the end of love .

you say you will not dress up your sins ; i say you will not run from them either.

[alunyna]

— ALUNYNA ; closed & affiliated rp blog for nyna of shadow dragon & new mystery of the emblem; church of seiros at the officers academy . adored by alina ✧.*

this portrayal comes from after the events of fe12. following the war, nyna abdicated archanea's throne to marth and vanished, in search of a life away from her guilt and grief.

graphic by former toa member my beloved jackie ♡

[archanear]

@alunyna asked:

It is through a doorway that she sees him, so human in the late afternoon sunlight that her steps halt and her breathing slows. He sits before her like a memory, untouched by the grief that had turned him into a stranger. He is a ghost, a trick of the light meant to pluck cruelly at her still-torn heartstrings. He is her failure, her mistakes. He has haunted her since well before his end.. His love, its sincerity, all reminders of the guilt she had taken to bed with her each night since it had become theirs. Only when she realizes that he is looking at her, not through, does Nyna realize that before her is neither ghost nor griefless man. She swallows bile, becomes suddenly aware that her hands have begun to tremble. How he stood before her did not matter, it was that he did at all. What words could she afford to a dead man, what excuse or apology could even begin to undo the damage that she had done. That he had done in her name. What good would it do, to tell him that she wishes she could have loved him, knowing that even now she cannot? But her feet do not move, do not allow her the cowardice of running. She has fled from everything now; from her home, from her heart. She knows that he does not deserve to see her run from him once more. "They told me that you had died," her voice comes out a whisper, still too loud for the silence that hangs like smoke between them. "They said..." Her lips press thin, that recounting of his final words still branded on her widow's heart. "I shall not trouble you for more than this," Nyna swallows, fighting the ache that tightens her throat, "how?"

to love someone for any length of time is to attend a thousand funerals for the people they once were. to mourn the people they simply cannot be any longer. he wonders how many of his own funerals she attended, before they finally told her he was dead.

it was what he wanted them to tell her, of course. better to let her think herself free of him. he feels as though he attended a dozen funerals for himself, long before he had suffered injuries grave enough that he should be dead anyway.

it is not her job to hold him accountable for the man he could not continue to be. still, the betrayal of everyone else pales before the betrayal of the woman before him.

she is, in a word, everything.

that does not change. when he caught sight of her, oh, of course he assumed it was a coincidence. some trick of the eye, a woman who just had a similar bearing. but looking closer, no, of course it is her. he would know her anywhere, and as always he cannot keep his eyes off of her.

he has a mind to flee, then, feet already turning to lead him away when he sees she's caught sight of him.

when she speaks, it is an agony. like desire itself is agony.

"as they should have," he replies, and his voice is gruff, stilted. like each word is something he's trying not to choke on. a man who desires to leave home must be rid of all he has. what he cannot be rid of, he must bury. what he cannot bury, he must burn. what cannot be burned must be carried with him. and, oh, what comes with is always so heavy. shapeless, like regret.

she inflicts hope, she inflicts life. he cannot bear to stay in her presence.

"i nearly succumbed to my injuries on the field. i let them think i did. i crawled away from the funeral pyre and... i did not look back."

his eyes finally meet hers. "why have you come here?" it is not an accusation, only a question most sincere.

[alunyna]

She cannot think to imagine him in what should have been his final moments, in the agony it must have been to rise from the carnage of his own tragedy and carry onward. In her life there has been slaughter, misery, loss. She knows every term intimately, has hollowed out a space in her chest for each.

And yet to picture his own, Nyna finds herself incapable.

In the pale blue of her skirts do her hands find a reprieve from themselves. His voice-- every breath, all of its pain-- sinks into her skin like ice. She had known him once as a friend, in a time before obligation outshined love, and for that man she mourns. For her selfish hands had taken a chisel to that visage, carving away at his kindness until he became something unrecognizable.

Lips move, form around words she cannot find the voice to speak. That she is happy he is alive, that she is glad to see him again. She knows the veil of those words is thin over the reality of what his life means for her. She owes him more than what he can see past.

"Archanea deserves better than I am capable of giving it."

It deserves what could have been, were her heart less stubborn. Hardin had been a brilliant man then, more than capable of shouldering the role he inherited as the price for loving her. He had deserved that throne, that honor, and yet here he sat in exile.

