bloodied flower;

no one wearing a CROWN c o m e s in the name of PEACE ANDROMEDA WRAITHBONE

[andrising-blog]

Was working all day !! I’ll be around I promise.

[trcnqulityarchive-blog]

The ceremony was always something that she’d look forward to. The gathering of people coming to celebrate Andraste with the intention of having a warm and fun filled celebration to balance out whatever tragedies had occurred in the previous year, and fellowship and bonding between all of the royals and peasants alike - she hated it. An almost impassive look was gracing her features are she stared out over the see of lanterns and people gathered to send them off when a new voice near her side carried over the calamity. Her first impulse had been to laugh, though she quickly tempered her features into a serene smile. “An interesting feeling to have,” she acknowledged as she turned her gaze onto the other. “In these times that we live in, I do believe something will occur as well. With hope it will be something to bring good tidings to us all.”

[andrising-blog]

She spared her companion little more than a glance. Every fiber of her body screaming she doesn’t belong here. The princess had become rather good at ignoring her intuition. Today was not the sort of day where one could afford more than a handful of angry outbursts and the princess had served up quite a few. “Peculiar, I should say not interesting,” Andromeda remarked. She squinted at the horizon as if waiting for some great sign, she strained her ears as if she might hear change coming. The sound of waves slapping against rocks was overpowering. “It’s too calm. We’re too happy-- or they are,” the crowds down below continued their revelry.

“Good tidings?” she scoffed. “No tidings are good tidings,”.

[andrising-blog]

When Andromeda opened her eyes she was no longer surrounded by snow drifts. There was no throne before her. Instead, she found herself where she had been standing precariously near the edge of an overhanging precipice. One false step and she would find herself falling into what remained of the crowds below. She struggled to coax her limbs in the right direction, to look around her. To distinguish what was actually happening, from the images that flickered around her. Fear begged her to stay put, to not venture further, to close her eyes and shut out the world around her.

It was only the sound of snapping jaws, and the bark of her wolf that pushed the young girl to action. Andromeda felt the weight of her clothes, she shrugged off her cloak, and wrapped her arms around her wolf’s neck smearing the blood of Cinnia’s victim onto the front of her dress. Who has she killed? It would be impossible to know. By the time footsteps approached she felt stronger somehow. The memories of what she had done and seen had been pushed to the back of her mind. “Step ANY closer and my wolf tears out your throat,” she warned, as her wolf wagged her tail in a slow pendulous manner.

[andrising-blog]

I got like no sleep bc I stressed myself out all night worrying about the directions I’ve sent my muse in. Pretty sure I had a nightmare about Andi and her general life decisions. ah.... anyway feel free to hmu and we can talk but I’m gonna avoid writing until my head is straight again. 

[andrising-blog]

the red sea rises // self para

There’s something sickening about so many people packed tightly together. Something about bodies pushed up against each other, elbows in all the wrong places. Humans are not the sort of being that can be counted on to STAY STLL. They wiggle, slouch, and shift uneasily like cattle waiting for the slaughter. Princess Andromeda of Edareviel is no exception. 

Sweat drips down the nape of her neck and into the hard fabric of her dress. Her armor-- to call it a dress could be inaccurate. The princess has changed from the loose florals she had been stuffed into in the early hours of the morning into a coat of her own choosing. A coat that demands respect, one that protects her from the horrors of the outside world. She shields herself in gold, behind layers of skirts and a corset that threatens to snap her ribs each time she exhales into the night air, heavy with anticipation.

She closes her eyes, not wanting to look below her at the rows upon rows of expectant onlookers. They want a show. She shivers, and squeezes her hands into delicate fists clammy appendages folded in on each other and she feels as if she might choke. The beginnings of a headache stir in the back of her head, she fights the sensation prays for it to come another day but she knows that it’s only a matter of time.

Open your eyes she can’t, she REFUSES. The princess is a disobedient child once more, she ignores the demands of practicality and she clamps her eyes shut as she knows the lantern are to be released into the sky. Behind her eyelids the lights of the lanterns dance, coloring her dark world in a red haze. She sticks out her tongue, tasting the cool air before running her tongue over her cracked lips. Open your eyes you stupid girl, open your eyes. 

