of the largest candle, then broke a third off of each of the remaining two quarters of bread and cheese. She set the thirds on either side of the smallest candle, and the remaining pieces, larger than the smallest ones, but smaller than the largest ones, on either side of the medium candle.

“I remember, little bird, my sweet, now,
I could still kiss your rosy cheeks, now
Your eyes were so full of life
With you, my heart felt no strife
How I’d hoped you’d be forever mine.

Youthful years, when my heart was blooming
Still from my aching hands, you’re fleeing
Now how sorrowful old years,
Mournful, cruel, terrible years,
Sit perched upon your beautiful remains

Youthful years, where have you been hidden?
Family, in life we’ve been unbidden
From this hollow world we’ve fled
Unto the land of the dead
Seluna, guide me when it’s my turn.”

As Ramona finished breaking the bread and cheese, she brought her hands back to her chest, and returned to humming. She rocked vigorously, forcefully, and rhythmically, until concluding her tune. Finally, she scooted back, and bent forward into a deep bow, touching her forehead to the floor.

“Holy Seluna, fair Goddess of the night,” she chanted in a monotone prayer, “Guide me and watch over me and keep me, as I walk in thy light and in the darkness, and grant that I might find and know thee better, in this life and in the next, and that those who come before and who come after alike follow in thy preserving, gentle light. I pray that in this phase and phases to come, that in thy blesséd light, the sacred mysteries of the world might be made plain towards me, that they should not inspire fear or weakness, that I should find within me the strength and the purpose to continue in my labour under thy light, and that within thy peaceful gaze, thou might see me on towards unity with those whom I have seen themselves wane. In this, and in thee, and in thy guiding light, I pray.

So be it”

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Nesna clasped her gloved hands in front of her chest as Nathaniel extolled the virtues of Sagedom. Her ears perked up and her eyes brightened in their glow and widened as he spoke of truths and histories. The smile on her blackened lips wiggled into a deeply eager expression, one which was resisting attempts to stifle it into a more demure composition.

As Sya interrupted, Nesna snapped suddenly to look at her. After a momentary freeze, she offered Sya a polite wave, smile, and nod of acknowledgement.

“I’ve seen to the tea, anyway,” she warmly responded. “I’ve put in an order with…ah, I’ll have to ask him his name again. The Lunarian merchant, anyway. It’s paid for and seen to, and I’ve gotten for us a nice sampling. Greens, dark greens, and reds, as I recall—enough to get a sense of what you most prefer, and how you should prefer them.”

Looking back to Nathaniel as he continued his thought as Sya hurried off to attend to all manner of other things, the same eager expression rapidly overcame her. The hand she’d used to wave to Sya drifted back inwards, settling by her face as her other hand met it, and they clasped together by her cheek. Her grin faded briefly as he stopped himself from continuing on, settling into a cautious smile, as if hoping that Nathaniel would simply promise it to her in no uncertain terms. Her still-clasped hands slowly lowered from her cheek, down past her chest, settling just underneath, drawn tightly to her.

“It sounds lovely…” she longingly sighed, as if bemoaning that she did not already know exactly of what he spoke. Nesna cocked her head as her eyes narrowed into a more wistful expression, contrasting with the hopeful smile that still sat on her lips.

“Oh, but for to even be a piece of such a thing, I could only dream,” she cooed, “Even if the age to become a proper Sage were passed for me, I could only hope to be of some use as a volunteer. I am used to demands, of course, and demands without reward! But Sagedom, how rewarding is it, indeed?”

Nesna cleared her throat, then continued, shifting to a more sensible, conversational tone, “Never mind all of that. If I could only know, do you ever lie awake at night with thoughts of your work? Or, say, find yourself compelled to stay at your station longer still? I’d always imagined such a thing as happening quite often.”

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71, Sya @PrinceAlexus

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Nesna smiled brightly at Nathaniel’s suggestion that her introduction might have even been suitable for the Aurelian Prince. Perhaps it indeed was, but it needed a bit of work still—stammering and blubbering like a fool in front of royalty of any sort? Surely that would not stand. In some measure, Nesna’s skepticism at the notion might have flickered across her smile, though Nathaniel’s introduction dragged her out of the doubt before there was much time for it to take place.

