⸻ the chatelaine of decay ;

mumu blog affiliated with nocturniafm.

[insatiabilitics]

blog dependent within nocturniafm, dni outside this group, penned by gia (she/her)!

ruling lady of graveholt - 𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖆 𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖜𝖞𝖗𝖓. (intro). (threads). (visage).

lord of helia bastion - 𝖙𝖆𝖊𝖒𝖗𝖎𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖛𝖆𝖊𝖓. (intro). (threads). (visage).

lord heir of celembron - 𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓. (intro). (threads). (visage).

lady of varnmere castle - 𝖎𝖉𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖆 𝖊𝖑𝖚𝖜𝖊. (intro). (threads). (visage).

activity/tracking purposes: updated for week 6/15-6/21

brannon threads: [-/2]

efigenia threads: [1/2]

taemris threads: [1/2]

idalia threads: [-/2]

[wanshangs]

the sarcasm drips, and petulance emanates from the young boy. haneul always thought him to be impulsive- too open with his feelings- and this cements the fact once more. their face remains nonchalant as ever, as they turn their gaze from the tree back to the other, an eyebrow carefully raised. "i don't know if you could handle true chae humor." which is an oxymoron on its own. there is no chae humor, least of all from haneul. their tone is as light as they can make it, a glimpse of a warning underneath. while haneul has vetted taemris for his capability to protect the younger chae, it does not mean they trust him fully. not with their sibling, and neither with their words. then again, they are not in the mood to debate any of what they have said, finding no value in it. instead, they humor it in their own way, which can easily be perceived as another jab, even if it is not the intention. "i am aware of that, lord morvaen." of course, this knowledge came from books, not from a visit to the land of the mighty. haneul was neither interested in it, nor the hollow seemed too keen on visitors in the past. "though i was of the belief that there is some life in braxigar, is it not?" a long glance at the younger, saying without words that people survived there, quite apparently so. "perhaps mosses or fungi?"

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── Spite was often the fire lit within him, paired with the integral ire of Braxigar, it often did not make him an amicable figure to work alongside; whether in duty or simple conversation. Within Haneul's obvious warning, Taemris flashes a smile, some appreciation for the bite the Chae possessed, far more direct than their wretched sibling Taemris had become a sentry over. " You are of a great and substantial hollow , Liege Haneul , yet it is those of your House who are more antisocial than all of Braxigar . " The smile grew wider at this , for Taemris would rather slaughter the entirety of the realm then pretend to care for the notion of social circles and being well favored within them.

Still, imbedded deep within his chiding words was some breadth of a treaty between them; however mild and fragile an offering it was. There was a shake of his head in spite of him reading through the lines; a rare feat for the assassin who was often more brawn than brain. " Maybe there is scant life left within the bloodshed that has long seeped into the soil . There is none left elsewhere however . " It was kind of them to presume that those of Braxigar, though they had endured, had somehow survived what molded them.

[graeclings]

"Must another fall?" Tristan's musing was open, extending beyond the bluntness of Efigenia's words; was the natural order of their world, predicated on mortal sacrifice? He had approached her person cautiously, unsure whether she would entertain company --his easiness had been tainted by a sense of uncertainty, a guarded air dimming his natural affinity to seek company wherever he went. Efigenia's proximity to the balcony's edge quickened the pace of his heart; she seemed to float upon it, with little care paid to the precarious nature of her position. Perhaps such was the nature of those of her Hollow --- mortality seemed to hold little weight in their world. His eyes cannot help but stray to the insect perched upon her knee, appearing as commonplace as a cat, nestled on ones lap --- Tristan could not claim the sight unsettled him, but it brought him little comfort. "Would you make such a sacrifice, my lady? I hope that we have given enough; may the will of our next crownwearer, be just and true. My only hope is that whatever dark spell has been cast upon us, shall now be bade to dissipate."

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── " It is the way in which this world of ours works , no ? I cannot say there is little that will stop Death's touch for once it has begun it is difficult to thwart it's path . " Her voice was airy and serene as though Efigenia took great pleasure in this fact even if it meant her own quietus could greet her soon enough. Either, she would miraculously obtain the title of crown or her status would remain unchanged within society, yet her relationship with her siblings would be forever marred. Especially when it came to Amarei and such was an unbearable truth.