The world around her is silent. The silence she has come to attribute to the anticipation for the release of the lanterns. A silence that consumes, her own breathing seems a roar now. She holds her breath, only to find the sound of her heart throbbing in her chest is now a quickening thrum.

What she expects next is cheering, laughter. That-- that is a scene she might open her eyes to but what comes next could not be more different. The sound of screams, exclamations that make no sense. Curiosity forces her eyes open and what she sees she is not sure she wants to believe. The lanterns snatched from the sky before they make it more than a few feet, the sound of hundred lanterns ripping sounds like the earth itself is being torn in two. 

From the darkness spill shapes. Demons. LOOK AT THEM. To know them for what they were, to challenge them, might weaken their hold on you. But the princess does not want to see, she watches out of the corner of her eye until she has escaped altogether. No longer is she on a peak overlooking masses, masses of the living, the dead, and the dying crawling over each other like an army of ants. 

It’s cool here. There is no noise, no bright lights, it takes her a moment to realize she is not entirely alone. Andromeda does not realize she is crouched until she notices how tall the figure before her stands, a female figure at that. Women were not taller than the princess, that was a fact. She rises, shakily, awkwardly her breath shallow coming out in little hoarse gasps. She looks about her, the more she tries to piece together WHERE she is the more her surroundings begin to unfold before her. A throne room, not the one in the castle a different one with three thrones that stand before her.

A figure sits in the throne to the far right, another stands before her-- unmoving from when she last glanced upon it. She clutches at her knees, feeling heavy-- weighed down by the dress that entraps her. Slowly the princess begins to pull apart her dress, slowly at first-- carefully but her fingers are frozen. She had not realized how COLD it was. How the snow fell on the ground before her, how blue her feet are when she is left only in her shift. Her breath is smoke out of a dragon’s mouth, but that does not stop her from slowly yanking away her shift until she is as naked as when she came into the world.

She reaches for her throat, for the heavy chain that hangs around it. The last remnant of clothing, with a strength she does not think she has she rips the chain roughly from her body. She gasps at the pain of it. The feeling of the metal digging into her skin, so deep she can feel it begin to cut through before it gives way. The ruby pendant sits in her open palm before clattering to the floor, somehow it does not break when it lands.

When the pendant falls the figure that stands before her moves. Walks. The elegant walk of royalty towards the western throne and it is not until she seats herself that Andromeda recognizes a face so familiar to her that it knocks the breath out of her. Elara. Mother. 

Slowly, gingerly she begins to walk forwards. The ice beneath her feat feels as if she is walking upon needles. She must see though, she must KNOW who sits in the eastern throne. She steps forwards, taking a turn to the right so that she might see. Her vision has been crippled, how she does not know. She peers at the shadowy figure, “Myrcella,”. 

She feels her wolf now, her large body snaking between her legs. There’s comfort there, in her loyal pet. Andromeda turns her head, noticing the empty throne perched in the middle high above the rest. Shakily she positions her disjointed body in the direction of the throne and crosses to it. She finds the steps are comfortable, not cold like the floor and she ascends with ease. 

Andromeda relaxes, a stone chair never felt so comfortable. It is as if it were made for her, she arches her back not minding for once how much if her is exposed. “What is this place?” she wonders, and is stunned into silence by her own voice. It does not sound her own voice, there is no fear no anger. She sounds like a QUEEN. A smirk crosses her lips, and Andromeda relaxes. Perhaps this is all a dream. 

Another part of her, the rational mind not so easily fooled continues to harass her. This is not a dream. This is something else altogether. What is it? What is causing it? What about the lanterns and the screams? The princess is used to headaches, she can will these uncomfortable questions away as quickly as she’d dismiss a rude servant.

She closes her eyes for a moment, relaxes. She wonders why her aunt won’t speak, what has caused this triumvirate. She can feel the throne shift beneath her, snugger, most suited to the curves of her body. It seems constricting though, as something wraps around her legs. When she opens them she finds herself no longer on a throne, instead perched upon a writhing pile of bodies. Elves she notices. Humans too. 