An Aurelian, he was? And one from their capital, no less? Perhaps this place was, truthfully, more than a little place to banish stubborn princes and blightborn with the nerve to cling to life. How curious. And how inspiring! Nesna’s smile rallied over the course of Nathaniel’s introduction, even as the fact that there may well have been much greater academics than she’d ever aspired to be running the research here already dawned upon her. Was she at all necessary, or even, possibly, at all of use? Perhaps, perhaps not. But more Sages coming from Aurelia still must have been a good sign that something could yet come of all this. And maybe, just maybe, even a cure.

“What a blessing it is. And how auspicious it is that so many have come together to work to fix all of this…” she began.

Wait. He had said he was a Sage, hadn’t he?

“Excuse me for the indiscretion, but you are a Sage, are you not? I fear I’ve been presumptuous.”

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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Royal Residence, at Some Unholy Hour in the Morning

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The overnight lockdown had served Ramona poorly. The routine she’d so carefully assembled was shot. When she first woke from thirst in the middle of the night, she habitually rose from her bed quickly, only to realize that she could not risk going out to do her business, for there would surely be heavy patrols around the royal residence—patrols which might uncover the terrible truth. And a blightborn in the service of a princess of Lunaris? Blightborn in Dawnhaven though there were—her deception was, as she understood, somewhere in the domain of treason. And how could a princess who’d just been attacked by a blightborn then sit idly by after learning a maid was secretly one of the same set of terrors that was rogue?

Ramona looked back to her bed. She was too thirsty not to drink anything, and yet doing so would surely force her to figure something out—something new and therefore, most likely, incredibly risky given the circumstances. With a sigh, Ramona looked at the bucket sitting near her bed. The bucket full of water, which, on a normal night, she would have guzzled half of now and half of on her return from cutting back the influences of the blight. She cupped some of the water in her hands—getting quite a portion for how the webbing was already creeping back up her fingers. It was always the first to return, and the most troublesome to fight back—for it meant she needed a steady flow of bandages to wear under gloves.

Ramona took one sip, and then allowed herself a second. She still felt parched. She descended carefully to the floor and sat cross-legged in front of the bucket. She closed her eyes, rubbed her face, and held back a groan, until it wriggled out from her in the form of a prolonged, strained wheeze. Ramona leaned forward, and splashed her face with the water, rubbing the water in carefully, trailing water to every bit of exposed skin, including that on her neck. Then, she dipped her arms into the bucket, rubbing water into them, and finally repeated the process to make an attempt at moisturizing her legs.

Ramona clasped the little necklace she always wore. The locket was heavily tarnished, as was the chain. Atop the locket sat a ring, which she’d slid along the chain before putting it around her neck after wearing it had become infeasible due to her fingers’ webbing and injuries. Lifting it closer, holding the fist she clasped the locket and ring it to her cheek, Ramona rubbed the little notches along the ring—the marks from the knife after she’d had to cut the ring free of her own hand when the webbing first grew in around it.

Ramona rubbed her other hand on her slip, until it was dry enough that it hurt. She flicked it in the air several times, and then brought the cold, dry hand to her shoulder. While she rubbed her shoulder, she sighed softly, her lips tensing into what could almost be a smile.

“I miss you too,” she murmured.

Ramona sat like that for a time, until the crackling pain of her hand’s dry skin became too much. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stopped breathing. She released her grip on the locket and let it fall back to where it rested on her chest. She plunged her dry hand into the cold water, and sat, breathless, soundless, until the sharp pain began to fade. She clenched that hand and unclenched it slowly, checking to see if it had reabsorbed enough moisture. It needed a bit longer.

Her other hand tensed, bunching up a bit of her slip in her lap. The worst thing about this whole situation was how endlessly frustrating it was. Here she was, alone for the rest of however long it took to force together a dream that was supposed to be shared, plus the time it took to make sure she was dead, and she couldn’t even tell if she was crying unless something else came with the tears that might or might not have existed.