All for the crime of being in love.

"I have been careless, selfish, afraid," she shakes her head. Had she been any less-- had she loved her home more than the ghost of a knight-- Nyna might have learned to love the man to which she had been sworn. Theirs could have been a happy future. Instead it is this. "I am unfit to be its ruler."

Shame washes over her, sends her gaze to the floor. "I have left it in the hands of Prince Marth, and I have come here to make use of whatever is left of this life."

[alunyna]

. ˚♡  @fangedjustice​ asked:

"Lady Nyna," Lloyd greets, his tone and body language a bit more reserved than when he'd approached Ophelia or when speaking with Julia. It was similar to how he'd tried to go about it with Andrei, not wanting to assume any further familiarity than had been extended to him through their shared experience. "I am glad to see you are well, after everything. I...wished to thank you again. Your gift with the healing arts is astounding; if you weren't there, I'm sure we would have had a much more difficult time of it."

Where he might have been a little hesitant with some of his gifts, mostly because he wasn't exceptionally good at giving them, with this one, Lloyd was more concerned if it would taken poorly for the meaning.

"Do not feel obligated to keep hold of it, but I wanted to give you something. Not just as thanks but...well, the season, I suppose," he murmured, retrieving the small item from his jacket. 

A raven, perched solemn but proud. The wood was black and had a lovely sheen to it, adding depth in the light where there might not have been any otherwise. For the most part, the carving was smooth, but instead of an indication of ridged feathers in the wood, there was instead the blossoms of slightly rounded, star shaped flowers along the bird's wings.

"I know ravens are often seen as a bad omen or a bringer of sadness, but...they are intelligent and playful. They can form such strong bonds. I have watched them visit people over years, and I have seen how they integrate themselves with wolf packs for the better of both. They are survivors, they adapt and they learn how to thrive."

“Ah, Sir Lloyd.”

A polite dip of her chin in greeting. Surreal, almost, to see him stand outside of the dream. Unharmed, safe -- alive and breathing despite the moments that she had feared he may be otherwise.

He produces a trinket from his pocket, holding it between them for her to see. Nyna blinks, taking in the carving in its every detail. The bird, featherless, given petals in the place of wings. It’s beautiful.

Delicately, she accepts the gift into her own hand, turning it slowly to watch as light dances over each carefully carved line. Lloyd continues, explaining his intentions further, and something like warmth swells in the frigid hollow of her chest.

A raven. All of her life she had been a rose, a dove -- something white and pure, regal as the name that she carried and the title that accompanied it. Strange, that she had never even considered that there may be other options, only ever despising herself when those laid before her became too heavy a burden.

A bad omen, he says, and yet every word to follow is contrary. Crystal gaze flickers to him, finally, swimming with a thousand unnamed emotions.

“Thank you,” words do not feel enough to express her gratitude, but she has little else to offer. “I will cherish this gift just as I have our time together. It means more than you could ever know.”

[alunyna]

Pretty and Witty and Gay

nagaficat​:

Here, in this little wedding boutique, is the last place Deirdre would have expected to find someone who shares in her turmoil. There are other women here, smiling and laughing and glowing with joy. Women in love. Women whose love is simple and straightforward and wonderful.

It is different for her and it is different for Nyna.

“My heart, too, belongs to two different men. You will receive no judgement from me.” She considers offering more but it is a long story and a sad story and one hardly suited for such a cheerful environment.

Her attention is pulled from Nyna as one of the future bride’s fitting is concluding with a veil placed on her head. The woman’s eyes well with tears and her friend–sister perhaps?–embraces her tightly. Deirdre remembers those moments for herself now too. Looking in the mirror and seeing herself as a bride for the first time. Both times it had been truly magical and for a moment she wonders if she could consider herself lucky that she got to experience it for the first time twice.

“I refuse to believe there is a limit on the amount of love our hearts can give.”

The former princess shakes her head slowly. “I appreciate your understanding, truly, but it was not that my love was shared and rather that it couldn’t be.”

She had tried so terribly hard to love the man who had been named Archanea’s emperor. In ways, she had loved him, for he had been a dear friend and a loyal blade. His presence was never an unwelcome one, his company cherished, but her heart was feeble and foolish. It wanted for a single soul, one now lost to war.

