SORRY FOR THE LENGTHY POST. Before the divide, there's some potentially triggering violence. Just a warning!
If I can't have love, I want P o w e r
Where is it? Where is it?! Where is it?! Frantic hands would dig through the fabrics within her wardrobe, those growing piles littering themselves upon her floorboards, hoping that by some divine grace of a miracle, she would find it among the gowns. Her heart hammered within her chest, a sharp reminder that the night swiftly approached. That for the first time since she could recall, the mindless persuasion whispered frantically within her cerebrum, echoing off the walls until it became a discordant chorus of wailing that smothered all else out. It was rising in volume, hectic and malicious already, one that made it harder to think - to rationalize that it was gone. Her precious treasure. The last material possession she grasped from beyond the seas' tempestuous edge.
Her ring.
Her moonstone. G o n e.
"Lady Arabella?" The voice was accompanied by a polite, brisk knock upon her bedroom door. "Lord and Lady Beleveron wish to see you, my lady." It wasn't Sira who spoke through the dark paneling of wood. It was one of the other house servants instead, one that was familiar to her, though her name currently escaped her recollection, if she had ever been told it. After all, the aristocrats placed themselves on a much higher pedestal than their hired help in many cases, and while she knew several of the names and faces that surrounded her, just as many if not more eluded her. Such as she could not quite tell one how many workers manned their kitchen and served their meals. Let alone keep up with those that came and went, especially with many almost desperate to find their ways into such a job in current days. Fired. Quit. Hired. Rinse and repeat. She must have waited too long to give a response, as the maid would add with an air of nervousness, "Forgive me, my lady. They're preparing to depart for their voyage. They wish to tell you goodbye."
There was a frigid chill that ran the length of her spine then. A dark knowing. The night of her intended wedding had been naught but one disaster following the next. Tongues wagged like hound tails, almost whipping into the next parted mouth until the entirety of the noble scene was abuzz with accusations towards the Beleveron home. She knew, that since she had heard them, the ears and eyes of the couple had undoubtedly delivered such news to them as well. So it had been announced that her engagement to the Lyon house had been canceled. There had been no grand public announcement, no flyers or letters or mail dispersed to garner attention to the matter. No, this was quiet, and the eggshells she knew she had tread on since then had only grown in number. She had not seen her proclaimed 'parents' since shortly after the fiasco of ruination, and she had certainly no wish to see them now, let alone bid them a fond farewell to foreign lands when the whispers of war threatened the tender soles of their feet.
The repulsive tempo within her chest sounded not once, twice or thrice before she heard the sharp shuffling of noise outside the door once again. No, it had ramped on until she had lost count, before the soft beckon would come once again, a heavy pleading blossoming into her words. "Miss Beleveron, please," another knock, though this time, Daesn'yri would collect herself from the floor and she would take carefully measured steps to the door. The portal felt a crisp coolness to the rampant heat of her flesh, refreshing, softening the violence of her musings. "F-forgive me. I will be down shortly." Despite her assurance, the steps leading away suffered a long, pregnant pause before finally relenting and beginning the damsel's departure.
Crystalline gaze would slide closed, feeling the beads of sweat starting to pearl upon her skin, the prickle of gooseflesh another ornament to mar her. They knew. They had to know. Only a sparse few knew of the little ring, one she had been given some more than ten years passed. There had been such a small window for any to assume its possession as well. She knew better than to presume she had misplaced it, or that it had slid from her finger, but against all reason she had hoped. This, was no coincidence.
What were they planning?
Her face was akin to stone as she made her way to the dining hall. The doors were opened for her as per usual, and within at the head of the table, sat the man who sold weapons and blood for silver and gold. Was it the rumors that had alerted them? And if so, was Aethelos safe? While she was not surprised by the fact, she had not heard from him since he had departed once again for the draft. That she had to stay behind. That her hands were soft now. Or was it the way she refused to break her eyes away from his anymore? That she did not shy from the hardness of his palm and the stings it wrought. That her bruises had become a badge of honor splayed upon her skin. He, however, looked far too smug for her liking this time.