Well, crying did have another helpful indicator. Usually, there was this ominous feeling, and then it felt like being overheated and chaotic and small and helpless all at once. No, this was something more normal—even if it still felt anything but. It was this cold grief, the kind that had crept in behind the tears over the months and replaced that warm messiness with a frigid order. Crying made her want to whimper. This malaise, whatever it specifically was, felt more like breathing was a chore she had yet to get used to it. And that she needed to remind herself to take every next breath—a feeling all the more salient now that she wouldn’t necessarily be reminded by that feeling of breathlessness that once, on the odd occasions she’d felt this way before, shook her out of it. It was like a heavy fog, now sitting in a valley which never got any real wind to clear it away.

After glancing back at her bed, Ramona took more water and rubbed it into her face, until she finally decided to just dunk her face fully in the water. As she let her face sit in the water, she increasingly became gripped by the sinking feeling that she’d gotten all the sleep she was likely to get for the night. Either she’d be thirsty or stuck sitting up for hours doing nothing as her bladder taunted her. No, that was just plain pointless. Just a waste of time, for neither coin nor comfort.

Ramona groaned as she sat back up. May as well mop…

And so, Ramona began the task of getting dressed. Her work clothes themselves weren’t, admittedly, the part made it a task. Rather, it was undergarments. Her night-slip was probably the only comfortable option she had, and yet, it wasn’t worth possibly damaging it with hard work. It wasn’t as if she could go get a new sealskin to make into a new slip. But to keep her skin moist and her clothes dry, that meant alternatives. And the alternative was spectacularly sub-pleasant.

A long-sleeved shift…made of animal intestines. It didn’t smell and was overall a decent article of clothing…to wear over an outfit as a raincoat. Wearing something made of intestine as an undergarment, though? The damned thing clung. It was just always clinging, sticking to slick skin, and for its water-retardant properties offered the rather unenviable sensation that Ramona was swimming in her sleeves. But it was either this or look like she was sweating through her clothes in less than half a day. Which very much wasn’t an option.

So on the shift went, then a second, normal shift, then her customary plain, dark, woolen dress that went to her wrists, ankles, and covered her neck. Then the apron—the only light coloured piece of her outfit. Finally, her headwear. Veil, headscarf, then shawl. Finally, shoes and gloves. Her gloves fit uncomfortably for how her webbing had already begun to creep back up her fingers. If she didn’t take care of it by the next night, it’d be at the first joints in her fingers by the next morning. How grand. Just, grand. Before she left her room, she looked back and pulled some dried ephedra from a container hidden among her things. Today, she had earned some special tea.

Once she closed the door with the plant in hand, Ramona stifled her own groan as she began to review the tasks at hand.

It then occurred to Ramona that since everyone was surely asleep, she could at least have a much easier time of washing than usual, since she could ditch her gloves rather than the awkward way she normally went about it, at least for the first task or two. It was something, anyway. So, then. The dishes were the most trouble with gloves on, so that could come first today, even though it really wouldn’t be necessary until much closer to breakfast for the other servants. In, probably four or five hours.

Once her tea had brewed, Ramona got to it.

Really, without gloves to make the whole task into a complicated affair of carefully directing water magic. And there was something almost pleasant about it, with the warm water and lovely Aurelian soap. It felt peaceful, for a moment. With her hands submerged in the warm water of the basin, rubbing the grease from each plate and piece of cutlery barehanded. Feeling the warmth creep up her arms, it felt almost like she could close her eyes, open them, and be on her way home.

Ramona let herself live the fantasy for a moment. As she fell into the fantastic trance, she quietly, creakily hummed a song to herself for a time. As the task captured more of her attention still, she began to whisper. And at last, quietly, she began to sing its lyrics.

“Come to me, my dear, tomorrow
Without your smile, I have no light
Eyes like stars, bringing me from night
Come the day, we’ll go
We’ll go far from here

All that I want, is written right on your lips
As the Goddess gave to you
To hold in my hands, this blesséd visage
All of my dreams are just of you”

Her voice, unused and unmolested by dust, was not yet so raspy as it was by evening. Perhaps it wasn’t anything to perform, but every lyric slipped from her lips all the same as she fell into the familiar tune from another lifetime.

