princess

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: A hut in the Oruna Tribe Village when she was a small child🍄

Music

The forest had been watching her long before she opened her eyes.

The shadows of the canopy danced across the child’s face as the sunlight spilled into the hut in rays. Light shimmered like rippling water along the walls, gliding through the bark and vine that made up the shelter’s frame. Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden rays like hundreds of tiny spirits suspended in the still morning air. The scent of damp earth filled the hut, mingling with pine.

Her lashes fluttered, amber eyes catching the sun as they blinked open. The child gripped the blanket at her chest for comfort as she stared up at the ceiling above her; her gaze was unfocused, dazed, as if relearning how to see. When she turned her head, the blanket rustled, and a faint jingle sounded at her neck. Her small fingers rose hesitantly to touch a pendant resting at her chest over the cloth of her dress: a small amulet set with a dull lavender stone.

For a long moment, she lay still.

She listened to the sound of the birds calling from far above, the distant hum of insects, the crackle of a fire somewhere outside the hut. The scattered giggling of children just nearby.

The girl then pressed her small hands into the rough fabric beneath her. It wasn’t a bed, not really. More like bundled hides and moss. Though it was soft, it was unfamiliar to the child. Her fingertips traced the faint stitching as the sound of laughter grew nearer… and just stopped completely. The sound of shuffling and whispers replaced it, from just beyond the doorway.

She turned her head toward the light, squinting against the golden glow, and saw movement that was fleeting at first. Then, slowly, the shapes came into focus: small silhouettes gathered just outside the hut as their little pairs of eyes peered over the edge of the door.

They stood half-hidden by the crooked frame and the vines that curtained it, staring in as though the slightest noise might send her back into slumber. Sunlight caught their hair: wild and tousled like the fur of woodland creatures. From the tops of their heads twitched soft, furred ears that flicked at every whisper between them.

One of the smallest children leaned forward, his bare feet padding against the earth until he reached the threshold. He had tawny brown hair and narrow little eyes as he peered inside, nose wrinkling in curiosity,

Another answered with a hush and a tug on his arm.

But then another appeared behind them… and another.. until half a dozen little faces were crowding the doorway, eyes wide and curious.

Inside, the bedded child drew the blanket closer beneath her chin as a breeze drifted through the hut, stirring her long hair. It drifted back behind her longer than any they had seen, even among the adults. She blinked back at them, her gaze still heavy with sleep.

The smallest child was the first to break away from the threshold. His bare toes curled in the dirt before he finally took a cautious step inside. The others gasped softly but didn’t stop him; they only watched as he crept closer, one hesitant foot after another, until he stood a few paces from her bed.

Then, slowly, he lifted one hand and pointed to the top of his own head, where two small, furred ears twitched at the motion. He finally asked with a puzzled frown. “Why… are your ears so low?”

She simply stared at him, as if she could not comprehend quite what he was saying. The words had reached her slowly, as if they had been underwater.

He pinched the tip of his own ear between his fingers and gave it a little wiggle.

“Eaaars…”

The word was sounded out slowly, as though he was teaching it to her. Then, emboldened by her silence, he took a small step closer, and another. Before any of the others could stop him, he leaned in and reached out with both hands toward her head.
““See? You got them too—just lower!”

His fingers brushed the soft curve of her ear. His nose wrinkled once more.

“Eugh! They’re so smooth! Did you… did you shave them?”

Phia flinched, a startled sound catching in her throat, then she shrank back beneath the blanket, clutching it over her face. The movement sent the children scattering with gasps and laughter, both delighted and startled at her reaction. Then, from behind the group, a taller girl stepped forward. She couldn’t have been more than twelve, but the way the others shifted aside made it clear she was their leader. Her hair was dark and braided with tiny wooden beads, and her ears twitched once before settling.

“Hey,” she said softly, glancing back at the boy. “Don’t you remember how she looked when she came here? You’d be scared, too. Who knows what she’s been through?”

The boy’s shoulders slumped, and he stared down at his dusty feet.

The older girl’s tone softened even more as she turned her gaze to the girl. She crouched so they were closer to eye level as she peered over the blanket at her. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “We don’t mean to scare you. Do you… have a name?”

She blinked. Her lips parted, but no sound came, only a faint, uncertain breath. “Name…”

“What do others call you…?” The dark-haired girl touched her chest and smiled encouragingly. “I am Dawn.”

The girl furrowed her brows in concentration. She stared past the older girl, past the doorway and the sunlight, as if something inside her had turned toward a place only she could see.

Voices echoed in her head, vaguely familiar.

“Ophelia always bosses me around—!”
“Play with me, Ophelia!—”
“Hold still, Ophelia—please—”

The sounds fluttered through her mind, slipping away before she could hold them.

“Oh…"

Her brow furrowed harder, and she tried again, forcing the fragments out through her shaking lips.

“Ph… ia…”

The syllables faltered, falling apart in the air.

The older girl subsequently leaned closer, searching her face. “Phia?” she asked softly, misunderstanding. “Your name’s Phia?”

The child blinked, her breath hitching. The name wasn’t exactly right. She could feel that in her chest. But it didn’t hurt when she heard it.

“Phia…” she echoed.

The older girl smiled. “Phia,” she repeated warmly. “That’s a good name.”

And the younger children, as if sealing it, began to whisper it to each other in awe.

“Phia… Phia…”

A smaller child, barely old enough to speak clearly, piped up from the doorway.

“And how come you sleep so long? You SLEEEP!" He raised his voice to emphasize, throwing his arms up in the air, “For days and days!” The others quickly turned to shush him as laughter erupted through the hut.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

The scent of sea salt and varnish mingles with something faintly sweet—like rum and mischief.
Shelves bow under the weight of curios and clutter: mismatched jewelry, bottles of colored glass, a few well-loved weapons, and a rack of fine coats and boots that might once have belonged to someone still looking for them.

A flash of gold draws your attention—a grin first, then the earring that glints with it.
Taren “Lucky” Voss leans against the counter, sun-browned skin and rolled-up sleeves showing a compass tattoo half-hidden beneath a leather bracelet. His sandy hair’s tied back with a teal ribbon, and his eyes are bright with the kind of trouble that always sounds like a good idea.

“Careful where you step, sweetheart,” he says with a lazy smile. “Half this lot’s cursed, the other half’s stolen—and I’m not saying which is which.” He then laughed, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “ Just kidding... Probably. Anyway, I haven't seen you before. Just so you know, we receive new stock daily, and most of this merchandise sells out by the end of the day."

He pushes off the counter and circles you once, half-admiring, half-appraising.
“You’ve got the look of someone about to make a terrible decision. Lucky for you, I make my living off those.”

He gestures broadly to the shelves.
“Everything here’s got a story. Some true, some better when they’re not. What’ll it be today, captain—bargains, beauty, or trouble?”

You get the feeling that whatever you choose, he’ll sell it to you with a grin and a wink—and you’ll walk away wondering who really made the deal.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

The moment you step beneath the tattered awnings of Port Verge’s Market District, the air thickens with salt, smoke, and sizzling oil. Stalls crowd together like drunken sailors, their tables piled high with trinkets, wriggling fish, and maps that promise more lies than truth. Voices clash over the clang of hammers and the hiss of frying pans, as if the market itself had composed its own symphony.