She screams. A banshee’s wail. Andromeda fights for freedom, she flails and screeches. She kicks with all her might. She calls for Cinnia. For the Maker. For Andraste. She wails other names too, names she did not know had been waiting on her lips. Aleister. But he is nowhere to be found. She glances below her as tears spill down her cheeks. Is he down there? 

She dares not look again, can not bear to think that she might recognize their faces. She flings herself forwards, her chest flying forwards in a desperate attempt to free herself. Andromeda cries out as the cold stone bites into her flesh, her dull finger nails dig into the stone floor as she pulls herself from the writhing mound. The mound that begins to crawl in pursuit, hands ever reaching-- latching onto her ankles, her knees, and reeling her back.

“HELP ME!” she calls out. “CINNIA!”. Her wolf is nowhere to be found. She can hear her yelps from behind her. Cinnia sounds only a puppy now, yipping and frightened. The princess turns her head just in time to see her wolf pulled beneath the sea of bodies, the mound having grown so large that limbs begin to fill the room a sea of subjugation.

Pushing herself free she scrambles down the stairs, and the scene dissolves before her. She looks around as the world once again comes into focus. Two figures, hunched over something. She inches forwards, with a sort of curiosity that she desperately fights not to sate. 

“What is that?” she hears herself say. Their heads snap towards her, turning quickly like a rock skidding against an icy lake. Elara and Myrcella. They are cloaked, but the cloaks soon fall away as they stand and the princess can not help but gasp. Scars litter their bodies, the light in their eyes... blood mages. 

“We have a present for you,” she has clamped her eyes shut and does not know who the speaker is. She does not look up, she does not move. Perhaps she might freeze and die. Be rid of whatever hellscape she has found herself in.

The familiar feel of warm canine breath heats her face. She opens her eyes, but it is not her wolf that stares back at her. This one is black, eyes greener than any wolf’s have a right to be. “Cinnia?” she sees it in her somehow. Despite the changes in color, the difference in size. This is her Cinnia.

She reaches out to her, and rests a hand in her thick fur. “What have they done to you?” she wonders. She feels the fur of her wolf’s neck, thick, wet, and heavy. When she looks down she sees that she is not simply wet. There is blood there. It was self defense, Cinnia would never hurt anyone unless I willed it. 

The wolf opens her large maw, out comes the familiar lapping tongue. And then she P O U N C E S . Lunges. Andromeda screams as the wind is knocked out of her. As she falls back just as the wolf’s sharp teeth slice through her chest. She can feel herself being pulled apart, torn apart, reconfigured. A blood mage sacrifice, or something far worse? What could be worse?

She closes her eyes, and now she stands watching herself. An older version of herself, sitting upon the throne of bodies decked in cloth of gold. She is beautiful, regal and indifferent to the mass beneath her. For a moment her heart swells with pride-- so this is QUEEN ANDROMEDA OF EDAREVIEL.  

She watches as a rogue hand grabs as the queen’s ankle. How she does not seem to truly notice as she flicks it away. She sits high above them all, unafraid, so unlike the young girl who watches her now. A young girl so filled with fear. 

Andromeda turns her head, noticing the seat beside the queen. On the chair sits the rapidly decaying corpse of a man, she does not recognize him save for his crown. Her HUSBAND. She feels her heart beat quicken, at the shock of SEEING him for the first time. Then seeing his true condition. All men must die, long live the King.

The queen extends her hand, rests it lovingly atop the lifeless hand of her husband. She smiles at him, and shrugs away her thick ermine cloak. Underneath she wears nothing, her breasts are heavy but what causes Andromeda to step back is the swell of her stomach. She is very far along.

“Twins,” this older Andromeda calls out to her. “A boy and a girl I believe,”. She smiles a wide smile, so unbecoming of such delicate features. She squints, this queen does not look much older than her. Truly there must only be a few years between them. Is THIS what happens? She walks forward and can’t help but notice the markings that adorn the queen’s skin. B l o o d. Some of it is blood, some of it is etched into her skin. 

MAGIC. Andromeda feels the need to wretch, and wretch she does. Splattering the throne room with bile. What has she become? What is she? An abomination. A product of demons. She levels her glance towards the swollen stomach, and she knows exactly what it contains. 

As if in a dream, she finds a sword at her belt. She wrenches it from her scabbard, a long sword. She can not wield it, the princess never learned to use a sword. She drops it, hissing as she feels the blade cut her leg as it falls to the ground. She searches around the room before noticing a stake, a stake a fixed with a portrait of Andraste. 

HOW DARE SHE? This vile. Cruel. MONSTER. Her replacement--- her future. How dare she act as if she had any love for Andraste. The princess grasped the long stake, it was even heavier than the sword. More unwieldy. She clutches at it with both hands and raises it before plunging it into herself. Not once, not twice, a surge of power comes to her. She can not tell how many times she raises her weapon, nor how many times it falls.

She is perched upon the queen’s lap. Their bodies pressed together, the Queen only laughs as Andromeda kills her. As the life slips out of her she meets the princess’ frenzied gaze, with a knowing look. You will see, one day you will know how I came to be this way. One day you will be me. 

A sea of red begins to fill the room. Andromeda climbs down from her seat. She stands on the cold, hard floor and she waits. Waits for the relief of the thick water lapping at her feet. She relishes the way it rises above her knees. The way her body fights it, desperate to breath-- to rise to the surface. I am Dragonstone’s destruction. I am its’ inevitability. I am THE RED DAWN. 

[andrising-blog]

me: 

andi:

[andrising-blog]

Ya’ll got me thinking about what Andromeda was wearing-- so I’d say for the festivities at the red sea THIS ( with more red obviously ) and then for the parade THIS. 

[itsnothawkingbird-a]

Dinah nodded slowly, pulling away from the princess. “Of course, highness. Whatever you think is best.” Hoisting herself astride Oliver’s saddle she took a slow breath. “Well. Would you like me to accompany you to the Ceremony at least? I do not like the thought of leaving you alone at the moment.”

[andrising-blog]

Perhaps it was a lifetime of coddling that caused the princess to bristle at Dinah’s comment. She felt as if she had been pricked by anger, what should have been mild irritation roared into a roaring snapping fury that she contained out of sheer luck. The princess plastered a smile on her face, reminding herself that she didn’t owe Dinah anything. “I do not know what I would like yet, I’ll make sure to tell you when I have,” the said quietly. The sort of thin lipped silence that holds back a storm of words. A storm of regret. “AND I do not particularly care what makes you comfortable, I have my guards and my wolf wherever the wretched animal has run off to...”.

She looked about, searching for her pet calling out to her amid the noise of the festivities. This would do her no good, doubtless Cinnia would find her but she needed her NOW. A living breathing symbol that the princess was fully capable of taking care of herself, or being care for by those she appointed. She pressed her lips together grimly, her head hanging. “Don’t...,” she said hoping to stop whatever further attempts Dinah might make to help her.

[andrising-blog]

ycurhighness:

The Queen looked out onto the body of water before them and smiled as the girl spoke. She found the sound of crashing waves to be calming for her mind but was careful to still listen to Andromeda. “The weather is always beautiful in this part of Dragonstone. I must visit the other kingdoms more often so as not to forget the vast beauty of the Maker’s creations.” She said. The weather was warm compared to Nohanwan standards but it was a relief to be rid of her heavy fur coat for a day. Wynflaeth wore a silvery blue gown with crystals sewn into the bodice so when she moved her torso would glitter like the fresh dew on the Nohanwan plains.

“Oh? Has today not been as enjoyable for you as it has been for our subjects?” She turned to look at the princess and was slightly surprised at how much she’d grown throughout the years. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman Andromeda. I’m sure your mother is proud.” She hummed. The Queen had always wanted to have a child with as beautiful of a mane as the princess’s. Hair the color of a summer sunset was a sign of good luck for the mother that carried the child.

The Princess of Edareviel and the Queen of Nohanwan contrasted each other, one in crimson and gold the other in silver blue. When the queen turned her attentions towards the princess the light reflected from her crystals danced along the other’s cloth of gold. “Yes, I have not ventured to the Red Sea save on Andraste’s day, perhaps I should travel more often,” she replied. She had traveled to Nohanwan on several occasions and was sure the Queen must be enjoying the rather drastic change in temperature. She smiled glad to see that the queen shared her faith, “I feel as royalty we should be more well traveled,”. She understood that queens and kings were often tied to their castles, but the princess herself was in a position to travel and learn more about the world.