…

The dishes went by fast. So too did the preparations for the morning meal. Dusting without having to conceal her cough made the entire affair so much easier—and before she knew it, she’d rid everywhere but the bedrooms of ashes from the fireplace, swept, mopped, and cleaned every piece of furniture.

How did singing make it all easier? How did simply pretending all was well make life go by so quickly? What cruel trick was it, that the easiest things went by the fastest? Ramona found herself scrambling to get her gloves back on as the other servants in the house stirred, and found herself smiling as the scullion noticed that even the kitchen was cleaned. Then, an excitement began to grip her. She lit the fires, stripped the servants’ beds, did the laundry, and though she found herself panting, out of breath as she feverishly cleaned the dishes from the servants’ breakfast, she realized she’d managed it. The royals hadn’t yet opened their door, and she was all but done with the chores of the day that could yet be done.

An inconvenience had, for once in a blue moon, become a blessing in disguise.

Quickly, Ramona left a note on the door of her quarters.

‘Woke up early & could not sleep. Began chores early, so I am visiting the Temple to light a candle.

– Ramona’

She wouldn’t have forever, as the royals would surely rise eventually, but for how hectic the day before had been, Ramona hoped she’d have time for a real, proper prayer. Maybe even a blessing.

Slipping out a side door in her heavy cloak, carrying three homemade candles and the bread and cheese she’d been given for breakfast with her in a pouch, Ramona walked with purpose towards the Seluna Temple. Silently, she observed in the distance as someone else entered the temple. Good; she wasn’t too early. Shortly after that woman entered, Ramona herself slipped past the door and closed it quietly. Then, she turned around.

Ramona froze in place as she laid eyes on Elara.

‘Fuck,’ she thought.

The unusual optimism that the morning had accumulated drained immediately as Ramona saw the Princess’ handmaiden at the temple. Her heart sank.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck’

Of course. The bodies. Everyone was probably going to be here soon. Why had she so stupidly thought she could have a quiet moment in the temple?

And why did she think she could sneak away, even just for a bit?

Mentions
Elara @Qia, Katherine @SpicyMeatball

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Nesna nodded softly at Nathaniel’s observation.

“I’ve only just arrived last night,” she affirmed. Her black lips formed a restrained smile as Nathaniel expressed his gratitude for her presence. It felt odd to hear such a thing. Evidently Nathaniel must have recognized it himself, for before her expression managed to change to show the mixed sentiments the thoughts had inspired in her, he moved to ask directly: Why?

Her expression settled into her rather indiscernible, vaguely melancholic resting face as she retreated inwards. She inhaled softly, her lips producing a small click as she moved to speak, only to close her mouth again, furrowing her brow, as the salience of the question quickly revealed itself to her. Why had she wanted to be a Sage, back before all of this? Magic had this fascinating, gripping mystery about it. It was powerful, and yet made such little sense. Yes, there had to be rules to it, and yet they were entirely different to the rest of the world in so many ways. Magic could change, transmute, make things that weren’t there, move things from afar, infiltrate the most sacred recesses of the mind—all sorts of things that regular tools had no capacity for. Nesna had always been entranced by rules, compelled by some desire she herself could not rightly ascertain the source of to follow even the most evidently ridiculous of them, simply because the rules were the rules. Rarely did anything feel more alien and dreadful than to breach some yet unknown rule. And the cosmos had rules—rules that could be followed effortlessly because they were not choices. And so too did magic, but in no respect did people yet understand all of the rules of the world. Rules, rules, rules—they were where things made sense, and finding a new rule made the world make just a bit more sense.

But why not go into law?

Law was the rules of men—rules whose reasons could endlessly be questioned and whose confines could be endlessly quibbled. If the world had a rule, however, that was simply the rule. That was that, and the only questions were what other rules there were.

