Ferr

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

A faint smile tickled the corner of Isobel's mouth. She cocked her head to the side, and heaved herself up sitting on the vanity; wrapped her legs around her wife's waist, and lazily draped her arms around the other woman's neck.

"Then I must train you," she whispered - deciding, in this moment, to take what was in front of her instead of pursuing some meaningless victory in their argument.

#isobel and ferr #threads

With no real response but widening eyes, Ferr accepted the clinging, only looking down to make sure that her hands weren't needed to support Isobel's legs. Her ... troublingly long, and beautiful, and supple legs.

A gulp followed as Ferr shifted to lightly press against the other, and her hand would hesitantly brush against her wife's thigh. Training? She was strong enough to handle any task.

But if Isobel was attempting to tame, Ferr wasn't sure she'd enjoy the lesson.

"I'm not the only in need of ... scolding," she said through a heavy exhale. "You might end up trained more than me."

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"When have I lied, you vainglorious little crusader?" Isobel's eyes were dark and stormy; but her voice kept an icy edge of steel, now. With one, hard movement, she tore herself free. "I have not hidden a thing from you; which, as it turns out, was my mistake. I should have kept you in the dark - then, you could at least carry on the charade you keep in your heart in order to shy away from the fact that your family is embarassed by you and you by them; that you are stuck in an unhappy union; that you are not a husband, but a wife, and that this makes us bear others' ill will."

Isobel massaged her wrist with her other hand, but didn't let go of Ferruchia with her eyes.

"Has no one taught you that all wise women must be treated with respect, or else you find toads in your soup and severed heads in your closet?" She smiled without humor. "I will do as I please. Forever. You can hit me, if you like - and I will still do as I please. You can try to end my life - and I will still do as I please. Because you have not asked nicely, and nothing in this life will I give when I have a blade to my throat."

"Crusader???" Ferr spat back out, lost by the accusation; what had she crusaded about? Having a loyal partner?

Those eyes stabbed into her but she would not be frightened off; when Isobel broke free, she scowled and stepped back, not intimidated but knowing this confrontation was not going in her favor. It never did. Not when dealing with an intelligent woman. "I'm not embarrassed by my family, and I wasn't embarrassed with you until I found out your truth. Your ill will is something I was never prepared to bear," she grumbled, like she hadn't expected the worst in terms of partners - Isobel wasn't that.

But she was very close.

"Did I find you making me a soup or tidying our closets, I think I would die of shock before your poison could reach me." Ferr replied with absolute disrespect. "Would you give more if I was kind? If I served you only? Do I need to be your slave to gain any respect as your wife?" She asked.

"And what truth is that? That I prefer to not pretend? That I do not adhere to the roles we have been offered; that I refuse their stifling little lives, because living my life on stage is not living at all? Your hurt is a posture, Ferruchia," this last part was less scatching and more - almost pained, as she abruptly turned away, erratically moving her brush and then suddenly shoving all - everything - off the vanity altogether. Brush, hair pins, it all came tumbling down onto the floor. She gripped onto the sides of the furniture piece, and hunched over, staring at her own reflection.

"No," she said. "No. You need only be honest. Why do you not want me in another's bed? Hm? Because if it is truly rumors - then we are doomed, you and I."

These words were becoming suffocating. Each one that Ferr spoke, she felt being used against her, getting entangled in them till she couldn't fight free. Isobel's openness with multiple partners was one matter, and her lack of discrimination was another, but Ferr couldn't stand receiving nothing but contempt - even as she put out nothing except disdain.

She didn't bother replying before Isobel wrecked her vanity, and while the violent display didn't frighten the woman, it was still a mess.

And a feeling remained that it would only get worse.

"I do not want you in another's bed because we belong to each other, Isobel, we were meant to be partners - wives. I serve my purpose, I know what the world expects of me ... I think you know what others expect of you and that's why you act this way." Ferr moved closer. "Heartless."

Heartless child. She remembered those words; it wasn't the first time she heard time. Heartless, willful child.

She squeezed her eyes together, and forced her breath into a more even pace. Not because she was afraid of a little scuffle - more because she could sense, physically feel, reason slip away from her. She was nearing the edge where she wasn't arguing, she was only ensnaring; only infecting; only hurting.

Despite everything - Ferruchia hadn't quite deserved that. Not yet.

For once, the witch was silent. She leaned forward until her forehead was against the mirror. It was cool. It felt solid, and real.

She said nothing. Ferr didn't expect silence, frankly, and the reality of it set her back. Her wife must be furious, planning another verbal assault, and the chance of that, it was as nauseating as if it'd already happened. More arguing, more screaming, more throwing things around ... Ferr had begun this bout but she was regretting this confrontation by miles.

There must be a way to calm it ... to prove herself to Isobel. "I," mumbles followed, then a deep inhale, before Ferr came closer. "Would have you. Not tonight, if you need rest, but ... I am as good as any man. That is my truth," she finally admitted. Isobel was allowed to laugh.

This was a situation worth mocking.

Long ringlets of hair was pooling on the vanity; creating a cascade, a snare of hair, as Isobel rested against the mirror. There was a reprieve between them, for but a moment. Isobel breathed deeply - burrowed her bare feet into the carpet, feelings its thick wool, smelling the wood smoke of the hearth simmering a few paces away. She was still here. She was still here.

The shift of muscle, a step forward, Ferruchia spoke again. Isobel cracked one grey eye open, watched her in the mirror, as she drew closer. I would have you, the other said, as if confessing something.

She turned, slowly. Something a little haggard about Isobel Barlow now, a little sapped of strength. It was a confession that did nothing to eradicate everything else they had spoke of; all the ways in which they differed, and would hardly find common ground.

But it was a holy sliver of peace, and Isobel had been honest: She demanded truth, and she rewarded it.

"Men are all half-witted and eager like stallions smashing through the gate to get where they want," Isobel said - and wordlessly opened up her arms.

#isobel and ferr #threads

Something was troubling Isobel; you didn't need to be her lover to see that. She was ... away. Troubled? Ferr wished to ask but she feared her inquiries would fall short of what was necessary and, truly, she didn't know how to ask. Others could be so complex ... and she had already been so unkind.

Isobel looked weary when she turned around, and Ferr was like stone, unexpressive and unflinching. She prepared herself for ridicule.

Instead, she found hands outstretched to her, and blinked in stunned reply. "I ... am similar. Not so eager but I may smash a gate from time to time," Ferr muttered, hesitant as she approached, laying larger hands on Isobel's waist. Holding her like a fragile ornament.

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"When have I lied, you vainglorious little crusader?" Isobel's eyes were dark and stormy; but her voice kept an icy edge of steel, now. With one, hard movement, she tore herself free. "I have not hidden a thing from you; which, as it turns out, was my mistake. I should have kept you in the dark - then, you could at least carry on the charade you keep in your heart in order to shy away from the fact that your family is embarassed by you and you by them; that you are stuck in an unhappy union; that you are not a husband, but a wife, and that this makes us bear others' ill will."

Isobel massaged her wrist with her other hand, but didn't let go of Ferruchia with her eyes.

"Has no one taught you that all wise women must be treated with respect, or else you find toads in your soup and severed heads in your closet?" She smiled without humor. "I will do as I please. Forever. You can hit me, if you like - and I will still do as I please. You can try to end my life - and I will still do as I please. Because you have not asked nicely, and nothing in this life will I give when I have a blade to my throat."

"Crusader???" Ferr spat back out, lost by the accusation; what had she crusaded about? Having a loyal partner?

Those eyes stabbed into her but she would not be frightened off; when Isobel broke free, she scowled and stepped back, not intimidated but knowing this confrontation was not going in her favor. It never did. Not when dealing with an intelligent woman. "I'm not embarrassed by my family, and I wasn't embarrassed with you until I found out your truth. Your ill will is something I was never prepared to bear," she grumbled, like she hadn't expected the worst in terms of partners - Isobel wasn't that.

But she was very close.

"Did I find you making me a soup or tidying our closets, I think I would die of shock before your poison could reach me." Ferr replied with absolute disrespect. "Would you give more if I was kind? If I served you only? Do I need to be your slave to gain any respect as your wife?" She asked.

"And what truth is that? That I prefer to not pretend? That I do not adhere to the roles we have been offered; that I refuse their stifling little lives, because living my life on stage is not living at all? Your hurt is a posture, Ferruchia," this last part was less scatching and more - almost pained, as she abruptly turned away, erratically moving her brush and then suddenly shoving all - everything - off the vanity altogether. Brush, hair pins, it all came tumbling down onto the floor. She gripped onto the sides of the furniture piece, and hunched over, staring at her own reflection.

"No," she said. "No. You need only be honest. Why do you not want me in another's bed? Hm? Because if it is truly rumors - then we are doomed, you and I."

These words were becoming suffocating. Each one that Ferr spoke, she felt being used against her, getting entangled in them till she couldn't fight free. Isobel's openness with multiple partners was one matter, and her lack of discrimination was another, but Ferr couldn't stand receiving nothing but contempt - even as she put out nothing except disdain.

She didn't bother replying before Isobel wrecked her vanity, and while the violent display didn't frighten the woman, it was still a mess.

And a feeling remained that it would only get worse.

"I do not want you in another's bed because we belong to each other, Isobel, we were meant to be partners - wives. I serve my purpose, I know what the world expects of me ... I think you know what others expect of you and that's why you act this way." Ferr moved closer. "Heartless."

Heartless child. She remembered those words; it wasn't the first time she heard time. Heartless, willful child.

She squeezed her eyes together, and forced her breath into a more even pace. Not because she was afraid of a little scuffle - more because she could sense, physically feel, reason slip away from her. She was nearing the edge where she wasn't arguing, she was only ensnaring; only infecting; only hurting.

Despite everything - Ferruchia hadn't quite deserved that. Not yet.

For once, the witch was silent. She leaned forward until her forehead was against the mirror. It was cool. It felt solid, and real.

#isobel and ferr #threads

She said nothing. Ferr didn't expect silence, frankly, and the reality of it set her back. Her wife must be furious, planning another verbal assault, and the chance of that, it was as nauseating as if it'd already happened. More arguing, more screaming, more throwing things around ... Ferr had begun this bout but she was regretting this confrontation by miles.

There must be a way to calm it ... to prove herself to Isobel. "I," mumbles followed, then a deep inhale, before Ferr came closer. "Would have you. Not tonight, if you need rest, but ... I am as good as any man. That is my truth," she finally admitted. Isobel was allowed to laugh.

This was a situation worth mocking.

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"When have I lied, you vainglorious little crusader?" Isobel's eyes were dark and stormy; but her voice kept an icy edge of steel, now. With one, hard movement, she tore herself free. "I have not hidden a thing from you; which, as it turns out, was my mistake. I should have kept you in the dark - then, you could at least carry on the charade you keep in your heart in order to shy away from the fact that your family is embarassed by you and you by them; that you are stuck in an unhappy union; that you are not a husband, but a wife, and that this makes us bear others' ill will."

Isobel massaged her wrist with her other hand, but didn't let go of Ferruchia with her eyes.

"Has no one taught you that all wise women must be treated with respect, or else you find toads in your soup and severed heads in your closet?" She smiled without humor. "I will do as I please. Forever. You can hit me, if you like - and I will still do as I please. You can try to end my life - and I will still do as I please. Because you have not asked nicely, and nothing in this life will I give when I have a blade to my throat."

"Crusader???" Ferr spat back out, lost by the accusation; what had she crusaded about? Having a loyal partner?

Those eyes stabbed into her but she would not be frightened off; when Isobel broke free, she scowled and stepped back, not intimidated but knowing this confrontation was not going in her favor. It never did. Not when dealing with an intelligent woman. "I'm not embarrassed by my family, and I wasn't embarrassed with you until I found out your truth. Your ill will is something I was never prepared to bear," she grumbled, like she hadn't expected the worst in terms of partners - Isobel wasn't that.

But she was very close.

"Did I find you making me a soup or tidying our closets, I think I would die of shock before your poison could reach me." Ferr replied with absolute disrespect. "Would you give more if I was kind? If I served you only? Do I need to be your slave to gain any respect as your wife?" She asked.

"And what truth is that? That I prefer to not pretend? That I do not adhere to the roles we have been offered; that I refuse their stifling little lives, because living my life on stage is not living at all? Your hurt is a posture, Ferruchia," this last part was less scatching and more - almost pained, as she abruptly turned away, erratically moving her brush and then suddenly shoving all - everything - off the vanity altogether. Brush, hair pins, it all came tumbling down onto the floor. She gripped onto the sides of the furniture piece, and hunched over, staring at her own reflection.

"No," she said. "No. You need only be honest. Why do you not want me in another's bed? Hm? Because if it is truly rumors - then we are doomed, you and I."

These words were becoming suffocating. Each one that Ferr spoke, she felt being used against her, getting entangled in them till she couldn't fight free. Isobel's openness with multiple partners was one matter, and her lack of discrimination was another, but Ferr couldn't stand receiving nothing but contempt - even as she put out nothing except disdain.

She didn't bother replying before Isobel wrecked her vanity, and while the violent display didn't frighten the woman, it was still a mess.

And a feeling remained that it would only get worse.

"I do not want you in another's bed because we belong to each other, Isobel, we were meant to be partners - wives. I serve my purpose, I know what the world expects of me ... I think you know what others expect of you and that's why you act this way." Ferr moved closer. "Heartless."

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"When have I lied, you vainglorious little crusader?" Isobel's eyes were dark and stormy; but her voice kept an icy edge of steel, now. With one, hard movement, she tore herself free. "I have not hidden a thing from you; which, as it turns out, was my mistake. I should have kept you in the dark - then, you could at least carry on the charade you keep in your heart in order to shy away from the fact that your family is embarassed by you and you by them; that you are stuck in an unhappy union; that you are not a husband, but a wife, and that this makes us bear others' ill will."

Isobel massaged her wrist with her other hand, but didn't let go of Ferruchia with her eyes.

"Has no one taught you that all wise women must be treated with respect, or else you find toads in your soup and severed heads in your closet?" She smiled without humor. "I will do as I please. Forever. You can hit me, if you like - and I will still do as I please. You can try to end my life - and I will still do as I please. Because you have not asked nicely, and nothing in this life will I give when I have a blade to my throat."

"Crusader???" Ferr spat back out, lost by the accusation; what had she crusaded about? Having a loyal partner?

Those eyes stabbed into her but she would not be frightened off; when Isobel broke free, she scowled and stepped back, not intimidated but knowing this confrontation was not going in her favor. It never did. Not when dealing with an intelligent woman. "I'm not embarrassed by my family, and I wasn't embarrassed with you until I found out your truth. Your ill will is something I was never prepared to bear," she grumbled, like she hadn't expected the worst in terms of partners - Isobel wasn't that.

But she was very close.

"Did I find you making me a soup or tidying our closets, I think I would die of shock before your poison could reach me." Ferr replied with absolute disrespect. "Would you give more if I was kind? If I served you only? Do I need to be your slave to gain any respect as your wife?" She asked.

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"Visitors to your bed is one matter - rumors to our families' ears is another. I'd sooner deal with a horse out to trample than bear another talk about the security of my home,"

Snarled the other member of this uneasy pair, Ferrucchia Araldi. Big and burly, her muscles as apparent as the contempt in her voice, she postured with arms crossed by the dying fire, facing her wife and having a dark shadow cast over her roughened face. A strictly respectable marriage. Ferrucchia was a waste of adult womanhood in the eyes of her family, useful as any other pawn but undesirable to most. When an opportunity arose to set up a marriage between her child and Isobel, there was no hesitation, and there was no question about what Ferrucchia wanted.

Now, after swallowing her pride to be given as a bride to a wild woman, Ferr had to deal with the insult of Isobel and her lovers. She'd always considered herself to be patient ... but something about her wife set her temper off.

Ferrucchia Araldi/Ferr is the second-born daughter of the Araldi family; the situation of her birth and her heterochromatic eyes led to discrimination from her parents, and her further development into a strong and masculine frame only worsened that. She is a dedicated worker and spent most of her time out in the fields, ensuring success silently in their business, before she was told about the marriage. Cis but GNC to many extents, what some might acknowledge as a butch these days, a lesbian but wasn't out before she was wed.

It had, in many ways, been a bond that chafed.

Isobel had meant to take their unwilling union in stride - but lady Araldi had been resistant from the very beginning; distant, hard, unamused by Isobel’s games. Barlow had resigned herself to finding a way to pass the time elsewhere, because the marriage was still her lifeline. Ferruchia’s name was less besmirched than her own, and more importantly, her family was one that could shield her from the witch trials raging at her own home turf. If she needed to live apart from her protector, so be it -

but what was this? Anger? In the midst of her own frustration, delight sparked in Isobel’s storm grey eyes. One only got this riled up if one actually cared.

”And you will allow wagging tongues to dictate your life eternally, Araldi? You will set our house in the order your neighbours prefer; you will cower and scrape before the expectations of your peers? Poor thing.”

There were two truths that Ferr understood very well in this life: her family, and especially her mother, was desperate for money and status, any kind that would serve her, and the second truth was that no matter what her family did, it couldn't force her to change. This situation, on many disgusting levels, contradicted that, morphing her previous contentment into bitter begrudging and saddling her with someone, in Ferr's eyes, that was as impossible as everyone else in high society.

She only vaguely heard of the scandals and reputations that wrapped around Isobel; Ferr was not a woman who occupied herself with such whispers.

And, yes, she was angry, because she'd spent her whole life following orders and keeping her head down - a deal that involved a great amount of personal sacrifice. No doubt, Miss Isobel had been through the same thing, but if bedding multiple partners was a sacrifice, it wasn't one that Ferr had ever seen before.

"The words of others dictate our lives whether you respect it or not. You may think your bed chamber is safe but enemies burrow in wherever they can," she stiffly responded. "Where are you finding your partners? How sure can you be that they aren't bearing ill gifts?" Ferr asked, unfazed by the teasing and remaining stony in the face of mockery.

Nothing Isobel could say would be more infuriating than being freshly married and having others eating well at a banquet supposedly meant for you.

Ferruchia didn’t take the bait. Isobel, who had nearly been about to rise, like a cat sniffing for prey, rolled her eyes and sank back down into the chair before the vanity. Sighing with genuine disappointment, she crossed her legs, scandalously propping them up on the dresser, and leaned back far enough for her hair to cascade down the chair’s back rest and her to watch her wife upside down.

”Ah, my lovely marble wife,” she remarked, interlacing her fingers over her stomach. ”Never quite in the room with me.” She smiled, half exhaustion, half amusement. ”If this is what weighs heaviest on you - I will take greater care in choosing my lambs. Does this satisfy, sweet Ferruchia?”

If there was bait to be taken, Ferr didn't understand the game. She never did.

With a furrowed brow, she watched her wife lift her lengthy limbs into view - a distracting sight - then angle herself backwards - another confusing pose. Ferr always perceived Isobel's movements like they were part of a ritual, mysterious and unexplainable, and her words were the enchantment meant to turn her enemies into toads.

"No." Ferr replied, at least being honest with her partner. "Take no lambs. Rest for a while, let the rumors die down. People are talking ... if you're bored, come work the land with me." A risky suggestion, considering what this 'marble' woman really wanted: a chance to prove herself to her wife.

In all areas.

Isobel laughed.

She finally did rise, her chemise and evening robe making a dramatic swoop as she did, and approached her wife. With a smile that was almost understanding, she settled both hands on her chest, and looked into her eyes.

"Ferruchia," she said. "Be reasonable. You are not very fond of me; I am aggravating, a nuisance, so far removed from your own earth and clay hands as can be. Yet we are in this together. We must learn to live alongside each other, to make do with the cards that we have been dealt - and the cards I have been dealt in life, my dear, ensures that people whisper of me. This will never change. I will never be palpable, not to anyone, and this I have taken into my heart, because if the nunnery could not whip it out of me, nor will you. Nor will anyone."

She drew a deep breath.

"Trust me when I say that me getting the stable boy on his back is a lesser evil. If you tighten my chains, our boring, meaningless but nonetheless quiet life will take a horrible turn for the worse."

Ferr was impulsed to retreat, and she nearly did, but in this room, there was nowhere to go to escape from Isobel, except out the door. This woman might be old-fashioned but she wasn't a coward.

In a breath, Isobel was near and placing her hands on a thick leather corset that, along with a rough but sturdy linen blouse, covered Ferr's torso; standing in front of her while acting as a blameless creature, something at the whims of her nature. Ferr couldn't understand.

Her body demanded just as much as Isobel's but she could control it.

"The stable boy? You aren't content with visitors, you seduce our servants?" Bit back the glaring woman. Her muscles tensed; a rising urge to shove Isobel away ... or to grab her by the arm and spank her. Neither surfaced. "I work hard to see success for both families; that means I don't get all I want. If you can't hold back for one month, what sort of woman are you? Sluttery is your pastime?" She questioned unrelentingly.

Would you prefer dead animals in the garden or the stable boy left with his intestines steaming on the stable floor, Isobel didn't say.

Instead, her grey eyes watched the other. For a long, silent moment, as she considered her reply. She had this love and hatred for people like Ferruchia. The people who buried themselves under layers upon layers of duty, who choked themselves still. She envied them. And she wanted to tear them apart.

"...and what is it you want, my beloved?" she murmured, her raspy voice almost thoughtful, as she traced her finger up along the woman's corset, brushing up over a covered collarbone.

Duty was the only thing that Ferrucchia had ever been given by her family; not care and not appreciation, just the knowledge that they needed her to do something. She did her best but, clearly, there was no reward waiting at the end of this long journey.

Just more work.

As Isobel cooed at her, Ferr's muscles were like stone, sending no sign of charm or temptation. She grabbed the hand that teased her and held it in her grasp, squeezing but not crushing. Palms warm and calloused. "I want a wife that obeys, Isobel, and no strangers brought to our bed. Do I get that or will I have to start guarding you too?"

A dangerous gleam was born in Isobel's eyes. If they had been languid and heavy before, now they widened, the first lazy streaks of a storm visible somewhere in all that pale grey.

She smiled with all teeth.

"Do you fancy yourself a prison guard? How disappointing. I always imagine you more a dog who got kicked so many times it became unwilling to sniff your hand - but it turns out you're longing to hold the master's whip yourself. If you imagine this to be enough to frighten me, think again. Nothing brings me to heel except good manners - of which you have so little."

She gave that stern grip a pointed glance.

Ferr's eyes seemed hidden, which wasn't unusual; she rarely looked others in their face. The fact that she glared at Isobel so openly was strange, but not unwarranted, not to her. This woman hadn't earned much respect.

"I'm longing to have a partner, not a liar, in my house." She snapped back.

"What good manners do you expect? Kindness? Chivalry? You get everything you need from stable boys, I thought." Isobel's hand was not released, was not even loosened from the grip that held it, despite the glare. What did she possibly want from Ferr? Manners?

What the hell did that mean - they were married!

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"Visitors to your bed is one matter - rumors to our families' ears is another. I'd sooner deal with a horse out to trample than bear another talk about the security of my home,"

Snarled the other member of this uneasy pair, Ferrucchia Araldi. Big and burly, her muscles as apparent as the contempt in her voice, she postured with arms crossed by the dying fire, facing her wife and having a dark shadow cast over her roughened face. A strictly respectable marriage. Ferrucchia was a waste of adult womanhood in the eyes of her family, useful as any other pawn but undesirable to most. When an opportunity arose to set up a marriage between her child and Isobel, there was no hesitation, and there was no question about what Ferrucchia wanted.

Now, after swallowing her pride to be given as a bride to a wild woman, Ferr had to deal with the insult of Isobel and her lovers. She'd always considered herself to be patient ... but something about her wife set her temper off.

Ferrucchia Araldi/Ferr is the second-born daughter of the Araldi family; the situation of her birth and her heterochromatic eyes led to discrimination from her parents, and her further development into a strong and masculine frame only worsened that. She is a dedicated worker and spent most of her time out in the fields, ensuring success silently in their business, before she was told about the marriage. Cis but GNC to many extents, what some might acknowledge as a butch these days, a lesbian but wasn't out before she was wed.

It had, in many ways, been a bond that chafed.

Isobel had meant to take their unwilling union in stride - but lady Araldi had been resistant from the very beginning; distant, hard, unamused by Isobel’s games. Barlow had resigned herself to finding a way to pass the time elsewhere, because the marriage was still her lifeline. Ferruchia’s name was less besmirched than her own, and more importantly, her family was one that could shield her from the witch trials raging at her own home turf. If she needed to live apart from her protector, so be it -

but what was this? Anger? In the midst of her own frustration, delight sparked in Isobel’s storm grey eyes. One only got this riled up if one actually cared.

”And you will allow wagging tongues to dictate your life eternally, Araldi? You will set our house in the order your neighbours prefer; you will cower and scrape before the expectations of your peers? Poor thing.”

There were two truths that Ferr understood very well in this life: her family, and especially her mother, was desperate for money and status, any kind that would serve her, and the second truth was that no matter what her family did, it couldn't force her to change. This situation, on many disgusting levels, contradicted that, morphing her previous contentment into bitter begrudging and saddling her with someone, in Ferr's eyes, that was as impossible as everyone else in high society.

She only vaguely heard of the scandals and reputations that wrapped around Isobel; Ferr was not a woman who occupied herself with such whispers.

And, yes, she was angry, because she'd spent her whole life following orders and keeping her head down - a deal that involved a great amount of personal sacrifice. No doubt, Miss Isobel had been through the same thing, but if bedding multiple partners was a sacrifice, it wasn't one that Ferr had ever seen before.

"The words of others dictate our lives whether you respect it or not. You may think your bed chamber is safe but enemies burrow in wherever they can," she stiffly responded. "Where are you finding your partners? How sure can you be that they aren't bearing ill gifts?" Ferr asked, unfazed by the teasing and remaining stony in the face of mockery.

Nothing Isobel could say would be more infuriating than being freshly married and having others eating well at a banquet supposedly meant for you.

Ferruchia didn’t take the bait. Isobel, who had nearly been about to rise, like a cat sniffing for prey, rolled her eyes and sank back down into the chair before the vanity. Sighing with genuine disappointment, she crossed her legs, scandalously propping them up on the dresser, and leaned back far enough for her hair to cascade down the chair’s back rest and her to watch her wife upside down.

”Ah, my lovely marble wife,” she remarked, interlacing her fingers over her stomach. ”Never quite in the room with me.” She smiled, half exhaustion, half amusement. ”If this is what weighs heaviest on you - I will take greater care in choosing my lambs. Does this satisfy, sweet Ferruchia?”

If there was bait to be taken, Ferr didn't understand the game. She never did.

With a furrowed brow, she watched her wife lift her lengthy limbs into view - a distracting sight - then angle herself backwards - another confusing pose. Ferr always perceived Isobel's movements like they were part of a ritual, mysterious and unexplainable, and her words were the enchantment meant to turn her enemies into toads.

"No." Ferr replied, at least being honest with her partner. "Take no lambs. Rest for a while, let the rumors die down. People are talking ... if you're bored, come work the land with me." A risky suggestion, considering what this 'marble' woman really wanted: a chance to prove herself to her wife.

In all areas.

Isobel laughed.

She finally did rise, her chemise and evening robe making a dramatic swoop as she did, and approached her wife. With a smile that was almost understanding, she settled both hands on her chest, and looked into her eyes.

"Ferruchia," she said. "Be reasonable. You are not very fond of me; I am aggravating, a nuisance, so far removed from your own earth and clay hands as can be. Yet we are in this together. We must learn to live alongside each other, to make do with the cards that we have been dealt - and the cards I have been dealt in life, my dear, ensures that people whisper of me. This will never change. I will never be palpable, not to anyone, and this I have taken into my heart, because if the nunnery could not whip it out of me, nor will you. Nor will anyone."

She drew a deep breath.

"Trust me when I say that me getting the stable boy on his back is a lesser evil. If you tighten my chains, our boring, meaningless but nonetheless quiet life will take a horrible turn for the worse."

Ferr was impulsed to retreat, and she nearly did, but in this room, there was nowhere to go to escape from Isobel, except out the door. This woman might be old-fashioned but she wasn't a coward.

In a breath, Isobel was near and placing her hands on a thick leather corset that, along with a rough but sturdy linen blouse, covered Ferr's torso; standing in front of her while acting as a blameless creature, something at the whims of her nature. Ferr couldn't understand.

Her body demanded just as much as Isobel's but she could control it.

"The stable boy? You aren't content with visitors, you seduce our servants?" Bit back the glaring woman. Her muscles tensed; a rising urge to shove Isobel away ... or to grab her by the arm and spank her. Neither surfaced. "I work hard to see success for both families; that means I don't get all I want. If you can't hold back for one month, what sort of woman are you? Sluttery is your pastime?" She questioned unrelentingly.

Would you prefer dead animals in the garden or the stable boy left with his intestines steaming on the stable floor, Isobel didn't say.

Instead, her grey eyes watched the other. For a long, silent moment, as she considered her reply. She had this love and hatred for people like Ferruchia. The people who buried themselves under layers upon layers of duty, who choked themselves still. She envied them. And she wanted to tear them apart.

"...and what is it you want, my beloved?" she murmured, her raspy voice almost thoughtful, as she traced her finger up along the woman's corset, brushing up over a covered collarbone.

Duty was the only thing that Ferrucchia had ever been given by her family; not care and not appreciation, just the knowledge that they needed her to do something. She did her best but, clearly, there was no reward waiting at the end of this long journey.

Just more work.

As Isobel cooed at her, Ferr's muscles were like stone, sending no sign of charm or temptation. She grabbed the hand that teased her and held it in her grasp, squeezing but not crushing. Palms warm and calloused. "I want a wife that obeys, Isobel, and no strangers brought to our bed. Do I get that or will I have to start guarding you too?"

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"Visitors to your bed is one matter - rumors to our families' ears is another. I'd sooner deal with a horse out to trample than bear another talk about the security of my home,"

Snarled the other member of this uneasy pair, Ferrucchia Araldi. Big and burly, her muscles as apparent as the contempt in her voice, she postured with arms crossed by the dying fire, facing her wife and having a dark shadow cast over her roughened face. A strictly respectable marriage. Ferrucchia was a waste of adult womanhood in the eyes of her family, useful as any other pawn but undesirable to most. When an opportunity arose to set up a marriage between her child and Isobel, there was no hesitation, and there was no question about what Ferrucchia wanted.

Now, after swallowing her pride to be given as a bride to a wild woman, Ferr had to deal with the insult of Isobel and her lovers. She'd always considered herself to be patient ... but something about her wife set her temper off.

Ferrucchia Araldi/Ferr is the second-born daughter of the Araldi family; the situation of her birth and her heterochromatic eyes led to discrimination from her parents, and her further development into a strong and masculine frame only worsened that. She is a dedicated worker and spent most of her time out in the fields, ensuring success silently in their business, before she was told about the marriage. Cis but GNC to many extents, what some might acknowledge as a butch these days, a lesbian but wasn't out before she was wed.

It had, in many ways, been a bond that chafed.

Isobel had meant to take their unwilling union in stride - but lady Araldi had been resistant from the very beginning; distant, hard, unamused by Isobel’s games. Barlow had resigned herself to finding a way to pass the time elsewhere, because the marriage was still her lifeline. Ferruchia’s name was less besmirched than her own, and more importantly, her family was one that could shield her from the witch trials raging at her own home turf. If she needed to live apart from her protector, so be it -

but what was this? Anger? In the midst of her own frustration, delight sparked in Isobel’s storm grey eyes. One only got this riled up if one actually cared.

”And you will allow wagging tongues to dictate your life eternally, Araldi? You will set our house in the order your neighbours prefer; you will cower and scrape before the expectations of your peers? Poor thing.”

There were two truths that Ferr understood very well in this life: her family, and especially her mother, was desperate for money and status, any kind that would serve her, and the second truth was that no matter what her family did, it couldn't force her to change. This situation, on many disgusting levels, contradicted that, morphing her previous contentment into bitter begrudging and saddling her with someone, in Ferr's eyes, that was as impossible as everyone else in high society.

She only vaguely heard of the scandals and reputations that wrapped around Isobel; Ferr was not a woman who occupied herself with such whispers.

And, yes, she was angry, because she'd spent her whole life following orders and keeping her head down - a deal that involved a great amount of personal sacrifice. No doubt, Miss Isobel had been through the same thing, but if bedding multiple partners was a sacrifice, it wasn't one that Ferr had ever seen before.

"The words of others dictate our lives whether you respect it or not. You may think your bed chamber is safe but enemies burrow in wherever they can," she stiffly responded. "Where are you finding your partners? How sure can you be that they aren't bearing ill gifts?" Ferr asked, unfazed by the teasing and remaining stony in the face of mockery.

Nothing Isobel could say would be more infuriating than being freshly married and having others eating well at a banquet supposedly meant for you.