She nearly balked at his words, though they were a succulent insight as to his own views of this entire debacle of crown and council. " It must be awfully cushy within the hollow of Morkhul , Lord Tristan . Your house is the one which lords over the tying of destinies as I recall ? " Her brow arched as though in great scrutiny over the idea , " This dark spell is only just beginning . Do you not find it beautiful ? " Her head cocked to the side, extempore rapidly expelled from her lips in a true show of her current ailment; a curse of her house, the wretchedness of Graveholt terminal.

[calvinandhobbes]

sooo true king

[rotfire]

Perhaps  the  blacksmiths  from  Elaris  Keep  truly  were  born  from  the  bones  of  these  dead  stars,  Marya  thought,  where  the  ash  could  burn  through  someone’s  heart,  or  through  someone’s  touch  just  like  a  sword,  cutting  deeper  than  flesh,  where  it  seared  muscle  and  sinew  with  every  slash.  The  thought  of  it  drew  her  mind  back  towards  Braxigar;  a  somber  land,  with  soil  so  cursed,  nothing  living  could  grow,  with  no  verdure  to  wildflower  that  brightened  the  dead  providence,  its  root  and  stem  sternly  rejected,  abandoned  and  left  to  the  custody  of  older  and  more  ancient  powers.  It  did  not  come  to  her  as  a  revelation,  that  she  may  believe  that  the  darkest  dominion  was  blotched  with  blood.  Mortared  with  sacrifices.  Bloodlines  severed  and  slaughtered  like  one’s  repentance.  One  of  those  bloodlines  was  hers;  a  vast  wound,  perished  light  years  ago.

When  Marya  sees  a  spark  moving  above  her,  she  hears  the  clattering  of  chirps.  And  for  a  woman  that  only  bore  the  cold  cloak  of  death,  her  eyes  light  up.  Her  garnet  eyes  come  to  see  the  Lady  of  Graveholt,  portraying  both  beauty  and  madness.  With  her  words,  Marya  laughs,  shrill  and  ear  splitting.  The  deathling  always  tended  to  scratch  the  eardrums.  " Now  there  is  honesty. " Said  she,  appreciative, the  corners  of  her  lips  trudged  upwards,  flickering  between  the  sky  and  the  lady  beside  her.  It's then she let her  eyes  fall  on  the  critters  and  Marya  does  not  reign  herself  in,  instead,  her  hand  slowly  comes  forward,  hovering  slightly.  

The  deathling  no  longer  looks  at  the  sky  when  she  speaks.   " They  do  remind  us  how  small  we  are,  don’t  they?  How  untouchable  they  truly  are. "  Said  as  if  in  a  trance, as  if  she’s  no  longer  on  earth,  her  cadence  drawn  out  and  uncongenial.  " I  keep  searching  for  a  trace  of  them. "  For  she  will  make  the  flesh  on  her  hands  into  sharp  blades.  Marya  tilts  her  head.  " Will  you  speak  to  me  about  your  little  friends? "  The  melody  reaches  her  voice  again.  " I  keep  a  few  of  my  own,  you  see. "

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── She liked to presume herself death-touched, of a vagrant house which no longer wore the truth of their bones on the surface. The history of her name was long evaporated, the secret etched only in the truth of stars; something which she could not control nor gain to understand - such is which made her this way. The only truth which reigned still was that she was a mirror of the night in which they were borne, a reflection of the melding pot her house was forced to become; Efigenia looked up at the sky and felt nothingness. Whatever plausible entity, whatever remnants of souls were littered amongst the jeweled stars, they meant nothing to her in this moment where she yearned for a purpose that would surely kill her. But undeath could be simply the beginning.

Titan and Bremon chittered in their own greeting; their elytra were cast outward, the carapace opened in a vulnerable flapping of the delicate wings beneath. The warmth of Heliophra called to their true, albeit rare, wanton for flight, though they loomed close to Efigenia no matter their desire; unspoken loyalty clear to see. They flit momentarily closer to the deathling opposite of Efigenia, some slim recognition of another who would mend before they harmed - in the sake of insects at least.

" I raised them from the soil up , " as little larvae to the mighty beetle they were now , " Some would think the cold of Drakathar would be cruel to them but . . it's given them longevity ; something that even we velkynar beg for but cannot seem to grasp any longer . . . " Four years in and her beloved pets would surely leave her soon, their lifespan a rarity upon such creatures. " I did not know anything truly lived in Braxigar , " she teased this with curiosity for their lands were not known to bear what could be necessary for any creature to thrive within.

[stacyyclausen]

Emilio Sakraya via Instagram

[celcstine]

slender  neck  turns  abruptly  at  her  name  spoken  and  dusk  brown  orbs  fell  upon  the  eldest  caldrithen  .  she'd  never  spoken  much  to  any  caldrithen  ,  well  if  you  looked  past  sloane  who'd  spent  several  years  in  the  company  of  almara's  and  once  had  perhaps  wished  to  stay  in  the  city  of  depravity  than  go  back  to  the  orange  woods  of  vallarion  .  she  had  wondered  why  the  other  sibling  never  joined  her  ,  or  why  she  never  saw  them  .  perhaps  their  paths  simply  hadn't  joined  more  than  brief  greetings  in  forced  quarters  .  "  lord  caldrithen  .  "  she  greets  with  a  little  surprised  laced  in  her  words  .

with  his  next  question  the  corner  of  her  lips  twitch  upward  .  was  it  not  obvious  ?  did  not  the  almara's  bring  forth  certain  understandings  when  it  came  to  dealing  with  their  own  ?  the  council  had  stolen  one  of  their  own  ,  taken  their  life  in  the  idiotic  charade  which  was  their  parade  of  a  crownwearer  lacking  in  power  .  a  puppet  .  her  cousin  had  died  a  puppet  in  a  show  neither  of  them  had  attended  .  "  perhaps  i  am  here  to  see  friends  from  across  the  hollows  lord  caldrithen  ,  like  your  dear  sister  -  she  hasn't  been  visiting  often  so  now  i've  come  to  seek  her  out  myself  .  "  sweet  lies  with  half  truths  ,  a  speciality  cooked  together  in  the  streets  of  crowreach  .  "  what  about  yourself  ?  i've  never  taken  you  for  a  man  involved  in  the  council's  business  -  "  she  tilts  her  head  to  the  side  ,  dusk  filled  orbs  inviting  and  taunting  .  "  is  it  the  wine  ?  "

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── At the mention of his twin, there was a moment of pause as though he wished to truly gripe about the grievances his niece had begun to put the Caldrithen name through. It would seem shallow to compare it to public images and expectations but it would do little to express any genuine fear on the front of Rhyaenna's name being placed, willingly, for crownwearer. " You could see why she may be busier than normal when it comes to the pursuit of travel , " that was hint enough without outright saying how unhappy each Caldrithen had been over the idea of Sloane's daughter putting her name in the mix.

" And on the contrary , a Caldrithen is always on the outskirts of the council's business , we just don't like to be , " he teased this with some brevity as if speaking like a loyal pawn in the machine of expectations, though there was great frustration within Brannon given how little he genuinely knew when it came to the council as of late. " Maybe avoiding the wine until the true announcement is made will do us all a world of good, hm ? " For it seemed, so often lately, that chaos and destruction followed underfoot.

[prodigxlis]

closed starter for taemris morvaen — @insatiabilitics

He is a veil of white gliding through the dark, moving at the pace of a soft trot. It is hours until dawn, yet already the colors on the sky shift: deep azure chasing lavender, kissing burnt marigold, a looming threat hidden in the pale fringe. He rides still within the edges of Elaris Keep, if on the earth below it that surrounds it. It is an odd meadow, blooming through the cracks of the desert underneath and of carved structures and open skies, but his mare takes to it with nimbleness and grace.

The marble pillars cast deep shadows at the growing light. Cian seems as if in another world, unaware—and so when his crimson eyes raise, it is quickly and with a piercing gaze. Pins Taemris to the ground where he stands. He is silent then, until he straightens his back, and raises his chin. “Well.” He smiles faintly, at first sweet then mocking, until it falls back into an expression of nothing. “Come close. There is no use being shy now.”

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── Try as one might, Taemris had granted some attempt to avoid this; lingering on the outskirts of Elaris Keep, rooting around on the periphery of any individual who happened across him. As a Morvaen it was his duty to be unknown, a slip of the imagination, the possibility of something truly intangible. He was well versed at this and it was this horrid sensation within to know that Cian truly saw him. What triumphed, however slim a victory, was that Taemris truly saw the Lord of Sheer Castle, too. Saturnine and fractious, the assassin nearly skulked forward, his eyes on the apparition of white which was Daystar, for if they glanced upon Cian the rage would be victorious once more.