The scent of roasted crab mingles with spilled rum on hot cobblestone. And somewhere ahead, a skillet smacks against a counter, followed by a gravelly bark of laughter.

- The Salty Squid Skillet

- Odds and Ends

- The Siren's Flasks

- Steel and Stone

- The Seaside Tailor

- The Treasure Trove

- Madam Zarra's

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bathroom🍄
🍃 Interactions: Menzai@Samreaper Minerva@FunnyGuy Bastion/Pirates @Oso Arya @Potter Meiyu @Tae 🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna
✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals
✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 60 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Phia is weary, weak, and achy, but better rested than before. 🌸

” What grand ambition does he hold to sway so many to his hidden kingdom?”

Menzai always has good questions.

Phia tapped her bottom lip, head tilted as her eyes flicked toward the sea’s horizon. It makes more sense that we’d be the ones seeking this prince, not the other way around. Our ship’s a wounded beast, and he’s the one with hands to mend it. What could he want from a couple of travelers?

Her gaze softened, distant, as she recalled a tale a lovely old shifter woman from their tribe had once told her. It was about a bear who longed for company, but none would follow him. So he painted his fur with the dust of lilies and learned to sing like a deer. When the fawns heard his song, they followed him into his cave, believing they’d found a friend. They only learned the truth when the singing stopped.

She exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as the breeze toyed with it. "I wonder," she murmured to herself, "if this prince sings with the same kind of voice."

Before she could ponder it any further, the hairs on her neck stood up, and every muscle went taut. The breeze carried a scent that didn’t belong. She climbed out of Bastion's arms and hurried over to Menzai. "There is someone else here," she whispered to him.

A fight would be difficult at that moment for Phia. She was still weary, the brief rest not quite doing wonders for her energy levels quite yet. The memory of that sudden heaviness she had felt still sat behind her ribs, as if that monkey wouldn’t leave.

It was right then that a familiar voice entered the air: “I have a question.”

Phia turned on her heels to watch as Meiyu slipped from the treeline. It was no surprise that the opportunistic creature had followed. The woman spoke of strategy and deceit, peeling back the false civility of their captors layer by layer. By the time she questioned what game was truly being played, Phia could tell Meiyu had seen straight through to the truth she herself had sensed.

I suppose I was right to think of the bear story. Phia thought as she listened to Meiyu. For if anyone could scent deceit before it struck, it would be a serpent.

”What...What.. Do you want.. With us?” Phia’s gaze softened as Arya’s trembling voice broke through the tension. Once her wrists had been freed, she had moved closer, drawn by pure instinct. She came to stand right before Arya, then she reached out and brushed Arya’s cheek with gentle fingers, as though afraid she might dissolve into mist. "Don’t be afraid, great goddess," she whispered warmly. "You’re safe with us."

"Questions, questions," Phia's gaze immediately snapped to the man, her hand still on Arya's cheek. "You lot are nosy as gulls. But I did say I’d answer, didn’t I? So. Let’s make good on that."

"You asked what grand ambition our Prince holds? Simple. He wants it all. This island...is just the start. Give him time, and the rest of the Principalities will kneel or burn. The man’s got a taste for crowns, and lucky me, I get to be the one placing them on his head."

Phia glared at him, furrowing her brows dangerously. You speak of greed. Those who chase everything end up with nothing.

"Now this one...this one’s fun. What’s my type?"

Though her mind had been occupied, she could remember that the woman shifter had questioned what the man's type was. Phia tilted her head as she considered the phrase, confused. Her tribe had never spoke that way.

"My type is…" he pointed toward Minerva. "You." Then his finger drifted to Phia. "And you."
Meiyu next. "Oh, definitely you." Arya. "And also you."

He speaks as if choosing prey.

She shifted subtly closer forward before the females, the way a doe might step in front of her fawn, her eyes narrowing at Beckett’s grin.

When his finger landed on Menzai with that amused tilt of his head, a low, warning sound rumbled from Phia’s throat. "Can’t forget you, handsome." Her scowl deepened as he moved on to mention Bastion, too. " As for you, big guy… I’ll try anything three times. Just make sure you don’t break me, aye?"

The change in her expression was immediate. What had once been mild confusion hardened into unmistakable anger. Phia stepped closer to Menzai, her body taut as a drawn bow. When she spoke, her voice was low, but there was a growl beneath it — a sound they hadn’t heard from her before, as if she’d drawn a blade in that moment. "You will not harm anyone here."

Her chin lifted, wild hair catching the breeze, as if daring him to test her.
"You do not wish to know what happens when you tease wolves." Beckett and his crew had only laughed. It was cruel and careless in a manner that suggested they were too used to fear to recognize danger when it stared them in the eye. But for a fleeting moment, the laughter faltered when her gaze didn’t break.

Then Beckett replied to Meiyu. "Do I look like a man who plays games?"

"Yes." Phia immediately answered, despite the question not being directed at her.

"Course I do. But not this time. You’re not prisoners. Not yet. The bindings were just a precaution. Keeps the journey peaceful, you understand. As for your weapons...we're not worried. This is Port Verge. Coming here unarmed’d be like fighting a Kraken in a canoe. Not fair. Not fun." He looked at Arya again, and Phia felt a rush of tension seize her once more. "And finally, to answer your question, love...I have no fucking idea what he wants with you. That's between my Prince and you poor, poor souls. Just know this...Ravic Dane is a man who get's what he wants. Which brings me to the rules he's given you lot. Here’s how this works…once you step into the Verge, you’re free. Do whatever your wild little hearts desire. Drink, fight, buy, steal, bed whoever and whatever you bloody want. No one’s stopping you. But understand this...Port Verge ain’t like the other nations. There’s no justice here. Only vengeance. Every action has a consequence."

He raised two fingers. "Two rules. That’s it. Don’t leave the city. And stay alive. Break either one…" Then he snapped his fingers. "You die."

Phia seemed none too happy with the terms, nor the obvious threat.

"When Prince Dane’s ready for you, we’ll come find you. Don’t worry, we’ve got our ways. For now....welcome to Port Verge. Try not to make me regret untying you."

Phia’s jaw flexed, but she said nothing more to Beckett as the pirates departed. The breeze off the sea tasted of salt and smoke, and her stomach gave a low growl.

“I’m hungry,” she said at last with an expressive stomp to the ground. “And thirsty. If this place is as dangerous as he says, maybe we should see what kind of beings live here… and learn more about this prince they follow.”

Without waiting for permission, she took a few steps toward the sound of haggling and gulls.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Sean & Angel

PART 1

---

“Not. Purple,” Sean said, just in his checkered blue boxers, as he examined the state of his body through the mirror in his bedroom after waking up just recently. “But bruised to shit.” Sean scowled at every bruise with Vex in mind while he wondered how much the trouble she caused last night would cost. He didn’t foresee anyone close to him dying anytime soon, so some free ink wasn’t really in the cards. He was better off just having her owe him an unspecified favor so he could cash in on it when he needed something.