“I’m afraid it has not, I don’t believe that the parades and sweets agreed with me as much as they did everyone else,” the princess said as if this was not the case every year. Andromeda couldn’t help but smile when the Queen complemented her. “Thank you, I believe my mother is proud-- I hope she is,” the princess was used to compliments of course. It was simply a part of her existence, however to receive them from someone she respected was a completely different story. She couldn’t help but blush, her face soon matching the summer sunset of her hair.

[itsnothawkingbird-a]

“Highness.” Dinah said, concern flitting over her features. Reaching for her, the elf steadied her with a hand on her elbow. “Perhaps you should come with me. I was going to head to the ceremony soon. You can always ride with me. I think you should ride with me, considering the state you’re in.”

[andrising-blog]

Her touch brought Andromeda back to her senses. She flinched away from Dinah, slowly shaking her head. She looked down at Dinah, somewhat colder than she would have liked. “No,” she frowned. “No I think I should get my own horse. Yes-- sorry, I don’t mean to decline your offer to rudely I just think it would be BEST,”.

[moncgasque]

                    ‘ that i do not know but i think you’re tired of the multitude, am i right? ‘

[andrising-blog]

“ I’m tired of seeing a perfectly satisfactory religious tradition blown out of proportion to please the needs of the uneducated few, “

[andrising-blog]

willsgodfrey:

Willow knew that her endless jokes and cheer were not for everyone, in truth they were her shield. She used her charm and wit to keep people from really getting to know her. She was mistrustful of people in general. When she was much younger she had an open and trusting heart, but years of seeing good people hurt by trusting the wrong person had hardened her. 

At the sound of her brother’s name, Willow smiled. Cass would of course know the princess, he was familiar with all the nobles, they do pay the most after all. “Is it that obvious? I indeed have the pleasure of calling that scoundrel brother,” she answered lightly. If the princess knew Cass, she knew his nature. Then she added, “In addition to honoring Andraste, I’m here hoping I will run into the rogue.” 

So they were related. The princess was relieved that she had no made an embarrassing mistake. She raised an eyebrow as she listened to Willow describe her brother, not altogether sure what to make of her descriptions. “He didn’t seem much of a scoundrel to me, at least compared to others,” she replied. In truth the princess knew little of Cass’ true nature, they got along perfectly well without giving much away about their lives and it proved a workable dynamic. She knew that they both had a scholarly streak and exchanged information when they did happen to meet but that was not really the work of a rogue. “Perhaps your brother has changed since you last saw him... I would suggest you look for him I’m sure he’s around somewhere,”.

[jackripner-blog]

❛ so it is true what they speak of gingers? and here i thought these sweets were sure to wash away all this sour you carry between your teeth, darling. ah, such a shame… ❜

[andrising-blog]

“ and WHAT is it they say of gingers? i feel myself grow far more bitter the longer you speak, “

[pvlshd]

            THE NAME LEFT MUCH to be desired, he is somewhat prideful enough to be eager to share it, but perhaps detailing the circumstances in the place from which he hails may not be the best plan. Dustfinger is sly enough to keep that quiet at least. He fixes his gaze on the giant sculptures now floating past with the sea of people, the noise now a dull throb, FILTERED away from her soft voice that holds so much youth. Funny how in every young girl’s voice he finds himself once again HAUNTED by who he’s left behind. BETRAYED if you’re feeling for a more cruel designation.    ❝    It’s endearing. Distracts one from how evil he really is.   ❞   It might be a cold statement especially for a PET so dearly protected, but his begrudging expression will tell her it’s only a rather masked fond complaint despite the truth in it. FOND is a rather polite sense of the notion.  Gwin will be the death of him. Even though the event has already come to pass, the paranoia still remains. 

             The marten hisses again, puffing out his chest and chatters in Dustfinger’s ear — but it’s a wonder how he never LEARNS that his master is not very well-versed in marten slang.  The fire-eater almost doesn’t notice the surprise, but he doesn’t need identification to know what she means by real. Strange how everywhere he ends up, martens don’t have horns.    ❝    Would you think any differently of him if they weren’t? He’s a little CRANKY at the moment, he usually is asleep at this hour.     ❞ 

           Quiet rumbles of laughter churn in the pit of his stomach and mirth rises to his features, although he doesn’t quite release its full extent.   ❝    Peelord. And you’ve offered a more suitable name? I’d’ve named Gwin DEMON, but i thought I’d spare him the dignity.    ❞

[andrising-blog]

Pets bring out all sorts in their owners she decides. The good and the bad, the pets were the true masters and their owners actors forced to react to the whims of their superiors. She has only just recently begun to trust her own animals’ judgement above her own, and she now realizes that she might judge others on their relationships with their own beasts. There is adoration in his voice, if anything this signifies that he is not a cruel man-- perhaps down on his luck by the looks of him. She offers him a small smile, perhaps the only thing in this world that he loves is Gwin. That’s something she might hope to understand.

A marten with horns seemed a rather foreign creature. Did the horns serve some greater purpose? A mating ritual perhaps? Or maybe for self defense? She can’t begin to guess, as it seems they do little right now but distinguish him. Being unique is not always the safest thing to be, there is safety in numbers. She observes the marten closer, deciding that if she were ever an animal she might just be the horned marten. Defensive, hissing, peculiar and yet cared for despite all that. “ I suppose so-- I suppose I might think him a normal marten then and give him all the respect he is owed for simply being a marten,” she replies finally. “He must be sleeping rather often then? Not that i blame him, cities must be rather tiring for him,”.

She is surprised by the humor he finds in her naming of her wolf. “Cinnia is what I call her now, but Peelord is who she truly is,”. As if in answer her wolf yips, a noise that betrays her more humble origins. “She’s to grow up to be a warrior I think. I intend to train her-- I’d like to see her to her full potential but that won’t be for a while I’m afraid,”.

[spaacemusings]

‘cause i can’t live the lie

            i am just what you see

i’m not the next of them

            i am the first of me

[jamesbarmes-deactivated20170325]

[xanderwins-blog]

Now that the woman was standing at her level, Willow could see she was no mere lady. She recognized her as one of the princesses from her home, Andromeda, maybe? Time had aged her and her beauty had grown, but it was still the same girl. Truth be told, Willow didn’t have much use for royals. She found their excessive wealth and power unsettling. Especially with all the poverty she had seen in her travels. If they were not at the festival and had met by chance alone on the road, Willow might have robbed this woman to feed her friends. She took in the sight of her beautiful gown again, the price that would fetch alone could feed many. Willow then remembered herself and put her prejudices aside, they were at a festival after all and there was a certain way things were meant to be done. Giving the princess a small curtsy she nodded her head and said, “You’ve caught me, your majesty, I am no lady, “ she flashed her most unladylike grin and added, “I would never be able to handle the weight!” She hoped the princess wouldn’t be offended by her joke, she did seem rather pleasant for a royal. She spoke to her after all, and that was not always the case with royals. “You’re sure to be the most beautiful princess at the festival today, an honor to Edareviel, I hope you have a lovely time, your majesty,” she added with simple smile, and she really meant it. 

[andrising-blog]

Where many girls stopped growing at the age sixteen the princess had continued to soar above the rest long after. She had become gangly at roughly thirteen and by the time she was eighteen gangly had become slender and unusually tall had become colossal. The princess was often rather preoccupied with her height, finding herself often a foot taller than her female subjects, especially the ones who happened to be elves. Her dresses were longer, and she often looked rather statuesque in a way she found rather unseemly. This was why she so rarely donned such extravagant outfits-- the was horrified of what the poor might think of her. What they might assume. 

In truth she was not quite sure what to make of this not-a-lady, she seemed well meaning but her cheer grated on the princess. Perhaps she did not intend to rub her the wrong way, or perhaps they simply did not share the same sense of humor. Which was of course to say that the princess possessed no sense of humor at all. Her face twitched, in response to Willow’s jest but she kept her mouth closed not wanting to disgrace herself on such a holy day. “Thank you, I wish you one as well the princess replied,”. Just as she spoke she couldn’t help but notice how enchanting this woman’s eyes were. She distinctly reminded the princess of one of her friends, “are you by any chance related to Cassius?” she asked on a whim.