Ferruchia didn’t take the bait. Isobel, who had nearly been about to rise, like a cat sniffing for prey, rolled her eyes and sank back down into the chair before the vanity. Sighing with genuine disappointment, she crossed her legs, scandalously propping them up on the dresser, and leaned back far enough for her hair to cascade down the chair’s back rest and her to watch her wife upside down.

”Ah, my lovely marble wife,” she remarked, interlacing her fingers over her stomach. ”Never quite in the room with me.” She smiled, half exhaustion, half amusement. ”If this is what weighs heaviest on you - I will take greater care in choosing my lambs. Does this satisfy, sweet Ferruchia?”

If there was bait to be taken, Ferr didn't understand the game. She never did.

With a furrowed brow, she watched her wife lift her lengthy limbs into view - a distracting sight - then angle herself backwards - another confusing pose. Ferr always perceived Isobel's movements like they were part of a ritual, mysterious and unexplainable, and her words were the enchantment meant to turn her enemies into toads.

"No." Ferr replied, at least being honest with her partner. "Take no lambs. Rest for a while, let the rumors die down. People are talking ... if you're bored, come work the land with me." A risky suggestion, considering what this 'marble' woman really wanted: a chance to prove herself to her wife.

In all areas.

Isobel laughed.

She finally did rise, her chemise and evening robe making a dramatic swoop as she did, and approached her wife. With a smile that was almost understanding, she settled both hands on her chest, and looked into her eyes.

"Ferruchia," she said. "Be reasonable. You are not very fond of me; I am aggravating, a nuisance, so far removed from your own earth and clay hands as can be. Yet we are in this together. We must learn to live alongside each other, to make do with the cards that we have been dealt - and the cards I have been dealt in life, my dear, ensures that people whisper of me. This will never change. I will never be palpable, not to anyone, and this I have taken into my heart, because if the nunnery could not whip it out of me, nor will you. Nor will anyone."

She drew a deep breath.

"Trust me when I say that me getting the stable boy on his back is a lesser evil. If you tighten my chains, our boring, meaningless but nonetheless quiet life will take a horrible turn for the worse."

#rp reply #threads #isobel and ferr

Ferr was impulsed to retreat, and she nearly did, but in this room, there was nowhere to go to escape from Isobel, except out the door. This woman might be old-fashioned but she wasn't a coward.

In a breath, Isobel was near and placing her hands on a thick leather corset that, along with a rough but sturdy linen blouse, covered Ferr's torso; standing in front of her while acting as a blameless creature, something at the whims of her nature. Ferr couldn't understand.

Her body demanded just as much as Isobel's but she could control it.

"The stable boy? You aren't content with visitors, you seduce our servants?" Bit back the glaring woman. Her muscles tensed; a rising urge to shove Isobel away ... or to grab her by the arm and spank her. Neither surfaced. "I work hard to see success for both families; that means I don't get all I want. If you can't hold back for one month, what sort of woman are you? Sluttery is your pastime?" She questioned unrelentingly.

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"Visitors to your bed is one matter - rumors to our families' ears is another. I'd sooner deal with a horse out to trample than bear another talk about the security of my home,"

Snarled the other member of this uneasy pair, Ferrucchia Araldi. Big and burly, her muscles as apparent as the contempt in her voice, she postured with arms crossed by the dying fire, facing her wife and having a dark shadow cast over her roughened face. A strictly respectable marriage. Ferrucchia was a waste of adult womanhood in the eyes of her family, useful as any other pawn but undesirable to most. When an opportunity arose to set up a marriage between her child and Isobel, there was no hesitation, and there was no question about what Ferrucchia wanted.

Now, after swallowing her pride to be given as a bride to a wild woman, Ferr had to deal with the insult of Isobel and her lovers. She'd always considered herself to be patient ... but something about her wife set her temper off.

Ferrucchia Araldi/Ferr is the second-born daughter of the Araldi family; the situation of her birth and her heterochromatic eyes led to discrimination from her parents, and her further development into a strong and masculine frame only worsened that. She is a dedicated worker and spent most of her time out in the fields, ensuring success silently in their business, before she was told about the marriage. Cis but GNC to many extents, what some might acknowledge as a butch these days, a lesbian but wasn't out before she was wed.

It had, in many ways, been a bond that chafed.

Isobel had meant to take their unwilling union in stride - but lady Araldi had been resistant from the very beginning; distant, hard, unamused by Isobel’s games. Barlow had resigned herself to finding a way to pass the time elsewhere, because the marriage was still her lifeline. Ferruchia’s name was less besmirched than her own, and more importantly, her family was one that could shield her from the witch trials raging at her own home turf. If she needed to live apart from her protector, so be it -

but what was this? Anger? In the midst of her own frustration, delight sparked in Isobel’s storm grey eyes. One only got this riled up if one actually cared.

”And you will allow wagging tongues to dictate your life eternally, Araldi? You will set our house in the order your neighbours prefer; you will cower and scrape before the expectations of your peers? Poor thing.”

There were two truths that Ferr understood very well in this life: her family, and especially her mother, was desperate for money and status, any kind that would serve her, and the second truth was that no matter what her family did, it couldn't force her to change. This situation, on many disgusting levels, contradicted that, morphing her previous contentment into bitter begrudging and saddling her with someone, in Ferr's eyes, that was as impossible as everyone else in high society.

She only vaguely heard of the scandals and reputations that wrapped around Isobel; Ferr was not a woman who occupied herself with such whispers.

And, yes, she was angry, because she'd spent her whole life following orders and keeping her head down - a deal that involved a great amount of personal sacrifice. No doubt, Miss Isobel had been through the same thing, but if bedding multiple partners was a sacrifice, it wasn't one that Ferr had ever seen before.