What Sean really needed was a doctor, but that meant going to The Bastion. Going to the Bastion meant he’d run into other Wardens. Running into Wardens meant he’d have to answer questions. And…

“Fuck that place. I’ll go pay a visit to Dreda.” He said as he began testing the functionality of his body and range of motion with a few calisthenic routines.

“I’m a Barbie girl! In a Barbie worrrrld!” The sound of the brief ringtone rang out as he performed a lunge. He let loose a painful chuckle. “Blondie calls.” Sean didn’t think he’d ever get bored with that little jingle for her text messages. Trudging across the wood floors of his pad, he eventually reached his phone set on top of his humble-sized dining table. Beside his cellphone was a lukewarm half-drunk mug of coffee and the pain meds he snagged off of Elodie. Normally, he might have waited until he was finished warming up, but he was half expecting a reply about Elodie from his third favorite vampire.

How fast can you put your pants on?

Sean twisted his face at the message and immediately looked down at his lack of pants, then the corners of the room, the windows, across the ceiling, the “Beware of Ogre” sign, the tops of any flat surfaces, unused outlets, and finally back to the message. The caffeine hadn't set in, and he was still a little groggy, so his slight paranoia had little extra oomph to it.

Blondie… 🫩 it's early. Wdyw?

Before Sean had even finished sending the text, the sound of tapping rattled from a nearby window. A pale face was mashed up against the glass, visible in a pattern between the slats of the blinds. Her eyes gleamed like a cat caught somewhere it shouldn't be, and absolutely proud of it. Her lips stretched into a wide grin.

Want to make some cash?

She wiggled her brows and tapped again on the glass with her knuckles, drawing Sean’s attention to the window. Then, a muffled voice barely made it through the glass: “I am the one who knocks!”

“...” He parted his lips, wanting to say something, but the words hadn’t come out. Instead, he just stared at her with a ‘why are you like this’ expression before raising his coffee mug and nodding at it. Then, with one last text (because he was not ready to talk to her mashed-up face through his window), he sent:

10 min blondieberg

Angel squinted at her phone, then back through the blinds. She tapped louder.

“Ten minutes!” She exclaimed indignantly, then mashed her face flatter against the glass, her nose smearing a circle.

Just let me in asshole

Sean eyed the message as he sipped his coffee, steadily waking up and becoming slightly more agreeable with the caffeine intake. Still, he thought twice about letting her in— Thrice, if he was being honest with himself. After another sip and watching her desperately try to fuse her face with his window pane, Sean set his phone down and walked to the door, opening it with no shame about his fresh bruises and lack of attire.

And immediately, Angel shouldered past him like she paid rent, snatching his coffee mug right out of his hand. “About time.” She tipped her head back and took a generous sip, then shoved it back into his hands with a grimace as if it had offended her.

It was only mere seconds later that she had already made herself at home. She plopped onto his couch, stretching out like she owned the place, already flicking through her phone screen with her thumb, “Can’t believe you put the fucking Barbie song as my text tone.”

“Tch, you say that as if you don't give the rest of your contacts hell with your ringtones.” Sean shut and locked his front door while taking a gander into his mug. Now it was his turn to grimace. “You love it,” He accused before chugging down the last bit of coffee as he made his way across the living room.

“Oh I do. You should hear yours.” Angel responded, throwing her head back momentarily with a cackle. “Anyway,” she wasted no time changing the topic to her true intention. “Griggs has a big, risky job he told me would be right up your alley. Might die, but hey—the pay is gonna be good.”

She then rummaged through her jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Sliding one between her lips, she sparked the flame with a sharp flick. The brief flare illuminated her features in gold. Smoke curled from her lips as she exhaled, her voice drifting through it as she asked, “You in?”

“Keep talking.” He said as he entered the next room to get himself dressed. “But yeah, I'm in. We can split it 60/40.” He added with a smirk as he opened up a black toughbox with his equipment within.

“Oh yeah, sure, we can do that. Happy to oblige. I get sixty, you get forty.” She smirked through her cigarette, flicking ash onto the floor without a care. “Anyway!—” Her tone shifted as she quickly changed the subject, “Griggs says there’s fae blood secretly moving through some stinky fish shop down in Gutter’s End. Not just a vial here or there, like whole crates…. He said they’re black wood with a red rune stamped right on top. He wants proof. A vial, a ledger slip, whatever ties it back. We bring it in, he brings the money.”

She leaned back on the couch, phone dangling between her fingers. “He doesn’t care how messy it gets… as always. If it turns out they have as big a stock as rumors say then we will get a fat pay.”

“He never cares because he doesn't have to get his hands dirty.” Sean said from the other room. There were a few grunts that followed, which meant the painkillers only worked so much now that his body had been given the time to process the pain.

“If we're busting an operation, we should try not to hit the supply too hard. I say we focus on dropping any opposition, and then we pick up the vials. No witnesses.” Only a few beats past before he stepped out as his alter ego, Hollow.

“If it's run by the Circle, it should be easy on your moral compass, right? The red on black design for the boxes pretty much screams ‘we’re vampires.’” He walked toward the couch, and stopped right in front of the ash pile on the floor. “The broom’s in that closet over there.” He said plainly beneath the skull visage of his mask.

Angel had been staring thoughtfully in his direction ever since the grunts had made her lift her head. Her gaze lingered as he stepped out in the mask, and she tilted her head, cigarette glowing faintly between her fingers. “Doubt anyone trying to sell fae blood is an innocent.” She mused before drawing in another slow hit.

Her eyes dropped to the ash, following the same line his had taken, then climbed their way back up to meet him with a lift of her brow. “So…? You want me to celebrate your decision to finally stock your closet?” she quipped. Her smirk curled as she leaned forward onto her knees, her voice laden with sarcasm as she delivered her mock congratulations: “Good boy, Sean, finally made your way out of the house!”

There was a short stalemate between them, but only because Sean knew she'd never listen to him. All he could do was sigh.

“Come on.” He said, taking the opportunity to pat her on the head “And lose the hoodie if you're gonna flaunt the goods.” He commented motioning other hand toward her torso.

Angel looked down for a moment, as if she might actually ponder his words. Then, with a shrug, she caught the zipper and dragged it down to reveal a fitted dark gray tank top beneath. The hoodie landed on his couch with a thump as she tossed it.

“If we get caught, it’s going to be because they hear you drooling.” She told him over her shoulder as she started toward the door without a glance back.

---

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Tough Tavern
Attire: Outfit, Amulet
Interaction: @CitrusArms Stratya @Potter Olivia @Lava Alckon Drake @Tpartywithzombi Ariella @Samreaper Kazumin

---

FLASHBACK TO SOLA 29 EVENING

It had only been a few nights ago that Charlotte had slid onto a barstool, her hair ribbon neat and blouse buttoned to the throat. Marcy, with her lipstick darker than sin as always, had leaned in on her elbows.

“You must hear from half of the city before breakfast,” Charlotte said, finger tracing a ring in the scarred wood. Marcy shot her a look that plainly said, What are you after?

“I was wondering,” Charlotte continued, hesitating only a moment before blurting it all out in a single breath, “if you ever hear of… people who go missing, or anyone who needs help and can’t afford an investigator. I’d like to help them.”

Marcy barked a laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. A prim, skinny thing like you playin’ bloodhound? To help slum people? Why the fuck would you do that?”