She resigned herself to her seat, her eyes wandering to each of the staff as they passed her by. As they went about their duties, looking for any sign, and flitter of their gaze, the nervous clatter of porcelain dining wear. Nothing, piqued her suspicion, however, more than the absence of her very own lady in waiting. Sari's warmth could not be found at her side, her lack of offering a drink as cold a reminder as her actual absence. The wine, instead of habitual water, was poured into her chalice as her stare instead affixed itself to the face of her 'mother'. The woman gave her a smile, and it would have passed as genuine, if it wasn't for the fact that it was the same expression worn in the beginning when she had assured her the dreams and night terrors were just from her trauma of being kidnapped. Of being swept away into a foreign land by people who wanted to use her for money. The very same action the two had committed against her. Her own countenance remained blank, the characteristic smile that normally adorned her lips was absent, though no frown replaced it. She would then look back to the dark, blood red of the wine set at the right of her empty plate. "Where is it?" She inquired, her words emerging slow.
As if he had been waiting for this exact moment, her 'father' would tilt his head in an overly dramatic, confused way. "Why, Arabella, whatever are you talking about?" She would look to him, dark lashes narrowing softly as she observed him. As she witnessed the way his lips continued to curl, like a pit of snakes. "My ring.""My dear, child," he would croon, "you're no longer getting wed. You have no ring." Her eyes would narrow further, the first of many droplets beginning to make their treks down her skin, a sensation amplified by the overwhelming sense of change. Her very bones echoed discomfort, harrowing warning, the strength of the rising moon plucking strings upon her that had not been disturbed in quite some time.
She had to leave.
If she did indeed change, no amount of privacy of the matter would be shielded from the residents here. Were they planning on painting her as the imposter Aethelos had accused her of being? To turn the blade of blame over to press to her throat? The man would draw his hand into the pocket of his suit closest to his heart, and her eyes would widen in genuine surprise as he displayed her trinket. She would reach her palm out, her fingers outstretched towards him in silent beckon for the jewelry. "We did find this band, however. I've been told the stone is the mark of a beast." Her blood ran cold in spite of the fever that raced through her veins. Her breathing would hitch, her pulse stammering before resounding even harder against the shores of her ribs, battered by the encroaching tsunami. "As you know, none here are touched by such a disease. I've already ordered the house to be locked down. No one is to come in or out. The guards have been told to kill whatever dog dared to infiltrate our house." His mustache twitched, a giveaway to the confidence he felt in that moment. In the power he assumed to invest over her. That was it then. The moon would take her, and then she would be cut down like a filthy mongrel.
"But, Father. I see no guards here."
Perhaps they did not understand the gift she was given at birth, wrapped in the hides of animals from the moment she departed her mother's womb. Able to change upon a whim, not only with the plight of Selene. She lunged, across the lace and embroidery of the table's cloth, her bones snapping, cracking as her skin burst violently into the purity of soft spun gold. He may have screamed, she was uncertain, as all sound was drowned out by the scream of her entire frame changing. No, her senses only returned to her with the taste of iron awash upon her tongue. Ivorian daggers sank deeply within that arm that claimed her treasure. The clatter of the metals hitting marble tile and then continuing to roll was a dim, distorted echo that was drowned beneath the chaos of the wife's shocked cry of terror. A snarl reverberated against the sinew of his limb as she shook it furiously within her maw, rending tendon and muscle alike until it nearly freed the bone beneath to the shocked onlookers. The area had cleared, those servants that had once busied themselves with setting the table had either pressed themselves flat to the walls or departed the room all together.
The madness tapped upon the glass of her psyche, but she hoped in those moments that she looked into his eyes, holding the piece of his forearm between her teeth, that he knew that she was wholly within her senses. She would release the bundle, blood and saliva dripping from her peeled back lips as she drew ever closer to his face. For one who had sold death to her people and their enemies, he was rank with fear of it. Her taloned foot pressed harshly to his throat, nails digging pinpoints into the tender hollow of his neck. His eyes bulged, his vocals hoarse as he wailed his breathless lamentations, ones that were becoming more and more indecipherable. All speech began to elude her. Her senses abandoning her, stripping her of reason.
Feral instinct was only derailed by the harsh bang of firearms, the very same he had brought to the desert once upon a time. Sharp pain pulsed through her, and in action she would later come to regret when her mind came back to her, she would abandon her goal, her weight launching from the lord of the Beleveron house. Her footsteps pounded against the flooring, nails clicking noisily in distracting echo along the tiles. The closest window was her friend, shattering with the insistence of her barreling form. Into the night she ran, unknowingly leaving a spray of crimson behind, her only coherent thought being to get away.