“The man for whom I had fallen is gone, and so too is the one that I had married in his stead,” it feels wrong to speak of such sadness to the melody of giggling brides-to-be. Lips part and, for a moment, she considers telling this stranger of the man that had come to her like a dream with the spitting image of her fallen knight and a heart so painstakingly closed to her own.

But she doesn’t, for there is no point in speaking of something that can never be -- no merit to fanning the flames of false hope. Even if his heart could be hers, it is fated never to last. Nyna sighs.

“...it would appear that we are next in line.”

[alunyna]

( from here )

@arcaeda

"lady nyna?" princess looks up with something of a curious gaze with a touch of worry floating within her eyes. it is not so strange that they are affectionate with eachother, but she sees something remorsal behind those eyes.

as if nyna believes she should not be doing this. or perhaps it is just her imagination talking to her…. she can't decide. silently (for only a moment), caeda's hand moves to cover the cautious one against her cheek— then a smile follows. nyna deserves only the brightest, most positive attitude that she can muster. she needed someone to encourage her even in the darkest of times.  "i'm not sure what's happened but you'll always have me on your side, milady. promise."

It is like seeing the sun rise, Caeda’s smile. Talys’ heart, how befitting a title.

“Forgive me,” her voice is soft and hand unmoving, for it is willingly trapped beneath Caeda’s own, “I do not know what has come over me...” But she still does not move, not when she is suddenly so acutely aware of every detail on the princess’ face, of the arch of her brow or the sea of her iris. It is improper, perhaps, to hold such a gaze when her own feels heavy with longing, but Nyna doesn’t look away.

“Your loyalty is an honor greater than I may ever express,” quiet, hardly more than a whisper, “I can only hope to prove myself deserving of it.”

[alunyna]

. ˚♡ seventh source

atypicalsenerio​:

Childhood could be measured by birthdays, evenly dividing a life into chapters.

Adulthood seemed to be measured in crises.

He was expecting it any time, wondering if he ought to approach Her Majesty directly, or if it was prudent to wait until she too arrived at the only conclusion left to them. He kept a satchel of spell components within reach at all times and grabbed it along with a few tomes, waving away the messenger who had passed along her summons.

Something was coming, and it would require his brand of creativity. Dark Magic. She might dislike it, but at least she had the sense to use his abilities.

Soren kept no mirror in his study because he didn’t need it. Streaks of white in his hair contradicted his otherwise youthful appearance, and the area around his eyes seemed permanently tinted with grey, as if he was running low on sleep. His crimson eyes had always unsettled others, and it seemed as though his magic use was only amplifying the effect.

Fine. Fear was a form of respect.

Soren let himself into Queen Nyna’s quarters. “Your Majesty, Nyna,” he said, bowing to the exact degree required of his station, and then straightening again. Her room suggested restless days and possibly even restless nights, the fatigue in her expression genuine. Unlike his, at least hers could be cured. She made a striking figure against the sunshine, where she belonged.

Soren set his books down. “I am not your go to for garden party coordinating, so I assume it is a graver matter. I suspect…” he cast his gaze around the table, cluttered with maps and books, “—the predictions of a volcanic eruption are proving true? Or is there another imminent disaster I need to know about?”

“You would be surprised by how little time I have for garden parties, bitter amusement laces her tone. If only life were so simple, truly, “but yes, you are correct.”

Nyna rounds the edge of her table. It is very clearly out of place here -- dragged in by necessity. She reaches for the largest of the maps that adorn it, turning it carefully so that Soren may see.

“We had hoped it would not come to this, of course. There have been multiple false alarms in the past, but never like this. It seems we must prepare for the worst.” 

A careful finger reaches to trace the lines of red, crystal eyes flickering up towards Soren. “It is expected to gravely affect all areas marked, and likely to spread ash as many as a thousand miles further at the absolute least.” Her expression is grim as she draws back. 

“It will be detrimental.” 

Silence hangs for a moment and she does not challenge it. Her entire kingdom falls within those bounds, with only a handful of villages resting on the outskirts. “I am sure you can imagine how ineffective an evacuation would be,” eyes shut and the queen breathes a heavy sigh, “I fear we have no choice but to stop it at the source.”