Charlotte blinked, then let out a bashful laugh herself. “Hardly prim,” she said, tilting her chin, “and not playing. I just… well, I know what it’s like to need help and not know who to ask.”

Marcy’s expression softened though her tone remained the same. “You sure you’re not just bored?”
“Perhaps a little,” Charlotte admitted with a sheepish smile, “but mostly curious. And capable.” She gestured toward the busy tavern. “Trust me. I’m more useful than I look.”

Marcy snorted, but as the night went on and the mugs kept pouring, their talk grew easier. Between orders, she leaned in close and shared a rumor here and there, and by closing time they had somehow devised a system.

Ignis 2, evening — Drunkard’s Day

Yet again, Charlotte found herself sitting at a tavern she didn’t belong in, alone in the corner booth. However, she wasn’t alone all too long.

A familiar saunter caught her attention as Stratya Durmand approached. The Knight-Captain arrived with two pints and a grin broad enough to be a challenge. She thunked one pint in front of Charlott and vanished as fast as she’d come.

Charlotte’s mouth eased into a real smile. She slid the offered pint closer to her, both hands wrapped around a sweating mug. She watched foam slide down the rim, then took a steadying sip.“Captain, you are a mercy.” She nudged the aisle spot open with a knee so Stratya could take the ready seat if she wished to return.

It was then that her awaited company appeared. She had written to Lord Drake Edwards, hoping his calm presence might ease the thoughts that had been pressing so heavily on her heart. So much had troubled her of late, and after what Alexander had said, she truly hadn’t known whom she could turn to, despite the idea she couldn’t bring herself to really doubt her dear friends just yet.

Her expression brightened at the sight of Drake, and then still more when she saw Ariella had joined him. A flicker of hesitation crossed her mind about the conversation she had planned, but it vanished beneath the warmth of their presence. Charlotte stood to greet them, smoothing her skirt with one palm and offering the briefest curtsy that still counted. “It’s no imposition at all. I’m so very glad you’re both here. Thank you for coming.”

From the doorway, with her hood lowered, Olivia slid into the din and behind Charlotte’s shoulder with a soft ”Boo.”

Charlotte jumped despite herself, then laughed under her breath and touched Olivia’s wrist in greeting. “What have I done to deserve such cruelty?.” She jested then shifted along the bench to make room. “Come join us. We can all build a fortress of mugs.”

Olivia’s whistle then cut through the clamor, and Charlotte followed her gaze. There sat Kazumin. Charlotte caught his eye and lifted her mug in a small salute, then raised her hand to Marcy for another place setting just in case. Back to her little circle, she let breath leave her slowly.

And it was then the Captain returned and fetched more pints. Charlotte’s gaze fell upon the captain as she sat across from her once more.

. “Wha’ fyne comp’n’y tae have a Drrunkarrd’s Dae wit’, nae bet’er.”

Charlotte’s smile grew, her tone affectionate as she leaned in slightly.
“And all the finer for your return, Captain. It seems fate is kind to me tonight.” she paused, tone turning playfully curious, “Now that you’re here, my dear, you simply must tell me all about that date.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK TO SOLA 29 EVENING

Charlotte & Calbert

---

The carriage door opened, and Charlotte descended carefully as Delilah made her way back into the Vikena Estate ahead of her. She took a step to follow her, but then a hush of murmurs reached her ears, and when she lifted her gaze, she stilled.

Before the iron gates of the Damien estate stretched a line of nobles and townsfolk alike, each clutching parcels wrapped in silks or paper. Servants in dark clothing stood outside the gate: one by one, they accepted the offerings, lifting lids, untying strings, inspecting for hidden dangers before carrying the acceptable gifts inside.

Charlotte’s brow arched in quiet curiosity as she felt a sense of unease. She lingered for a moment until curiosity lured her closer.

“Pardon,” she began softly, “What is all this?”

One servant, startled to be addressed so directly, hesitated before answering. “Lady Vikena… word has spread. Lord Cassius and Lady Violet were attacked last night.” His tone lowered as though secrecy might dull the horror. “He was grievously wounded. Many wish to offer prayers and gifts for his recovery.”

Despite the emotions within, Charlotte’s expression betrayed nothing, only the subtle flutter of her lashes and the momentary furrow of her brows. She inclined her head politely. “I see. Thank you.” And with that, she turned, her composure intact though her steps carried haste. However, once she made it through the threshold into her home, that ruse completely fell apart. In the privacy of her empty foyer, she fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands.

She remained there longer than she had meant to; the weight of what she had been told dragging her down like an anchor until drowning was inevitable.

But despite it all, she never drowned, and time continued as it always did.

It was only a few hours later that Charlotte found herself before the Damien gates once more as the moon cast its light over the grand property. The line of well-wishers was gone now, the street emptied all but the torch-bearing guards who stood rigid on either side of the entrance. She stepped forward until the iron barred her path. Her voice was calm, but there was a strain beneath it. “I request an audience.”

The nearest guard shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my lady. By order of the Count himself—no visitors are being admitted.”

Charlotte’s lips parted, a protest caught in her throat, but still she stood there, a basket with its contents covered by cloth in hand. “I must speak to the Count. You cannot turn me away without a message at least.”

The guards remained unmoved. For a long moment, only the sound of crickets filled the night.

Then the front doors of the estate creaked open. From the stairs descended Count Calbert Damien himself, a tall silhouette with long black hair swaying behind him.

“Lady Charlotte Vikena.” His voice carried the weight of dry amusement as he greeted her. He studied her in silence longer than politeness required. “You arrive at my gates this evening uninvited. Rather bold of you.”

Charlotte did not flinch beneath his scrutiny. “I brought this for your offspring.”

“Did you.” He paced a single step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Curious. I asked that you leave them be… And yet here you are, standing at my gates with a basket, as though nothing has passed between us. Almost as if we were old friends.”

He tilted his head, as though he could unravel her entire purpose by sight alone. For a long, suffocating moment, he simply studied her. Then, at last, he laughed.

“Very well.” His hand gestured toward the gates. “If you are determined enough to stand in the night air for my son’s sake, then do come in. But do remember, Lady Vikena…” His voice dropped lower. “In this house, nothing is given freely. Not even entry.”

The gates groaned open, the path before leading her into the lion’s den.

The Damien halls were quiet, their grandeur darkened in color by the hour. Servants melted into the shadows, their eyes lowered as Charlotte was escorted deeper inside. At last, she was led into the Count’s study—the very same he had once threatened her in.

Count Calbert Damien entered with the ease of a man utterly at home in his power, his presence filling the room as though he were both host and predator. With a languid gesture toward the chair opposite his desk, he said, “Sit, if you please.”

Charlotte obeyed, lowering herself into the chair with her hands folding atop the basket still in her lap. “Tell me… how are they?”

“Violet is perfectly fine. Cassius, however…” He let the words hang, pausing just long enough to watch the flicker in her eyes. “He was struck terribly. Resting now. Alive, but battered. The physicians will do what they can.”

A flicker passed across Charlotte’s expression, though she smothered it quickly. “May I see him?”

The Count’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement at her audacity. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “No, my lady.”

Her fingers tightened faintly against the basket’s handle. “Then at least allow this to reach him.”

Calbert’s gaze flicked to the covered bundle, then back to her. He inclined his head.
“That, I will oblige. Your offerings will find their way to him. But beyond that, I can do no more for you tonight.”

“That isn’t true.” Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress, as though bracing herself to go on. “I want to speak with you as well, after all.”

“You intrigue me, Lady Vikena,” he said as he leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Speak, then. What is it you seek?”

“I–... I can see that you have kept your word, Count Damien. My friends have been made to suffer, just as you vowed they would. “ She raised her gaze with an intensity not usual for her countenance. “But this has gone far enough. Whatever satisfaction you’ve taken from it, it must end.”

Calbert chuckled, “Straight to the point. I admire that… But you speak as though I am a villain in a tale, pulling strings out of spite alone.” His eyes narrowed, “Lady Vikena. I act because you and your circle could not resist interfering with my family. I showed you mercy when others might have seen you all dangling from the gallows for your trespasses. And yet, here you sit, daring to accuse me while my son lies wounded in this very roof… For all I know, that misfortune could trace its roots back to your dastardly circle’s scheming as well.”

Charlotte met his gaze, unflinching. “Then let us call it even at this point, Count Damien. If you will leave us in peace, I will do whatever I can to ensure you and your family are left in peace as well.”

Silence stretched, Calbert’s eyes fixed on her. Then, at last, he leaned forward. “Very well. I will make you an offer. I will leave you—and all your friends—alone.” Her shoulders eased, only for him to raise a finger.
“But only on one condition: you will leave my family untouched. Especially Cassius. He is off limits from this day forth.”

Charlotte’s breath caught at the firmness in his tone. She hesitated, then lifted her chin. “And Violet? …If we are to honor this truce, I request that I be allowed to speak with her. Not freely, but… sometimes. Please.”

Calbert’s smile returned. “You are bold to bargain so openly, but I expected nothing less.” He tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “Very well. You may speak with Violet—under the supervision of my guards. But let me be perfectly clear: if this accord is to hold, Cassius must remain untouchable from your end. No visits. No letters. Not even whispers.”

Charlotte’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to nod.

Calbert rose from his chair. “Wise girl. Let us hope you can keep your word.”

He moved past her toward the door, his hand briefly brushing her shoulder as he opened it for her. “Do not mistake my concession for welcome in my home. You and your friends will not be forgiven for your transgressions, Lady Vikena. Remember that.”

Charlotte lingered for only a second in the heavy silence, then stepped out into the hall to make her leave, the echo of his words following her.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bathroom🍄
🍃 Interactions: Menzai@Samreaper Minerva@FunnyGuy Bastion/Pirates @Oso Arya @Potter 🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna
✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals
✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 55 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Phia is exhausted, weak, and achy. 🌸

Collapsing in the middle of the jungle had been a surprise for Phia.

After all, this was usually her stomping grounds. The air had been so hot and humid that Phia had felt as if she was being smothered the entire march. Still, the trees whispered to her, and the vines dangled before her, so at first she thrived. Each root and branch begged to be tugged at, each birdcall seemed to sing her name. She had even skipped along the path earlier, plucking leaves, humming tunes, and pretending she wasn’t bound, pretending she wasn’t too weary. It was the best way to avoid predators noticing how weak she felt. That, after all, was something she had been raised to be wary of.

But the truth was there, gnawing at her. Every breath ached, every step grew slower, heavier, as if some unseen weight had climbed onto her shoulders. She told herself it was just like having a monkey ride her back, nothing more. She kept smiling anyway, laughing too brightly, hopping over puddles, and baring her teeth any time she heard a noise.

Eventually, though, her body had had enough, and her legs gave out. With a sharp yelp, Phia found herself acquainted with the soil beneath her feet. The world tilted and spun as she dug her fingers into the warm dirt in an effort to push herself back up. Frustration burned through her chest. Being seen like prey was the last thing she wanted.

She tried to play it off, forcing a laugh as she pushed herself upright, but her elbows betrayed her. They wobbled under her weight, and she toppled forward again, face-first into the earth with a muffled groan.

The nasty pirates with them were none too happy, but very quickly, before anything could happen, Bastion’s shadow fell over her.

"I will carry her."

The pirates sneered, but Phia only lifted her head enough to meet his gaze. She wanted to argue, to insist she could walk, but instead she ended up nodding. The ropes were loosened from the big metal man, and without hesitation, he scooped her up in his arms, just as he had once before.

And so they carried on. Hours slipped by with the steady rhythm of Bastion’s steps, and despite her earlier charade, Phia drifted into sleep almost instantly, lulled by the sway of his steps.

When she woke, it was to the caress of the ocean breeze against her skin. Her lashes fluttered open, hair lifting in the salt-scented wind as she straightened faintly in Bastion’s arms.

“There are some rules we should discuss before the next phase of our fun little adventure…but first, I’m curious, any questions you might have had before or things you wish to know now…here’s your chance. I’ll be as true as a priest, but just this once.”

The sight before them was magnificent to Phia, to the point the man's words never quite registered to her.

From their spot in the shade of the jungle’s treetops, the world opened wide before them. Below sprawled a sea of rooftops, hundreds of wooden huts and shacks stacked together. Their roofs were patched with cloth of every faded color, flapping in the breeze.

They were all along the sea, and the harbor was alive with ships, their sails painted with beasts and symbols she didn’t yet know.
Farther up the rise, at the crown of it all, loomed a huge stone castle. Fires burned bright atop its towers as if they were eyes that had been watching the jungle long before they arrived.

And everywhere, beings moved: little dots flowing between market stalls, shouts and laughter faint in the air even from this distance.

Phia’s breath caught, her hair dancing in the breeze. "Look at it all."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK— Sola 29, Afternoon

Charlotte & Delilah

Time: Evening of Banquet Sola 28 → Sola 29 Afternoon
Location: Vikena Estate → Sorian Graveyard
Mention: @Oso Cassius @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

---

Delilah could still remember her sobs over the sound of running water that night after the banquet.

How it had carried through the room and down the halls, yet she had been the only one to hear them. And just how deep and raw the pain had sounded, as if her wounds had finally been given a voice at last.

She remembered how the girl she had cared for over the years had looked that night: small again, as if she had become the fragile child she once was. Curled in the porcelain tub, her hair spilled over her like dark ink, her face buried in her knees, her words tumbling out in broken, nearly incomprehensible pleas to no one at all.

Leave me alone. Again and again, as if the very air around her was haunting her. For how quiet she had been, they had held intensity like she hadn’t heard in years.

Delilah had sat behind her, the brush moving slowly through her long hair. Her own brow had furrowed, every stroke of the brush slow and gentle as though the strands themselves might shatter if touched too roughly. She brushed because it was all she could do. After all, touch was the only weapon she had against the unseen.

I’m supposed to protect you.

But how did one fight what she could not see?

How could she guard Charlotte from horrors that clawed at her mind, when no blade, no shield, could cut them down? So she stayed, brushing and murmuring soft nothings into the silence until the sobs ebbed, until her girl fell quiet.