She was unaware of how long she had run. The entirety of her body burned with vehement exhaustion. No longer could she flee. The trembling of her legs forbade it, along with the anguish that had made itself well known through her chest. Each and every inhale was like breathing air into the reaches of the inferno. A forge that tempered her lungs with molten silver. Misery. That's what she had been reduced to.
The dawn broke over the horizon of the mountains to find her. Fur abandoned her, leaving the pallid sheen of her skin marred by the muddied earth and the smear of deep crimson. Her hands trembled as she held the mass of leaves against the bullet wound. Tears stung at her eyes, making their deep grooves through the filth that streaked her countenance. A break, a small pause, she promised herself, leaning against the rough bough of a nearby tree that she drug herself up against. The texture bit unpleasantly against the barren flesh. Her wild locks fanned out around her, effectively covering her otherwise naked bodice, a halo of bright gold against the whiskey hue of the forest floor.
Before the glimmering peak of sunrise, the young albino maiden had since parted from the warm comforts of her bed only to be found in the stables tending to her raven Friesian and thew few other equine that been housed. While Envy grazed contently on feed and hay, Avarice ran a brush down the mare’s mane, ensuring no tangle remained. It kept her mind busy, keeping it wandering too far to be left vulnerable to otherwise the invisible voices or shadows that would plague her. She ensured to keep herself busy – a feat she had inherited from her mother.
The doors of the barn swung open and one of the stable hands came barreling in, their legs staggering, evidence that they had ran. Doubled over to catch their breath, Avarice merely peered from Envy’s stall just as the sun began to peer over the pasture. “Is there a problem?” she inquired flatly as she often had. Pale lashes brushed over freckled cheeks, tilting her head slightly. The stable hand stammered, unable to get their words out, their arms flailing. Something to do with a tree, blood— Avarice sighed as she set down the grooming tool, pale hand gently sweeping her palm against Envy’s neck before handing her off to another staff. “Please show me if you will.”
There seemed to be some hesitation but eventually, compliance was made. Avarice took her coat and followed where she was led to her mothers’ exotic gardens stretching to the forest. She was met with the acrid tang of iron permeating the air. Her curiosity only strengthened as she drew closer. What she found was both unsettling and surprising all the same. Avarice was expecting a wounded animal at best. Instead, she was met with a familiar face; “Ara?” She called out enough to give herself away so not to startle the maiden coiled against the tree. Pale brows furrowed as she quickly discarded her coat from her person and instead sought to drape it over the barren flesh of her friend. “Marie, prepare a bath immediately and a change of clothes for our guest. There is a medical kit in the washroom by the towels.” The maid nodded and quickly parted ways.
Avarice knelt before the maiden in hopes she wouldn’t withdraw. Her pallid freckled features were quiet though her rosy-hued eyes were filled with a million questions all at once. She did not care if her riding trousers would be stained with muck and remnants of blood that washed along brittle trees as she leveled with her ailing friend. “Will you allow me to aid you?”
She had unwittingly placed the crown they had given her atop her head. Easy to trust, easy to sway. A simple minded girl merely wishing to believe that she had found her home, that she had been, at last, discovered and her wait was over. Oh, but how it tangled within her hair, blooming only ever thorns and no roses. Those tangled webs feathered upon her skull, digging deeply, they infiltrated her ears to deafen the truth, and when they were finally cut free with reality, they instead wove about her jaws. Barbed wire caged her tongue, muzzled the maw of the wolf for fear of the consequences if she spoke. If she tried to move, they would only cut deeper, they would cause further ruination. They slithered like serpents down her spine, bidding her to stand straight, to act a part which she was not. They grew on without mercy until she felt little more than a puppet, guided by these unforgiving metal strings. Guided by the hand that was harsh across her face, that rattled her silent teeth and mocked her fragile flesh. By the hand she wished more than anything to bite, to tear into the thin membrane betwixt his thumb and forefinger and rend until there was naught left of it that viscera and blood. Until her gentle captors were mirrors of herself. She had broken free of it, finally. No longer was she in any cage other than her own body. The soft lamb intertwined between the barred ribs of a wolf. The venerated softness protected by the barbed canine. Its jaws eviscerated by the muzzle it had finally broken. The soft wool, however, was dampened by the weeping ichor, drowning in an ever rising tide of sanguine wine.