[alunyna]

. ˚♡  for whom the wedding bells toll

nagargent​:

It’s rare that she’s sent alone to such events like this. Julia is no stranger to travel, or mingling with foreign royals and diplomats. The youngest of Grannvale’s Imperial Family, she’s quite used to being paraded around with her sullen twin brother, radiant mother and charming father. Her elder half brother is often invited along too, the picture of a forward thinking, innovative ruling family.

Today she knocks upon Princess Nyna’s door alone and shrinks a little into herself as she does. Half expects someone to rush down the corridor to scold her for disturbing Archanea’s rose.

No one does. The maids lower their heads as a mark of respect as they pass. The circlet she wears, a gift from Empress Deirdre, her silk dress worn as casual wear. They tell a story of a young woman born with several silver spoons in her mouth. It bothers her, sometimes, the way people recoil as if afraid to upset her in case they awaken her father’s wrath. A reply calls for her to enter, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Princess Nyna,” Julia curtsies as she enters, after all she is the guest here. Lifting her head, she offers Nyna the brightest smile she can muster. The truth of the matter is that she is not here on her own behest, a gleeful friend celebrating a wedding. She is here to represent Grannvale in it’s entirety and cannot be seen to falter. “It’s a pleasure to see you too. My parents send their best wishes and apologise for their inability to be here themselves. I will, however, endeavour to fill their shoes as well as my own.”

There’s a heavy silence. Julia notices a dark, lonely melancholy in Nyna’s gaze. All of a sudden she is both the stranger that Julia knows her to be and achingly familiar. This thought Julia swallows down, cautious of her place here. She cannot keep her distance entirely though.

“You look radiant. Is there anything I can do for you? Oh, have you gathered everything? Something borrowed, something blue, something old and something new?”​

“As much as it saddens me not to see them, please do not worry. Your presence is far more than enough,” a smile in return, warm. “It is always wonderful to be in the presence of a friend.”

She is not immune to that lull in the dream’s thrall either. Gazes meet and for a painstakingly long second, Nyna does not understand why she knows this girl’s name or from where it is that she hails, let alone why she would speak so casually of her parents or call her friend. 

But the other continues and so too must she, choosing not to dwell on the uncomfortable pit that now sits in her stomach.

“Ah, thank you,” warmth rushes to her cheeks, “but, please, your company is a gift enough.” She nods towards another small stool a few paces from her. “Come and sit,” the princess hums, “I would be happy to show you.”

Carefully, Nyna reaches for a small box seated atop the vanity. She lifts its lid, raising it in her hand to show her company. “Something old,” nestled carefully inside is a ring engraved with her family’s crest. She shuts the box once more, setting it back in its rightful spot and reaches instead for her hair.

“Something new,” lithe fingers brush carefully over the ivory petals of a rose shaped hairclip tucked neatly behind her ear. A gift to match what her people called her.

Finally she unearths a pendant from beneath her dress’ collar. It glimmers pale blue in the light, depicting a small bird. “And something blue.”

[alunyna]

The Same Rainbow’s End ༊*·˚

gradible​:

Sirius gasps, the cold shock of healing magic nipping at his nerves before it can begin to warm them. It is only when Nyna begins to restore his flesh that he realizes just how damaged it had been. Did he lose himself in that last battle? Has he ever found himself at all, is perhaps the better question.

He breathes in deep. The princess–or ex-princess’–touch is one the course sands of time have allowed him to forget. The hands that stroke his back once molded him into the man he is today. They are delicate, but meticulous in what they craft. Just as they make open wounds into closed scars, they make men whole again–they teach love to the lonely.

“It seems, then, we are more similar than I had ever realized…” 

He stops her by rolling his shoulders, signaling to his cleric that his body needs a moment to rest, and his heart a second to speak. “Seldom do heroism and happiness meet,” he continues, careful to lower the tone of his voice so it is harder to recognize, “to choose one, the other is often sacrificed. You followed the path you believed in, even if it meant giving up the niceties of palace life… That is… Admirable.” 

And of course, Sirius has followed his own version of that path. Never did he overstay his welcome in Archanea; not once did he reap the reward of his service. He is by all accounts a man of war, appearing only in times of turmoil to ensure his motherland is safe, and vanishing before the names of Camus or Zeke can be honored. He trusts the continent’s current ruler. Perhaps, had he revealed his identity to the League, he could have earned himself a place in a palace of his own. Maybe then could he and Nyna have forgotten their past affiliations, sending love letters in secret and dancing beneath a veil of stars.

But he has his little cottage home, and a lover waiting for him to return to her side. Those are all he’s chosen to need in life–picked over jewel-encrusted silverware and capes of foreign silk.

Now that choice begins to sting Sirius’ heart. With each tap of Nyna’s delicate fingers, with each sprinkle of her heavenly dust, a part of his soul is cleaved in two. 

By any name he is an unhappy hero, favoring duty over desire.

Her hands pause, hovering a moment before resigning themselves to fold atop one another at her front. For just a breath she mourns the loss of touch, grieves for those moments of closeness with a man she knows that he is not.

Admirable, he says, and yet she had never seen it that way. Her lips press into a line.

“I did not ever need the luxuries that my noble name afforded me,” fingers twitch, lost now with no purpose to serve, “if you believe my happiness relied on the quality of my gowns or the comfort of my pillows than you are sorely mistaken.”

She had never been ungrateful, no, but comfort had never held a weight in her decision making. Her jaw clenches. “My happiness goes hand in hand with my- with Archanea’s people. It was my responsibility to guide them, to lead them, and I...”

Let a broken heart carry me away. 

Silently she raises her hands again, fingers picking up where they had left off. Her brows furrow. “Call it cowardice, call me a fool, but I cannot stand the thought of being admired. Not for this.” Not for anything. 

Skin knits beneath her touch and her heart pangs in the hollow of her chest. For all of the things that she can mend, her own heart will never be one of them. She cannot make it whole on her own, cannot ask that another mend it. For every hand that has reached between her ribs has come back bloody and cold.

Nyna shuts her eyes. “Forgive me, but I fear you do not understand,” a shake of her head, “I abandoned my duty, I surrendered my responsibilities to another and I ran. Marth is immensely capable -- far more than I -- but that does not make what I did right.”

[alunyna]

prayer hearts

arcaeda​:

“maybe i’ll have to lie about an injury or two to see you more often.” she jests with a laugh at the mention of the infirmary. it would make sense for nyna to place herself there for the monastery’s sake— the woman was always a talented healer unlike herself. she quiets, however, seeing the way nyna retreats at the very concept of ruling.

was that why she left with nary a word to either her or marth? it would make sense. she forces the frown back down her throat and to the depths of her heart, knowing that what was needed right now was a charming positivity that only she herself could offer. “it doesn’t have to be a ruler’s education! people of entirely different walks of life study here— and i don’t think commoners exactly need that kind of education.” it’s a light suggestion, one that she doesn’t think nyna will completely take to heart. regardless, to hear nyna put all her trust in both her and marth makes her heart swell with affection. “you flatter us both, nyna. i’m simply glad to be able to help marth return archanea to its best as a nation.” before she met marth back in talys, she would have never thought that she’d be helping run a nation like this.

“speaking of marth, though… does he know you’re here? if he doesn’t, i’m sure he would be overwhelmed with joy seeing you again!”

Amusement dances in the former empress’ eyes. “As long as they are only lies. I do not wish to see you truly hurt.”

Her thumb smooths against the back of Caeda’s hand. “I suppose you aren’t wrong, no, but..” For as much as she appreciates her friend’s suggestion, she knows it is something she could never bring herself to do. Perhaps not only rulers came to this academy, but those who came to learn had a place to exercise that knowledge -- a purpose.

Something that she was woefully without.

“He does not,” she answers, grateful for the topic change. “Though I had not known he was here until just now. It would be nice to see him again, to talk once more after so long. I only worry to know how many reminders of home my heart can take.”

[alunyna]

. ˚♡ seventh source

tdp inspired au starter for @atypicalsenerio !!

Paper rustles beneath her fingers as they move, gathering slowly into fists atop the table. Countless lines span the parchment before her -- black ink drawing borders and territories, scrawling the names of kingdom after kingdom, village after village. Nyna shuts her eyes, loosing a heavy sigh. Countless homes, thousands of lives, all within even the smallest of shapes on her map. 