As these thoughts ran through Nesna’s mind, she tensed her mouth, realizing how the matter might sound patently absurd. Or possibly induce a philosophical discussion in a tavern—which would just feel absurd!

“It’s…well I suppose it’s simply that I’d always imagined I’d work to become a Sage, or at least some manner of scholar,” she offered. She bobbed her head from side to side indecisively, before continuing, “It’s…a hard question, only in that it’s—well—it’s a silly thing, I suppose, but I’d for the longest time banished the very idea of being a Sage from my mind. After all, of what worth am I in such a sorry state? And Mother had already conducted my funeral by the time the thought crossed my mind once again…”

Nesna sighed and shook her head as she trailed off. Her ears perked up, and her eyes glowed a bit more brightly.

“But never mind that. It’s an old dream of mine that I’ve only recently had the notion I could ever even aspire to approach once again.”

As she prepared to speak on Nathaniel’s second point, Nesna drew her hand to her cheek slowly. Her eyes dulled in their glow, and her ears slumped.

“What else am I to do, though? All I’ve spent six years doing is hunting and cloistering myself with whatever book I could sneak from the family library that week. It—it, heh, it took the blight seeping into the home itself to oust me from my little rat-hole!” Nesna’s hand moved to her hair when she let out her small, forced laugh.

“I used to write stories about myself just to pass the time. But now…it’s here. It’s almost real…” There she was, all but talking to herself more so than to Nathaniel. She caught herself and paused, bringing her hand back down. She cleared her throat, and continued.

“But I digress. I wish to be of some use in my life, or, I suppose, whatever one might call this state I’m in. Even if I don’t end up being of much worth, I should hope I might at least make a halfway decent scribe—and I suppose, be able to tell myself that I tried whenever that final death comes. Tried to live out a shadow of what my former purpose might have been…”

Nesna tightened her lips, almost frustrated with herself.

“Pardon me. I’m what one might call a melancholic sort. And still returning to the land of the living, so to speak. I’m…heh,”—she let out a more sincere-sounding laugh than the previous one—“only on my second day of conversation in six years! I do hope I’m not that out of practice!”

Nesna closed her eyes and let out another laugh as she brought her fist to her mouth for a moment.

“And I realize once again, I’ve neglected even to introduce myself! Oh, how I really am out of practice indeed!”

Nesna offered a deep curtsey to Nathaniel, saying “Please, it is a pleasure to meet a Sage. You may call me Nesna.”

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Nesna’s ears perked up sharply as she spun on her heel to face the man who’d spoken to her.

“I—I…” she began. She wanted to offer a simple response, and yet that simple response escaped her for the moment. She squinted slightly to bring Nathaniel into focus for her four eyes, and let out a small sound.

He was so polite. How many dashing, valiant-looking men did this damned town have, and why hadn’t the Goddess had the decency to force her here earlier? Her eyes widened and their glow brightened faintly as she took a step towards him and took him in fully. Her cheeks darkened from her black blood as she blushed at her own thoughts. She nodded slowly, and finally stumbled into concluding her response.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

An odd way of putting it, but it wasn’t as if there was a way to redo the whole little show anyway. Nesna squeezed her eyes into a tight blink and then pulled herself together.

“Of course, yes—what am I saying? I’m no Sage—alas, I never had the opportunity to pursue it formally. On account of the…condition I find myself in.”

Trailing off, she pulled her mouth into a tight-lipped smile, and gestured to herself briefly, as if to attempt to reference herself being a blightborn without actually saying the word. Her ears slumped and her brow furrowed as she did so, further making clear her deep dislike for the fact.

“But I’ve always been an avid learner, so I hoped I might be of some worth in some way despite this deficiency. Whyever do you ask?”

Nesna looked at him with wide, eager eyes and cocked her head.

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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“I see, I see,” Nesna replied. After a brief pause, she rose from her seat.

“If I am to become a sage, I can ill afford to timidly aspire to it. Milord, Milady, thank you for your counsel. I will not seek to consume any more of your time on this matter, and so I shall take my leave”

With a second, parting curtsey, Nesna moved to leave and determine her next course of action…

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus