– – DOES THE NARRATIVE EVER END ?!

𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑒

[cihrazad]

#CIHRAZAD: dependent blog for @grimmertales

1001 ENDLESS NIGHTS !!!  ©

golshifteh farahani. cis woman. she/her. 38/900+. ⸻ king roberon cole welcomes sara mohaddis to fabletown—or, as they were once known, scheherazade from 1001 nights. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of vulnerability shifting into resolve, inhabiting grief with fierce tenderness; a gaze that oscillates between survivalism and fleeting empathy; stitching together a narrative as skilfully as a tapestry, colourful and multi-dimensional; a story stretched thin, subplots colliding until edges blur. the tale from which they hail exalted their perseverance and resourcefulness, but decried their guile and defiance in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: her stories were literally a form of magic, capable of altering the listener’s mind and their senses, with the potential of altering reality as an extreme form of manifestation—the longer she told the story, the more powerful and all-encompassing the spell.

[ber3ave-deactivated20250711]

      these days, antigone's usual inquisitive nature has found itself subdued, much of it chalked up to the centuries decades of constantly chomping at the bit, and its eventual burnout, finally catching up to her. despite comments made, more so rhetorical and observatory than previous snobbery, they haven't approached today with the intention of judgement — people watching, absolutely, there is no world in which antigone could resist being privy to such advertised momentous occasions, but none with the err of judgement and a snubbed nose of days past.

      " so you see it too ? the falsehood. " they shook their head, amusement painting the upturn of rosied lips. " the reclamation, rather — a war dwindled into a costume party. it is what i have never understood about society. the, um, " antigone paused, aiming to search for the words. " i'm not sure how to say it other than the human need to feel included, perhaps, but maybe that is rude of me to assume this is not an important day for people not involved, too. " they only shrugged, unable to dawdle on with such theories. the psychological aspects only ever seem to come out around specific individuals, sara being the main proponent of such thinking. strange. " the office, for one. the queue for that surely droned on for hours. i've unfortunately procrastinated on other errands so i thought that i might as well get that done too. but, my timing was poor, it seems. i take it i didn't miss much ? "

[cihrazad]

"such pretense is in every facet of life, i have found, be it fable or mundy."  and so her habit of speaking like an expert on every topic rears its unseemly head once again; though for what it's worth, she has yet to be made a fool for it. the silver tongue of hers knows no bounds, the cavernous depths of her mind never-ending, the intricate weaving of her tales bleeding in to this life she now leads. her powers might be dwindling more and more the longer she spends in this world that they have all been trying to make theirs, but sara thinks she will be damned before she loses her ability.

her fondness for dear antigone was unexpected, but one that she has found herself with deep appreciation for.  "between you and i, that office is poorly managed. the remembrance day rituals are, at the very least."  the criticism comes as the softest of murmurs, hyper aware that she is in the lion's den, besmirching the pride, and all further complicated by the fact that she works for them.

still—she is known (in this world, at least) for rendering a king of all kings actionless, a statue frozen, clinging on to every word that leaves her lips. a mayor who seems allergic to his responsibilities, a deputy who seems to have been a shadow of her own husband in the homelands when it came to their matrimonial habits ... it is nothing that sara has not dealt with in the past, time and time and time again.  "nothing worth knowing about. what errands had you fallen behind on?"  eyebrows raise in minute interest, her sense of curiosity beating out everything else.

[ber3ave-deactivated20250711]

open to. anyone — come one, come all ! setting & notes. remembrance day gala event, well into the night. feel free to assume connections if not plotted yet, or this can be their first interaction if you'd like.

      while their current environment deeply constrasted their homeland of thebes, the sheen of tonight's event, gilded in excess and glamour, was, truthfully, nostalgic to antigone. colonades and open corridors were traded for sweeping hallways, lined with glass, reflecting the twinkle of its surrounding kingdom. all of it conflated into a pool of guilt-ridden nostalgia, one that pooled deep within their gut, diminishing them into a former form, a mindset arguably foreign to whom they have become. perhaps it reminded them of better days, or rather easier ones, a childhood of royalty, nobility as their norm, only turned upon its head when the self became a pawn — coward. alas, tonight wasn't the occasion to dwell, to seethe, every other day is wrought with such distress ... would it be so wrong to indulge, just once ? even if so, tonight was for celebration, for others, for the kingdom.

      they positioned herself tacky-stuck to the wall, perpendicular to the spanning ballroom, eyes flicking between clumps of assumed friendships and pockets of comfort. she merely lingered, sips of a cocktail between curious glances. only the click of a heel upon polished wood forced their attention to waver, " the attendance is abysmal, or perhaps it's my doing, for being so late. " despite judgements, their tone remained unwavering, only characterized by its usual deep, billowing timbre. " i've seen more people wafting about in the corridors outside. — more so a business meeting than a ball, no ? "

[cihrazad]

"oh, these things often are."  bemusement colours her voice, rich and low and glossy, words meant only for antigone's ears as she comes to rest beside them against the wall, a champagne flute dangling from the tips of her fingers.  "consider it statesmanship poorly disguised as something bright and shiny. the carrot dangled before the donkey."  has she always been this cynical? it's difficult to say, in truth: perhaps centuries have that effect as they pile on to a person.

there is the gentlest jingle-jangle to be heard over the din, her bangles sliding up her arm as she sips at the middling champagne provided for them tonight—then again, it would be difficult to satiate one's taste for luxuries when they were an empress in a previous life.  "i suspect many simply reaffirm their commitment to the compact and leave it at that. the office was simply buzzing with activity today, some faces i don't think i've seen in decades."  a feat in and of itself, considering her position in both fabletown and the homelands. the hallowed role of narrator, storyteller, raconteur ... it's one that sara takes incredibly seriously, even still.  "what kept you so late?"

[damnedspots]

open at the business office.

it had been the wrong day for yvonne to have such a large responsibility when it came to remembrance day. she knew it was coming but the woman is still drained from last night's sleepwalking episode, how she'd somehow opened all the locks and awoken in the middle of a pathway in her white night dress. still, she cleans up well, sleeks her hair back and dons professional attire - this is her moment for her efforts to be recognised by the people of fabletown. yvonne robertson is very good at her job, she has to be and no matter if she's exhausted, she will deliver. still, making everyone pledge once more did seem like a clerical nightmare and she could have done without it. "come to renew your vows to this place?" she hums, hardly looking up towards them as dark circles weigh her bloodshot blue eyes down. of course, there had been no hesitancy with yvonne signing herself away once more - still no closer to being appreciated or getting the recognition she deserved. things would be different if she didn't pick this job but she had to remain close to them... she was always close to them.

[cihrazad]

it's rare indeed that sara drags herself from the recesses of the library, never one to stray from its hallowed aisles, shelves silently groaning under the weight of ancient tomes and stories, much like the cavernous depths of her own mind.  "i suppose we ought to all lead by example, hm?"  bemusement colours her tone warmly, the gentle clinking of her jewelry almost announcing her arrival at the secretary's desk before she can do so herself. even still, her features are devoid of a smile; the compact has been a point of contention in her own mind ever since her hand first passed over it, and the annual recommittances do little to reconcile it. something about it drums up suspicion within her, and the timing certainly strikes her as being convenient this time around, what with the interest in their kind that the mundies have seemingly renewed for the umpteenth time since sara first crossed through the portal.  "you look as though this is the last place you want to be right now, yvonne."

[llovelymoonn]

richard siken crush: “litany in which certain things are crossed out” \ josé saramago cain \ richard snow and dirty rain \ namwali serpell the furrows \ ??

kofi