PIDW Liu Mingyan who only wears white. She’s grown serious over her long life, morose from regret of how her actions condemned her shijiemei to death. She is more stateswoman than any of her sister wives, feeling responsible to manage this new world well, trying to wash the blood from her hands. She used to write. She doesn’t anymore. The only things she reads are laws and aid requests. The only hint of color in her outfit is the bit of blue embroidery on her veil, made from one of her brother’s uniforms. She carries three swords now. Her own, as well as the reforged blades of her brother and her master. She never uses them. She rarely leaves the palace. Even so, she itches for their hilts when she sees her husband. If she thought for a moment she could win, she would cut that man’s head off, just the same as her own master’s head was severed. But he knows better than to let his gaurd down near her.
PIDW Sha Hualing dresses in “proper robes” now, as humans would call them. No longer is she a saintess, sent to bring glory to demon kind. Now she is a general. There’s a piece shaped like her on the war table, moved across countless maps. Silk scarves and bells are impractical. She has reason to protect her skin. Plates of leather and thick fabrics obscure her figure. She has an axe now, no longer so juvenile as to rely solely on her claws. She hates it. She hates all of it. She is so full of hate and frustration these days, but the constant war takes it all out of her. When she’s finally able to lie down, there’s nothing left.
PIDW Ning Yingying wears only the finest, heaviest silks. She leaves her rooms in no less than 10 kilograms of fabric and jewelry. Her hair is heavy with gold, her fingers clawed with gems, her breast clinking with jade. She keeps a fan in one hand— her collection now big enough to use two a day and never repeat one in a year. She does not do anything useful for her husband or the kingdom, and she rather prefers it that way. She masters every instrument, reads every text, sees every play, and hisses at anyone who dares to tell her to try harder. By now she must be the most knowledgeable scholar in the world, yet she will not lift a finger to help those below her. Why should she? She is a part of the problem after all. Her life is built on the suffering of millions, the deaths of billions. There is nothing she can do to change or stop this, so why try? She has accepted that she is now the lowliest of scum, and she is content to remain passive in the face of this fact. Why do anything else?