"The words of others dictate our lives whether you respect it or not. You may think your bed chamber is safe but enemies burrow in wherever they can," she stiffly responded. "Where are you finding your partners? How sure can you be that they aren't bearing ill gifts?" Ferr asked, unfazed by the teasing and remaining stony in the face of mockery.

Nothing Isobel could say would be more infuriating than being freshly married and having others eating well at a banquet supposedly meant for you.

Ferruchia didn’t take the bait. Isobel, who had nearly been about to rise, like a cat sniffing for prey, rolled her eyes and sank back down into the chair before the vanity. Sighing with genuine disappointment, she crossed her legs, scandalously propping them up on the dresser, and leaned back far enough for her hair to cascade down the chair’s back rest and her to watch her wife upside down.

”Ah, my lovely marble wife,” she remarked, interlacing her fingers over her stomach. ”Never quite in the room with me.” She smiled, half exhaustion, half amusement. ”If this is what weighs heaviest on you - I will take greater care in choosing my lambs. Does this satisfy, sweet Ferruchia?”

#rp reply #indie rp #threads

If there was bait to be taken, Ferr didn't understand the game. She never did.

With a furrowed brow, she watched her wife lift her lengthy limbs into view - a distracting sight - then angle herself backwards - another confusing pose. Ferr always perceived Isobel's movements like they were part of a ritual, mysterious and unexplainable, and her words were the enchantment meant to turn her enemies into toads.

"No." Ferr replied, at least being honest with her partner. "Take no lambs. Rest for a while, let the rumors die down. People are talking ... if you're bored, come work the land with me." A risky suggestion, considering what this 'marble' woman really wanted: a chance to prove herself to her wife.

In all areas.

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.

"Visitors to your bed is one matter - rumors to our families' ears is another. I'd sooner deal with a horse out to trample than bear another talk about the security of my home,"

Snarled the other member of this uneasy pair, Ferrucchia Araldi. Big and burly, her muscles as apparent as the contempt in her voice, she postured with arms crossed by the dying fire, facing her wife and having a dark shadow cast over her roughened face. A strictly respectable marriage. Ferrucchia was a waste of adult womanhood in the eyes of her family, useful as any other pawn but undesirable to most. When an opportunity arose to set up a marriage between her child and Isobel, there was no hesitation, and there was no question about what Ferrucchia wanted.

Now, after swallowing her pride to be given as a bride to a wild woman, Ferr had to deal with the insult of Isobel and her lovers. She'd always considered herself to be patient ... but something about her wife set her temper off.

Ferrucchia Araldi/Ferr is the second-born daughter of the Araldi family; the situation of her birth and her heterochromatic eyes led to discrimination from her parents, and her further development into a strong and masculine frame only worsened that. She is a dedicated worker and spent most of her time out in the fields, ensuring success silently in their business, before she was told about the marriage. Cis but GNC to many extents, what some might acknowledge as a butch these days, a lesbian but wasn't out before she was wed.

It had, in many ways, been a bond that chafed.

Isobel had meant to take their unwilling union in stride - but lady Araldi had been resistant from the very beginning; distant, hard, unamused by Isobel’s games. Barlow had resigned herself to finding a way to pass the time elsewhere, because the marriage was still her lifeline. Ferruchia’s name was less besmirched than her own, and more importantly, her family was one that could shield her from the witch trials raging at her own home turf. If she needed to live apart from her protector, so be it -

but what was this? Anger? In the midst of her own frustration, delight sparked in Isobel’s storm grey eyes. One only got this riled up if one actually cared.

”And you will allow wagging tongues to dictate your life eternally, Araldi? You will set our house in the order your neighbours prefer; you will cower and scrape before the expectations of your peers? Poor thing.”

#rp reply #indie rp #threads #hi hi I hope it all goes well #if there's any questions feel free to ask

There were two truths that Ferr understood very well in this life: her family, and especially her mother, was desperate for money and status, any kind that would serve her, and the second truth was that no matter what her family did, it couldn't force her to change. This situation, on many disgusting levels, contradicted that, morphing her previous contentment into bitter begrudging and saddling her with someone, in Ferr's eyes, that was as impossible as everyone else in high society.

She only vaguely heard of the scandals and reputations that wrapped around Isobel; Ferr was not a woman who occupied herself with such whispers.

And, yes, she was angry, because she'd spent her whole life following orders and keeping her head down - a deal that involved a great amount of personal sacrifice. No doubt, Miss Isobel had been through the same thing, but if bedding multiple partners was a sacrifice, it wasn't one that Ferr had ever seen before.

"The words of others dictate our lives whether you respect it or not. You may think your bed chamber is safe but enemies burrow in wherever they can," she stiffly responded. "Where are you finding your partners? How sure can you be that they aren't bearing ill gifts?" Ferr asked, unfazed by the teasing and remaining stony in the face of mockery.

Nothing Isobel could say would be more infuriating than being freshly married and having others eating well at a banquet supposedly meant for you.

"Oh, please! What manner of well-behaved mare did you expect me to be? Yes, my bed has had visitors - surely so have yours?"

Flushed with anger and amusement in equal parts, partly lit by the dying embers of her bed chamber's hearth, Isobel sat before her vanity. Long locks spilled between her fingers as she withdrew every pin and needle that had held it in place - her grey, fierce eyes meeting the other's gaze through the looking glass.

Isobel and Y/M are in an arranged marriage, and Y/M has found out that Isobel has taken lovers outside of wedlock. Y/M comes into her bedchamber late at night, demanding answers, and is visibly upset. Fantasy or period verse. Open to mutuals and non-mutuals. 25+ players please.