Dark ringed eyes would open at the sound of a disturbance. An unfamiliar face teetered upon the edge of her vision. Her stammering breaths would cease as she held them in. Her chest burned, white hot and angry as her fingers gnarled like claws against the nest of leaves held tightly against herself, above the hollow hole that emanated from just above her breast. He simply stared at her, shock, revulsion, she was uncertain. Her musings remained clouded by the berth of the moon's pull, muddled further by the affliction of her wounds and exhaustion. His foot pressed too harshly upon a stick, its brittle frame buckling and snapping under his weight. She must have snarled at him, feeling the vibration reach through the caverns of her pain and the blood mixed spittle slipping from between her teeth and past the curve of her peeled back lips. Swiftly, he departed, leaving her to her to once more decline into the nightmares her mind conjured.
Her companions, her dear sweet Vutris. The little hydra. Where were they? Did they fare well? She had to go back. She had to save them from that place. From those snakes that wore the masquerade of humanity. However, as she tried to move, to rise from her fetal curl, only the aggression of agony met her efforts, her limbs trembling and unwilling to heed her desperate commands. She wanted to scream, to yell her mounting frustration at her bodice, but when her mouth parted, the jaws of the wolf only revealed the head of the lamb. And it omitted a broken, wailing sob of lament as the only thing that crawled out of her. If only she had known the truth sooner. If only she had been successful in her first attempt at escape. If only she would have peacefully trespassed beyond the threshold of this mortal calamity when she was still where she belonged. If only she had joined the rest of her people and perished at least upon her home soil. If only greed had kept that man away.
If only she had never met any of them.
For the only thing they had brought her was woe and misery.
“Ara?” Her blurred stare would once again open, her head rising faintly in an empty threat at whoever it was that disturbed her again. They were too far away, and she was far too quiet to ward them off. Their steps echoed like raindrops through the leaves, distorted placement swirling around her dizzy cerebrum. Her cheek fell back against the bark once more, its harsh bite serving to jar her to a halfway lucid state. The rest of the words floated just as well, meandering through a great distance and then up close like waves upon the shore. Then she felt a weight, a warmth, making her realize just how frigid she was, that it wasn't merely the grit of her teeth, but their chattering as her free hand not tangled within the mess of hair and leaves desperately clutched the material. Her lashes parted once again to behold the figure, this time familiarity intertwined itself with the reaching fingers of her mind. “Will you allow me to aid you?"
She relinquished her grip upon the coat, her grasp reaching out towards the maiden she dared call friend. "Avarice?" Her question then seemed to permeate the fog consuming her thoughts, a nod marking her answer. There was more she wished to say, and yet it evaded her, driven away by her exhaustion.
The way Arabella had coiled and curled against the tree as if it were her only lifeline reminded Avarice of her mother whenever her fits had gotten the better of her. Whenever the demons managed to take hold of the reigns and strike her through self-harm and violent behaviors that were not of her own. The evidence that remained was the jagged scar the wrung around her neck the night her mother had become inconsolable. A blind fury that nearly ended the pale maidens existence if it were not for those who were aware of her mothers unsound mind and the beast that resided within her. Avarice sighed quietly; her expression softened before the blonde maiden. Questions running rampant through her delicate little skull.
What had happened to her? Why did it happen? Avarice felt a sting a guilt wondering if she should have visited sooner though due to the incident during the wedding and the recent demands of war looming made such left to be desired. That was neither here nor there and what the young albino would remind herself was that she had a friend in need. She quietly prayed a silent thanks that she’d paid attention to her mother’s craft of medicine and doctored care. Despite her demeanor, Avarice was not the most graceful.
Cherry blossom gaze would return at the grasping beckon of her name found her ears. “Yes,” she reassured, extending a hand. Her tone though flat held a quiet friendliness to it. “Can you stand?” she asked then, glancing over the cautious stable hand that had led her to this discovery. His cheeks were bright red, unable to look directly to the two women as one remained with only the coat that Avarice had provided. “You can lean on me, if you’d like or I can have Adam carry you inside.” she offered with a slight wave to motion the bashful stable hand over. “It is not a far walk from here either,”
Avarice paused for a moment as she sought to place her hand upon her friends own if she allowed it. In truth, Avarice had not the slightest on how to approach this event unfolding other than knowing that there was wound that needed tending to and a friend to comfort, if she could even do so at all. “I’ll do my best to help you, Ara, I promise.”
"Yes," came the reassurance of the cherry blossom lady. The pink flush of her irises sharpened into clarity as Daesn'yri shook herself, trying to free the brambles from her thoughts. The forest's body adorned her hair, making the spun white gold dirty, dappled with moss and leaves, tinged with dirt and other fibers indecipherable at a mere glance. Enamored with the natural was the spearing punctuations of crimson. The whole of her person was tattered in likeness, from the race through briars and the breaking glass. From the hail of silver bullets. “Can you stand?” The inquiry drew her straying eyes once again to her friend, a most welcome surprise in this moment of destitution.
She would shift her weight, ichor stained fingertips ensuring her best that the covering remained upon her as Avarice would draw attention to the red faced young man she had seen previously. It was he who discovered her originally, and was thankfully in the employee of the maiden, it would appear, as she called him by name. “You can lean on me, if you’d like or I can have Adam carry you inside.” She offered, motioning the man closer. She set her jaw against the quiver of her flat pressed lips, against the veneer of sweat that dampened her furrowed brow. Tighter, her nails bit against the fabric, against the leaves, as she forced her legs to move, to bear her weight with the assistance of the tree she had been settled back against. Her knees nearly buckled completely, but through sheer stubbornness, she would keep herself up. “It is not a far walk from here either,” came the additional promise and she would give a nod, her palm tentatively leaving the rough bark behind as it clasped the cover she'd been given tighter around herself.
Her vision would once again anchor itself to her dear friend, as she laid her own touch along the back of her ruddy hued knuckles. “I’ll do my best to help you, Ara, I promise.” A shuddering breath departed her lips, along with her best attempt to smile. "Dae. Please. That's my name." Her simper would only grow, a relief unfurling within her chest as yet another of their imposing shackles would be loosened from her neck. Another leash falling listlessly at her back. Words she had longed for what seemed ages to speak, to beg for someone to know her true calling.
She would take an uncertain step forward, though her legs trembled from exertion, she found them steady enough to bare her should the walk indeed not be overly far. "I th-think I can walk it."
Avarice watched in her usual stoic quiet. Her expression remained in its ever-true neutrality that some often found unsettling in the lacking of emotion. Blush gaze would drift to the seeping carmine that wept from an obvious wound when the exhausted lady made every ounce of effort to stand. Avarice couldn’t help but ready herself to catch Arabella should she lose her balance. At the moment the cherry blossom maiden was more concerned about getting her friend under the cover of a roof and away from any potential prying eyes. Even if this was private property, it mattered not to those of greedy and envious nature.
Dae. Please. That’s my name. Pale lashed fluttered as a single brow rose with a glimmer of curiosity arching her pale visage. “Dae. Alright,” Avarice stated simply with a lilted chime. She wouldn’t push on the subject further lest Ara—no Dae wanted to. It was not her place to pry into speculation without reason. She stood with caution, watching closely to her wounded friends motion. Alabaster curls sweeping across freckled cheeks as she was met with the light chill of autumns nearing approach. She watched as limbs trembled with the evidence of wear and exhaust but ultimately finding the steadiness in her steps. I th-think I can walk it.
“Here,” Avarice would saddle next to the maiden and brushed her side against hers. “Just in case, please allow me to assist." Avarice went to hook her arm around Dae’s before looking to her stable hand. “Adam, do head on up ahead and please inform the kitchen to prepare a light meal for just our guest please and thank you.” The bashful stable hand did not hesitate to depart and make his way towards the manor. She watched as she looked to her friend and allowed her time before they would begin to make their way back.
“You don’t have to tell me anything if you do not want to,” Avarice implored her, sights falling upon stretched doors where two of her assigned maids waited patiently for her entrance. “But if we are to the point where we are sharing secrets, it would be only fair to know mine.” Avarice would wave them off while leading Dae to the washroom where the porcelain tub was filled with pre-heated water. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. My mother is a healer – I cannot compare myself to her but I know enough.” Avarice wasn’t entirely sure if that sounded reassuring or not.
She had been no stranger to them, these rumors that had ended up felling her. The whispers and the side long glances that had marred her passing since the wedding. The ugly glimpses of noble eyes had meant little to her, and she had to wonder now if perhaps she should have expended the effort to quell them. While there was no sadness over the end of her proposed union, one doomed in her eyes from the start, it was a bit unfair to her in hindsight. That her supposed husband could hang upon arm and hip of women within public eye and yet the moment she stepped out of line, it seemed the nosey swarmed her. Her presence barely noted at the ball only becoming important under the presumption of her absence. While Sari assured her that none witnessed her or her guest, nor did any wander close by, somehow the wheels had still managed to turn.
She was sure that they would simply fade and die in time, but it was not a risk that the Beleveron's had been willing to take, she supposed. They were merely tying up loose ends, after all. That's what she had been reduced to, a footnote, a memoir to be erased. Her head hurt. Her body ached. But perhaps it was her heart that suffered the most, that poor, vulnerable lamb imprisoned within her ribs, its legs peeking through the bone. It's blood spilling warm and sticky over her pale skin. Maybe it was better to compare it to a bird, one who had since lost the will to soar. “Dae. Alright,” she agreed, and her pallid smile would strengthen slightly. She could have never imagined the relief that would spiral from simply hearing someone say her name. Someone that wasn't herself. Someone besides the screams that tore her asunder in the arms of her nightmares. Even if these were her final hours, they would not have to be spent as Arabella.
“Here. Just in case, please allow me to assist." As she spoke, she would situate herself so that the wolf could lean against her, and although part of her was loathe to admit it, it was a welcome help. It was bad enough, though she would absolutely refuse to be carried. The events of the previous evening smoldering a harsh need for independence within her psyche. Trust, however, did fall within the other young lady's hands. “Adam, do head on up ahead and please inform the kitchen to prepare a light meal for just our guest please and thank you.” Her tired eyes would again linger towards the flushed features of the man, and if she had the entirety of her senses, she'd have been a flustered mess herself to think that he had perhaps seen through the tangled veil of her hair. However, such inclinations were far from her tattered thoughts, ones barely coherent.
“You don’t have to tell me anything if you do not want to,” Avarice would chime after a long moment, the doors to what Dae could only assume was her home wide in welcome. “But if we are to the point where we are sharing secrets, it would be only fair to know mine.” She would chuckle, the sound soft, accompanied by the accent of iron dripping from scarlet painted lips. "More of a confession, really," she would whisper breathlessly, stammer absent but speech afflicted instead by the depths of her accent. Like those she had shamefully muttered to the booth within the church. Ones she could only assume fell upon deaf ears in the end. For the gods she would have prayed to seemed to have left this world, or at least turned their backs upon their daughter. Their great and ancient tree had fallen, the faces crafted within its trunk charred and seared by the barbarity of war. Its stump had bled, just the same as she. "Arabella is a dear friend of mine. I was a poor imitation, at best." An admittance she could now easily make aloud without fear of repercussion. The worst had already happened.
The warmth of steam brushed her senses as she was taken under the woman's roof and into a washroom. Her tense and sore sinew wept with relief as she stepped into the tub, allowing herself to sink into its depths with relish. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. My mother is a healer – I cannot compare myself to her but I know enough.”"Thank you, Avarice."
The steaming heat of the washroom was a welcome one even to the young albino maiden with a sense of relief. Dae reiterated that the secrets were more confessions. Avarice pondered her her words, were secrets not the same as confessions? Arabella is a dear friend of mine. I was a poor imitation, at best. The washroom had a light, lingering fragrance of lavender and warm cloved vanilla. A scent that often paired with her mother lest she spent her days in the earth and soil tending to the gardens, harvesting herbs or filling vials with medicines. These days, she knew not what her mother did and occasionally did receive a letter ensuring she was in good health.
Whilst Dae would settle in the welcoming embrace of the bath, Avarice sought to messily tie back her colorless curls back and away from her face. Like mother like daughter, or so the saying goes. Avarice then rolled her sleeves and retrieved two wash rags and another bowl of clean water and set it next to the bath accompanied by the requested items brought by one of the maids. She would just need to remind herself to replace whatever she’d taken from her mothers supplies. “I wouldn’t say it was a poor imitation if others truly believed it.” she regarded casually. As if such news that could have easily made the papers and cause quite the uproar.