The next morning passed without sight of her. Delilah saw Charlotte only when she returned from the castle with Duke Vikena. They ate together; it was an ordinary meal with polite conversation filling the silence, but the ordinary could not disguise what lingered beneath. The memory of the night’s sobs clung like a shadow over them so heavily that even the others at the table seemed to feel its presence.

By afternoon, Delilah had asked leave to visit her mother’s grave. It had been the anniversary of her mother's death, and she had not wanted to face it alone. Charlotte had offered, almost too quickly, to join her.

And so, scarcely an hour later, they stepped down from a carriage on the western edge of Sorian. The rain fell soft and steady, pattering against their umbrellas, painting the world in shades of grey. Charlotte’s boots splashed in the puddles, her skirts darkening where they met the damp ground.

They approached the graveyard, the iron gates groaning open as the two then made their way through the wet grass. The headstones before them were slick with rain, some of their names covered by moss.

Delilah stole a glance at the young woman beside her. Charlotte’s face was pale against the dark backdrop, her lashes heavy with water. She held her umbrella close, but her shoulders curled inward.

The grave they came to was simple, though lovingly tended. The flowers Delilah had placed there weeks ago were wilted and bruised by the weather.

Isabelle Pembrook

Charlotte’s eyes lingered, lashes heavy with rain. Her voice came quietly when she finally spoke, almost hesitant. “...You never did tell me what happened to her.”

Delilah’s chest tightened, and she slowly fell to her knees. For a long moment, she only knelt, her knees pressing into the damp soil. She reached out to smooth her hand slowly across the top of the headstone. “She was taken from me in life,” Delilah said softly. “But never in spirit. Nothing…Not greed, nor cruelty, nor death itself…could ever steal away the grace my mama left upon this world.”

Her eyes lowered as the quickening downpour filled the silence. “She was… gentle, almost to a fault. Strong enough to bear the world’s spite, yet soft enough to make me believe it could never touch me. ”

“My father… He abandoned her when he learned I was coming into the world. Years later, he came back, but not for her love, not for me… To erase us both.” Charlotte’s gaze whirled to her, her pupils dilated, but Delilah continued all the same, “He feared his name would be stained by us. As if we were dirt. So he… saw to it that she was taken from me.” Her fingers brushed the gravestone, clinging as if it were the last piece of her mother left in the world. Her voice hollowed out, as she whispered, “I was only eighteen. I can still hear her whispering…‘Run, baby. Don’t look back.’”

Her lips trembled, but she steadied herself against the grave. “I did run. And I lost her forever.”

The rain rolled down her cheeks, mingling with tears she did not bother to hide. After a moment, Delilah tilted her head up at Charlotte, “I like to think she still sees me. That she sees you. That she knows her love did not die with her… That when I ran, it’s you that I eventually ran to…I think she’d be so happy that I have you, Lottie.”

Delilah rose slowly, her knees mud-stained, and cupped Charlotte’s cheek as though cradling something precious. Her thumb trembled against her skin. “You need to understand: no matter what darkness you think you’re carrying, you have me. Always. There is no universe where I let something happen to you.”

Her grip tightened, her voice desperate now: “But you have to let me in, Lottie. You have to tell me what’s going on. Please.”

Charlotte let out a shuddering breath, and she gripped the umbrella so tightly that the handle creaked. “...I don’t even know where to begin, Lilah… I don’t know what’s going on.”

Her lashes fluttered shut as something finally tumbled out: “It started with that stubborn hunch: that Mama would never have taken her own life… You all told me to let it go, but I couldn’t. And then Count Damien began circling like a hawk, trying to bend Lorenzo, to bend me. Every step I’ve taken since has only… drawn more eyes, more threats. I’ve somehow gotten myself tangled with this Black Rose company that’s to blame for all these terrible crimes.”

She twisted her wrist against the umbrella like she could wring clarity from the pain. “Alexander Deacon told me horrors wait for me when I saw at the gallery.” Her face scrunched up as she then admitted, “He tried to make me kiss him, but it wasn’t of my own accord. I think he used magic on me… And that wasn’t the only time either. At the ball… someone hexed me. I saw so many things that weren’t real, and now sometimes I still can’t tell what is.”

Her eyes watered, and her voice softened with pain as she lamented. “And then there’s Cassius... I let myself get so close to Calbert’s son, of all people. “ Her gaze drifted away as though she couldn’t bear to look at Delilah. “ I… let myself feel something for him. And it frightens me, how much I wanted to trust him… How much I still do… And I hate myself for it all. “ Delilah’s expression shifted as if she’d taken a physical blow from those words.

“I knew what he was, but he’s in my veins in a way that makes me want to rip them out of my own damn skin. And—” Her hand flew to her lips, trembling. “I scratched his face and now he hates me. One moment I was kissing him and then the next… There was this man who was so familiar yet I can’t remember from where– It was like I’ve seen him in my nightmares.” Charlotte’s countenance crumpled with misery. In that moment, it was as though it were happening all over again. “I’ve never felt so frightened.”

Her knees nearly buckled as the words rushed out like a dam bursting, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Delilah moved closer, steady hands hovering as if afraid Charlotte might shatter at touch. “Lottie… look at me.” Her tone was soft and careful. “It’s going to be okay..”

Charlotte took a step back. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, Lilah. I really didn’t. One moment he was kissing me, and then the next that man was there…” Her throat closed. She pressed the heel of her palm to her eye, but the tears spilled anyway. “I clawed at him like he was a monster. And when I saw the blood—” Her voice dropped into a hoarse whisper. “I’ve never hated myself more.”

Delilah didn’t move for a moment. She let the silence stretch before she asked, “What did the man do to make you scratch him?”

“He strapped me down… My wrists, my ankles—He pressed those things against my head, and there was this hum, a terrible hum—” She curled in on herself as if the sound still vibrated in her bones, rubbing her own arm as if to comfort herself. “He told me I was delusional. That I was sick. And then the pain—”

A sob choked her voice as she told Delilah, “It was like burning alive in my skull. I screamed, but no one came. And then suddenly it was Cassius’s face beneath my nails. And I—”

Delilah stared at her with a trembling gaze, lips parting. She exhaled slowly, a burden settling across her shoulders. Her eyes flicked away, as if hiding the truth she already carried could somehow shield Charlotte from it. She had always known what had happened in that place. Perhaps the kindest thing now was to let Charlotte keep believing it was only a nightmare she could still escape upon waking.

“You’ve been through so much, Lottie. And I know you, stubborn as you are, you haven’t told a soul until now, have you?” Delilah’s sigh was heavy yet resigned. “And despite it all, you won’t stop… will you?”

For a long moment, Charlotte was still, the rain still pattering against the umbrella like a drumbeat. Then she shook her head, wiping her tears with unsteady fingers. Her voice was hollow, yet held clear resolution as she replied to Delilah. “You know I can’t.”

Delilah’s voice came low as she challenged, “Then tell me: how do you suppose we’re meant to face this web you’ve tangled yourself in?”

Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the earth as she shifted her weight onto her other foot, “I… I have to start from where I should have begun all along. I need to learn everything I can to uncover the truth. And—” her breath hitched, but she pressed on, “I’ve had an idea on my mind for some time.”