All relying on her. 

The room around her is a mess. Papers litter every surface -- maps and books piled high on every table, in every corner, scattered across her otherwise untouched duvet. For all of the composure that her regalia exudes, her surroundings speak the exact opposite.

A knock on the heavy oak of her door. She calls for entrance.

“Soren,” the queen’s chin dips in greeting, crystal eyes dull with exhaustion no matter how even her tone. She straightens her shoulders, rising from where she had been hunched. Hands fall away from the map to reveal red.

“It’s good to see you.” The mage looks as he always has; disgruntled, hair streaked with white, and carmine eyes cold. “Tell me,”

She takes a step back, turning her gaze from him and instead towards the late afternoon sun that filters though her window with a long breath.

“what do you know of why I have summoned you?”

[alunyna]

Pretty and Witty and Gay

nagaficat​:

Deirdre smiles and offers her arm to Nyna so they might enter the shop together. She is glad her offer was accepted. While she has no desire to see herself in such a gown again, at least without either of them here by her side, she does long to be a part of this.

The two enter the shop together and the atmosphere is just lovely. It is small and intimate with a little sitting area complete with tea and sweets for those waiting. Another woman stands in front of a large trifold mirror getting what appears to be the finishing touches on her fitting.

Deirdre takes a seat on the sofa and gestures for Nyna to join her while they wait their turn. “I know you said you do not think you will be wed anytime soon but, I hope you still are keeping your heart open. I have found that love tends to find us when we least expect.” She smiles and reaches for Nyna’s hands. There is a sadness in her eyes that cannot be denied. The same sadness Deirdre often catches in her own reflection. “Or when we need it most.”

Hands fold in her lap, gaze trained upon them as the other woman speaks. Only when one of the Deirdre’s own settles upon them does Nyna look upwards.

She isn’t sure she likes the knowingness in those lavender eyes.

“I suppose you are not wrong...” she looks away, idly watching the people around them. Love had found her where she had least expected it. Where she wishes terribly that it hadn’t, for it had only been another thing to lose.

“If I may be honest, I have been wed once before.” Her gaze returns to her lap, a quiet sadness worming its way into her tone. “To a good man -- a kind one. He had promised be nothing but good, and yet...”

Nyna swallows, eyes shutting for a long moment. “My heart had still belonged to another.”

[alunyna]

prayer hearts

“mmm.” caeda immediately shakes her head, hurt no longer trying to fight for a spot in her heart now that the air of familiarity has returned to the two of them. “i could never be unhappy with you! sure i was sad that you never even said goodbye… but i think my happiness from seeing you again cancels that out. you apologized just now anyways, so consider it something of the past!”

a softer smile tugs at her lips, knowing now that she had not missed anything of nyna’s presence here. “so you’ll be a regular here at the church then? i’m truly glad to hear that. i will definitely come to visit the church more often if you’ll be here.” a light giggle follows her joyful admission. “though i would have liked to attend my studies with you were it ever possible… i suppose i’ll just have to settle with this, hm?”

Forgiveness. She had not realized how deeply she longed for it, how much weight those words would ease from her aching shoulders.

Nyna dips her chin, a small smile of her own pulling at her lips. “Yes, and in the infirmary should you ever need.” Silently, she wishes for the same. It would have been something of a dream to be schooled traditionally alongside others her age, to have made friends in the traditional sense.

“I fear I am no longer in need of a ruler’s education,” she shakes her head softly, “but I am glad to see you pursuing one. Archanea is in fine hands with yourself and Marth as its rulers. I am eternally proud to have the honor of calling you both my friends.”

[alunyna]

. ˚♡  for whom the wedding bells toll

[NEW!] In spite of getting dragged from your Academy beds and made to solve problems in the middle of nowhere, these weeks spent in the village have given you all the best sleep of your lives. Tonight, you and your friends are whisked off to shared a dream of the past, what is now an idyllic world that adapts easily to your desires and expectations. Your mistakes, the pain others have inflicted on you, the things you’ve lost… everything you wish you could have changed or have control over, this dream gives you the chance to correct the course and make things right again. But as you feel your mind and body getting weaker with every minute you remain asleep, you realize that tearing yourself away from a world where everything is perfect takes a lot more will than simply kicking yourself awake. [Grants Faith +1]

The world is gilded in a heavenly shade of gold — the walls that surround her decorated in ornate designs of more flowers than she knows even the name of. 