Avarice did not privy herself to such petty games of the noble classes. She had her fair share of passing glances of judgement and sneering gossip once upon a time. “But why could you not just be you?” A question she was far too familiar with as she took a footrest to use as a chair next to Dae’s bath and gestured for the bleeding arm to better clean and inspect. Her thanks took her by surprise in the slight pause. “You may call me Avvie, if you would like.” Her cheeks flushed sheepishly.
The scent of soft lavender and the warmth of vanilla tread gently upon her senses. It served to ease the tension within her senses, the hard edge of her struggled breaths easing if but just barely. A quiet apology would find her lips as she allowed the leaves to fall from her pallid, shaking hand, a neatly disturbing pile of gold and carmine to settle upon the flooring by the iron claw tub. It left the worst of her injuries clarion to view at last as she submersed herself. The tranquil water soothed the tired ache of her miserable sinew, some of the weak trembling subdueing and leaving her stiller, though there was still a pained quiver that pulled at her.
“I wouldn’t say it was a poor imitation if others truly believed it.” She would ilt her head towards the woman, her expression genial. Would they have believed such a charade if any of them had truly known the young lady of the Beleveron household? It was to her understanding that the family's time in the desert was among the final time she had left the estate or been seen outside of her coddling sickbed. Even her own brother had failed to lay eyes upon her in recent days. It brought a new worry to chew at the inner corner of her cheeks, the very same that had kept her from departing, from leaving before this could have the chance to happen. Now, in her absence, what would they do? They had claimed that they needed the money her wedding would bring to treat the maiden's ailments, but, ultimately, it had been they to proclaim the union would no longer go forward.
What was to happen to the true Arabella now?
“But why could you not just be you?” At the wordless beckon, she would raise her arm, allowing it to extend towards her friend. Her ally. Despite the wince the accompanied the action as it pulled against the explosive exit of the gunshot. "I don't quite know the details. I am not from this place... I lost my memories, and they found me. I looked close enough to their daughter," a shuddering sigh, a shake of her hed. "I don't know how long they intended to keep the ploy, or if this was their p-plan all along." There was a vague sense of serenity that accompanied her finally admitting to such things. "The real Arabella is very sick. I wanted to run at first but... When I remembered them, I couldn't turn my back on her."
“You may call me Avvie, if you would like.” She would nod, watching the dulcet touch of the cherry blossom lady, soft blue gaze slowly trailing up her arms to the blithe, unreadable contours of her delicate face. "Avvie. I like that." she would comment, admittedly losing volume near the end.
Neither she nor her mother never did delve into the political and social dramatic affairs that spurned around them so it did not register to Avarice that the whole purpose behind the wedding was perhaps to save face or name. Even perhaps there was a monetary reason behind it? Such a ceremony was just as alien to her now, as it was then. Poltergeist never did press the young albino maiden on the subject of marriage. Be it the over-protective nature or that her mother hardly trusted a moth that settled upon a windowsill.
Her question fell casually from her lips as she carefully took hold of Dae’s arm for better inspection. A small frown tugged the corners of her lips to see the bullet hole. I don’t quite know the details. I am not from this place… I lost my memories, and they found me. I looked close enough to their daughter, Avarice began to clean the wound as Dae continued, I don’t know how long they intended to keep the ploy, or if this was their p-plan all along. All the while, she looked for shrapnel or remnants of any bullet. Her brows creased as she took an antiseptic salve that her mother had once premade.
The real Arabella is very sick. I wanted to run at first but… when I remembered them, I couldn’t turn my back on her. Avarice was quiet for a moment. Both soaking in this new information and quietly doing her best to tend to the worst of sustained wounds. “A silver bullet,” she murmured under her breath more to herself than to her friend. Such a metal was not allowed in the household. “From what I have gathered, from what you have told me to what I am seeing now, they possessed an intention to discard of you and the Beleveron’s should be held accountable for these actions.” Avarice spoke without knowing the weight of her words her cherry blossom gaze cast downward as she continued tending to her wounds, numbly apologizing if she caused any further discomfort while she worked.
“Humans can be just as cruel if not worse than the beasts they fear.”
Her cheeks darkened slightly as her nickname was tested upon another’s tongue that was not her mothers, or her guardian. “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need, Dae.” Avarice assured. Her words sounding somewhat distracted as she made the effort to sew the hole once she could be sure that any remains of the bullet or – bullets – were removed.