Delilah’s brows drew together as she stepped closer, her skirts brushing the wet grass. “Well,” she said carefully, her voice laced with warmth and warning alike, “I hope it has nothing more to do with dealing with troublesome men.”

Charlotte huffed a laugh and slipped her arm through Delilah’s, letting herself be guided forward. Her head then rested against Delilah’s shoulder.

Delilah adjusted the umbrella so it covered them both more fully, her own head resting briefly against Charlotte’s. Her voice softened as she mused after some time, “I’ve an idea too.”

Charlotte stirred faintly, glancing at her. “I think you need to find a way to let go of the guilt you carry over Cassius. I know you, Lottie… I know how it gnaws at you to think you’ve hurt someone... Hurting others was never in your nature.”

Delilah gave Charlotte’s arm a gentle squeeze, her gaze fixed ahead as they made their way back to the carriage. “Make your peace with the boy, for better or for worse. Even if he is a rake. Even if he is Calbert’s son. Not for him. For you. Because guilt left to rot will only drag you down when you need to stand tallest.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK TO AUCTION DATE

Cassius & Charlotte

---

And with that…the bid was done. Cassius was declared the winner, and Calbert was…well…1000 gold the poorer.

Cas rose from his seat as the auction moved on. He took the opportunity to place a gentle hand on his sister’s shoulder as thanks for what only she knew she offered him during that time. Leaving her to tend to her own business, Cassius could still hear the shock and awe from the crowd. One thousand. He could feel the amount of gold burning in their mouths, raising envy from some and gratefulness from others. This was all meant to be for a good cause, after all.

The crowd parted for him as he walked. Some members of the audience approached to thank him for his contribution. He entertained them for the briefest of moments, but he did not allow anyone to linger as he kept his stride towards Charlotte as steady as he could.

He looked back over his shoulder, the full mask of his pride and arrogance worn on display as he peered at both Kira and Prince Callum. His expression, performative as it was, said it all. He had beaten them.

Finally, as the stage loomed closer, Cassius Damien allowed his eyes to find his prize. She did not look happy to see him approaching, that much was clear, and despite the brilliance of his devil may care persona…his heart was pounding in his chest, and his throat was as tight as could be as he moved ever towards her.

“Hey stranger…” Cassius greeted her. It was all he could manage, especially under the guise of suave nonchalance that he was forcing. Given her expression, the clear tension between them, and the reason why Cassius bid on her at all…what the fuck was he even meant to say at this point? So, he left it there and awaited her response.

Charlotte held his gaze for a long, simmering moment, her eyes steady as they bore into his intensely. Then, at last, her lips curved into a smile devoid of warmth. Without a word, she lifted one hand and crooked a single finger toward herself; a motion that could be mistaken for playful to some, yet to him, perhaps, looked more like a command.

She turned on her heel and crossed the grass without waiting to see if he would follow., until a picnic blanket came into view beneath a willow tree. After setting her wicker basket down, she settled down onto the blanket and smoothed her dress.

Only then did her eyes flick back to him, her tone gentle but with a slight edge.
“Nadeyus', vy golodny.” (I hope you’re hungry.)

From the basket, she began to draw out an array of food that had all been elevated by the hand of Gilbert. She first pulled out a warm loaf of garlic bread, the buttery scent filling the air. But this was no ordinary loaf. When sliced, the crust revealed layers of tender meat and rich sauce baked inside.

Then, crepes were folded with cream and fruit, the tops dusted with sugar. Beside these, a small plate of crackers layered neatly around a mound of cream cheese with glistening red pepper jelly on top. She set out ham-and-cheese croissants as well, which were still warm.

Charlotte arranged each piece without ever looking at him, her composure seemingly intact. Yet the faint tremor in her hands betrayed what her face refused to show.

Cas’s eyes never dipped as her gaze bore into him, yet once she turned away he allowed himself to feel the lack of warmth in her presence before following her veiled command.

The picnic area she led him to was beautiful, but his vigilance had his eyes wandering the grounds…doing what he could to make sure they were safe from more of Kira’s wicked machinations. His eyes found Charlotte once more as she sat down on the blanket. He moved to join her, the forced grin of hubris shifting to one more genuine as she started speaking one of Varian’s native tongues. He answered her in kind.

“O, ya vsegda goloden.” (Oh, I'm always hungry)

Whatever game Lottie felt she needed to play with her indifference was fine by him, though he could not deny that he missed the comfort of her gentle smile. Charlotte’s performance, as poised as it stood, was betrayed by the way her fingers shook as she arranged the delectable food in front of them. His eyes chose to focus on her gaze instead, allowing the secret to be safe with him. He had seen her true composure…and that was enough.

“A teper' posmotrite na eto... Yeda, dostoynaya samikh bogov.” (Now look at this... A meal fit for the gods themselves.)

He smiled at her, offering the warmth she so clearly would not.

“My mother used to call meals these podarki zhizni. (Life’s little gifts.)

It was then that Charlotte handed him an empty plate to fill. Though her expression didn’t soften, her tone was genuine as she told him, “Nadeyus’, tebe ponravitsya.”(I hope you enjoy.)

“Kak tut ne poveselit'sya?” (What’s not to enjoy). Cas asked in response, shifting back to the Eromorian tongue as he continued. “Good food…beautiful surroundings…pleasant company.”

He let the sarcasm hang on the word pleasant and reached forward to grab one of the ham and cheese croissants, allowing it to travel to his mouth for a bite. It was buttery and delicious, but before taking a second bite, he addressed one of the elephants in the room.

“As much as I love a chance to speak Krasivayan here in Sorian, Lottie…I can’t help the curiosity. Why the Varian twist on our little picnic here, huh?”

Charlotte selected a crepe for herself, laying it neatly upon her plate. She lifted her fork and knife, then cut into the pastry. When she looked up, her blue eyes glimmered with irony.

“Oh, well. I was under the impression you did not understand Eromorian.” The words were soft on the surface, to say the least. “After all, I told you quite plainly last night to leave me be, and yet here you are. So I must assume you simply failed to comprehend me.”

Her knife slid through the crepe again, before she added in a quieter pitch but with underlying bite:

“I was also under the impression you think rather woefully of me… So that brings me to my question: What is it you truly want from me today?”

The practiced smile on Cas’s face dropped as she revealed her reason. He froze in confusion, pondering what she could possibly mean regarding last night. All he recalled about his night was the whiskey, the women, and just how withdrawn from it all he felt upon waking. It took him an awkwardly long moment to respond.

“You said these things to me…last night?”

Her expression softened at last, though it was not with warmth; rather, with sorrow, her lips parting as if she had been surprised by the situation herself. “Yes, Lord Damien. We were cross last night.” Her voice was steady, but the sadness in her eyes betrayed her. “I told you to stay away… However I do suppose you were…rather inebriated.” The words carried no malice, only weary resignation…yet they stung him all the same.

After a moment she met his gaze. “I already settled matters with your father just the other day… I must confess I do not understand why you continue to antagonize me.”

Cassius let his gaze break away, his eyes falling to the ground as he tried to remember. There were…feelings…from the night before. Lingering echoes of frustration, desperation, even things like pride, but no memories. He had no recollection of seeing her, no remembrance of her there at the tavern and certainly not of some kind of quarrel.