Her own reflection is a surreal kind of beautiful, glowing in the mirror before her like that of an angel rather than a human. Features fall into an easy smile and crystal eyes glitter back at her — full of life, full of love. 

Heavy white skirts shift against the little stool upon which she perches as Nyna leans forward. A careful hand rests fingers against cool glass, daring to confirm that there is a reality to the image before her. Nothing wavers or fades, no illusion cracks beneath her touch. In all of a heartbeat, the vision is sold. Too good – too beautiful – to deny.

She is to be wed. 

Gold curls are pinned to frame her face, eyes framed by dark lashes and lips painted a lovely peach. She looks to all the world as Archanea’s princess should – the absolute image of elegance, a woman in love.

Eyes pull away from the mirror and instead to a portrait framed and displayed on the vanity before her. She does not even register the unnatural way that the faces blur, only that the figures painted within it are her own mother and father when they had been wed so many years ago. Lips draw into a smile as her thumb smooths over the gilded frame. She will have to have another made just like it of her and her knight.

Her knight who, no matter how hard she tries to envision in her mind, does not quite piece together properly.

But there isn’t time to dwell on that, not when a gentle knock sounds at the door and pulls her attention away. Nyna turns, calling for the visitor to enter, and smiles when her eyes fall upon the visage of a foreign princess whose name she knows to be Julia.

“Princess,” she greets, nodding for her to enter properly. “It’s good to see you.”

@nagargent !!

[alunyna]

. ˚♡  @gradible asked: 🎄

A silent nod is offered to the ex-princess--an acknowledgement that they are better off pretending they didn't see each other here today.

In her mind's eye she can see it going differently -- can see the man that she so desperately wishes was beneath that mask, can feel his hand at the small of her back and the warmth of his breath against her lips.

Crystal eyes linger just a moment, but she is silent. It is better this way, she knows, better that he does not allow her to push the knife of foolish hope deeper into her flesh. She would only be cursing them both to hurt anyway, only be asking for yet another love to be overshadowed by hers for another.

So Nyna bows her head just as well, bringing her arms to her chest as she pushes past him.

[alunyna]

. ˚♡  @lukendary asked:

🎄+ 💋 “If her Ladyship would be so kind as to bestow the greatest of fortunes on a humble, single, lonely soul as mine…” Luke trailed off, posed under the mistletoe, and he couldn’t bear even a sentence of an over the top humble plea without his signature smirk showing by the end of it.

The word Ladyship gives her a moment's pause, brows furrowing as her gaze flits over the man presented before her. She does not recognize the man by name, but she has seen his face before.

Back in Archanea, back where her heart so miserably longs to call home.

One look at the mistletoe above his head is all that she needs to know what he is after. "Humble, you say?" Nyna sighs, shaking her head, the barest hints of amusement pulling at the corners of her lips. "Then I do suppose it is only right."

She brushes her lips against his cheek once before passing.

[alunyna]

. ˚♡  @nagargent​ asked:🎄+ 💋 +reverse. smoochies for the most lovely lady <3

"Oh, Lady Julia-"

But she is cut short by lips against her own -- soft and gentle, a quick little peck. Nyna wrings her fingers as the girl pulls away, crystal eyes wide and pale cheeks warm. They are well outside of the hazy dreams in which they had met, and yet Julia is almost more ethereal despite it. A shake of her head -- such silly thoughts.

"Thank you. It pleases me to see you well..."

[alunyna]

. ˚♡  @nagaficat​ asked: 🎄💋 pucker the fuck up

She hardly realizes where it is that she stands, not until her gaze meets with the woman beside her and then cautiously wanders upwards only to find... ah. A subtle pink flushes her cheeks as she clears her throat. “I had not realized this tradition was practiced here as well... Ah, forgive me, Lady Deirdre. If I may?”

Careful and chaste, she offers a soft peck to the other’s lips. Only when she draws away does Nyna let embarrassment win, clearing her throat as she looks away.