His heart sank into his gut as he wondered what could have happened…the stinging of her words calling him out for being so inebriated causing him more pain than expected. He, for better or worse, was used to that level of oblivion…but he was not used to forgetting it all.

How had he treated her? What pieces of himself had been floating at the surface to make her so cross with him? Had it been worse than the banquet? Certainly not…that was a pain he wished to never replicate. For a moment, he panicked at the thought that he may have forced her to replicate that very pain last night. However, the next words out of her mouth broke his focus and pulled his eyes back to meet hers once again. He responded without even taking the time to process it all.

“What do you mean you settled matters with my father? What does Calbert even have to do with this?” Realization flooded him, and his eyes narrowed at the thought of what she was suggesting. “Wait…do you really think that I’m here as some kind of…agent…for him? That all of this was some kind of ploy? Are you that foolish?” Those last four words were bad enough. But the tone they were wrapped in…that was where the real damage would be done.

Charlotte was silent as she absorbed his words. Fury had surged within, and a torrent of words in her own defense quickly perished on her tongue, quelled by the harsh reminder that it would only be a waste of breath.

Finally she spoke, steady despite the emotions swirling within, “Perhaps I am.” She set her fork aside, but gaze did not lift to meet his, not this time.

“Even more reason for you to leave me be.” The words hung there like the closing of a door.

Cassius regretted the severity of his tone before the words had even finished being voiced, but her response…it only compounded that regret.

“Charlotte, this isn’t me trying to terrorize you. I…I was trying to…” The words got stuck on his tongue as he froze, pondering how to explain it all. He had hoped to avoid having to tell her about Kira at all, but now…now he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Cassius simply felt lost in the weight of the moment.

“…It’s alright, Cassius.” Charlotte told him, her voice surprisingly gentle this time, yet it carried a hint of resignation. She picked up a strawberry in her hand, rolling it between her fingers. However, she never moved to eat it. “Please enjoy the food. Don’t worry about last night …or any of it.”

She dropped the strawberry back in the plate after a pause, lowering her head as her lip quivered. Then, she slowly rose and brushed off her dress. “Please excuse me.”

Cassius watched as she began to stand, the quiver in her lip threatened to sunder what little control he had over his own thoughts and feelings in the moment. Mostly, he was just desperate. Desperate to explain, desperate to defend against the perception she had formed of him, but above it all…he was just desperate for her to stay.

As she began to move away, Cassius wrestled with the waves that were drowning him. Before he could even consider what to do, or say, he rose to meet her…and gently grabbed her wrist. The hand that bound her there was shaking as he pulled her back to face him.

“Charlotte, just wait a moment…Please.” As much as he tried to play his usual demeanor, he had lost it here. The hint of desperation was obvious in his voice.

And so she did. She lingered, her melancholic blue gaze raising to meet his as her heart fluttered faster against her ribs.

“I’m not here to torment you, Charlotte. This isn’t some kind of sick game to me. I bid on you because…because I was trying to protect you.” His jaw clenched as the words finished flowing, and he stood there waiting for her response. Though he didn’t even realize he was still holding onto her.

She hesitated, holding his gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then she asked, “...From?”

Cassius hesitated. His instincts begged him to keep his cards close to his chest. But his heart, it begged for something else entirely. “The woman who bid on you with Prince Callum…” He said, stopping to really question his next words before continuing. “She’s dangerous. No, she’s worse than that, Lottie…She’s a killer.”

Charlotte’s gaze slowly darted past him, sweeping the crowd as though she might catch a glimpse of the woman again. But the face was gone, lost among the sea of nobles. Her lips pressed together, her thoughts racing, before she finally returned her eyes to Cassius.

“You mean Kira?” she asked softly, the name slipping out. She was silent, thoughtful for another moment. Then she added, “…What could she possibly want from me?”

He watched as she searched the crowd, eyes never leaving her as he witnessed the thoughts and emotions come flooding. The moment she dropped Kira’s name, Cas’s head tilted in confusion and he reached out to gently turn her gaze back to him. His voice came out serious, and carried urgency.
“How do you know her name? Has she contacted you before? Lottie, tell me everything.”

Charlotte arched a brow. “She attended an event, and she introduced herself at our table.” Though her voice had been calm, internally she was rather perplexed. She couldn’t understand why this all even mattered to him, especially when it was impossible to pull her focus from the feeling of his skin against hers; a sensation she had missed more than she wanted to admit.

Without missing a beat, Cas responded, his hand still resting underneath her chin. “You must stay away from her, Lottie.” The words came out more like a command than he had meant, but there was no getting around the severity of this situation. Kira was far too dangerous.

Charlotte’s gaze initially dipped to where his hand lingered against her, her cheeks flushing. She lifted her eyes back to his, her brows furrowing. “I’m not afraid of her. I can take care of myself, quite thank you.”

When her eyes met his again, he let his gaze rest there as he searched them. Unlike his last words, Cassius did not blurt out his response. Instead, he simply reached down and lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal his bandaged and bruised abdomen. Even with the accelerated healing afforded him by his father’s hired mage, the damage was still visible.

“You’re not afraid? Well, take it from me, Charlotte…you should be.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened at the sight of his abdomen, her breath catching. “Then… then we should tell the guards, have them arrest her.”

Cassius let his shirt fall back into place, his hand finally dropping from her chin. “I’m sorry, but it’s just not that simple. I know how she operates. She’d be long gone before they could capture her, and even if they got lucky, those bars wouldn't hold her for long. Either way, she'd only come back angrier. Deadlier."

As the words sank in, her chest tightened and she lost composure just for a moment. “But she cannot just get away with harming you!” She protested. This time, Charlotte had been the one to suddenly blurt out her words.

The reaction caught Cassius off guard. Out of instinct, he leaned into the space between them, closing the gap ever the slightest. His lips parted but no words came at first. Instead, he just stared. It was the closest to her warmth that he had felt since before their quarrel at the banquet. That protective energy…the same that he carried for her during the bid. What did it mean?

After what felt like too long a time, Cas’s eyes fell from her as his head lowered from her gaze. With a deep breath, he steadied himself, and his tone shifted to that of a promise.

“She won’t.” Two simple words, but the conviction…the absoluteness they carried was heavy.

Charlotte’s brows remained furrowed, her gaze fixed on him, her cheeks warm as she wondered how long he meant to hold her there beneath his stare. At last, he looked away and spoke, and in turn she answered,“Then see that you keep your word.”

Subsequently she muttered something rather incomprehensible and turned sharply on her heel. Charlotte then knelt down and busied herself with hurriedly gathering the scattered food back into her basket.

Cassius watched as she started getting everything back together so she could take her leave, and he took a long time to answer her. Though eventually, he did speak.

“I will, I promise…” He said with intent. “And Charlotte…I’ll do what you asked of me before. I’ll leave you alone.” Those last words almost burned their way out of his mouth. They felt wrong, but if that’s what she truly wanted, he’d give her that kindness.

Charlotte’s movements had slowed as his words lingered in the air. She did not lift her gaze, her hands stilling. Eventually, she did finish and gather her things, tucking the last of the food into the wicker basket. Without another word, she rose and departed through the grass until only the hollow silence of her absence remained alongside Cassius.