" You have something of mine , " Taemris could feel the glass smile, perched yet fleeting, warp Cian's expression and his own shoulders rolled in a restless tell. " I worry this is my last chance to obtain it for soon the sky will bleed red . " He entrusted little in the hands of fate, found each string plucked from it's merciless harp to be a deliberate echo; Cian's choice was no different in this plight.

[wcnderingsovls]

setting: the caldrithen quarters in elaris keep featuring: rhyaenna caldrithen & brannon caldrithen @insatiabilitics

the tension between rhyaenna and sloane had never reached such heights. the women had not spoken since that evening in celembron when everything had come to a head with one single conversation. her mother had betrayed her, and kept betraying her, and rhyaenna had no interest in playing by the rules of sloane's game any longer. too long she had bent to her will, but no more would she let anyone dictate what her life was to be. she was perfectly content on letting the silence simmer between them, but her mother had not taken well to the news of her candidacy for crownwearer.

words were exchanged, feelings were hurt, and neither would relent in their stance, so they were at a standstill. that was why rhyaenna had returned to the quarters assigned to house caldrithen and asked for her belongings to be moved elsewhere. she did not care where, so long as it was well out of her mother's line of sight. just as the servants were packing her things, her uncle brannon walked into their living quarters. rhyaenna had also not spoken to him since the announcement from the council, but if he were anything like his sister, she was not in any mood to entertain antagonistic temperaments.

she spoke first. "have you come to yell at me?" her gaze did not linger on her uncle for long. rhyaenna could not bear to see his resemblance to sloane just now. it made her chest ache in a way she did not wish to dwell on. "if you have, may i ask you do so after dinner? i already have a piercing headache."

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── Brannon had never felt such deep fear inspired within him before than when it came to hearing his niece's name uttered for crownwearer. Certainly a decision she had enacted all on her own. Sloane had let Rhyaenna's own personal delusions and beliefs go far beyond what a Caldrithen was meant to do. Brannon had no problem stating he was a mere cog in the machine of what Nocturnia expected, but he continued to do so out of the sake of distancing themselves from any true clutch of power - for whatever illusion of power the crown offered was one which was death touched.

The heir to Celembron had attempted to quell his more turbulent feelings towards her name cast to the crown for several days since the announcement. He was certain there was nothing to be said which would vanquish whatever rotten extempore had overtaken Rhyaenna and that speaking to her would only inspire her to further misconstrue what a Caldrithen was meant for. This was the cruelty of history's eternal gaze; somebody would always look back upon it and demand to change what was once meant for them. The evidence of further separation was clear - servants packing her things, Rhyaenna sitting within a silence she had created. Brannon took a breath before fully striding into the room, asking the servants to excuse themselves so the two of house Caldrithen could share a moment of privacy.

" I only come to ask when it is you had lost your way ? When it was that you let this maddening streak unfold ? " His voice was unrelenting calm despite the mild shake of it; a rare inflecting of emotion for Brannon. " It is not our name which participates in this bloodbath and for good reason, Rhyaenna . " He was certain this was all she had heard before, from his sister, and that it would all enter one ear and drift out the other for she had made her choice and adamantly stuck to it. Like any Caldrithen would.

[decthless]

Open Starter:  [ accepting 0/3 ]    Location: near a riverbed hehe

The faintest a chuckles fell from the little nymph's lips, infectious and syrupy-sweet, muffled by a palm quick to latch to his mouth as he rustled like a small animal through the dense greenery, the thickness of the woods surrounding the river, offering a sliver of privacy amidst the tribulations of late, which he, in his infinite boredom and desire to entertain himself, had deemed fit to violate—a wisp of pale hair moves amidst the evergreen.

He had waited, patiently, until they had properly disrobed and discarded their garments aside to sprout from the bushes, gathering all in his arms clumsily as he laughed—drunk in his own impishness, his fair eyes so mischievous as they caught a glimpse of him. He bit his lip, and in a haste, bolted; off into the bushes like a startled bunny.

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── Lady Idalia did not fret nor hurry when it came to the gathering of who would be decided as next crownwearer. A small piece of her could silently pray the title went to neither of her siblings for their quarreling over who deserved to stake claim upon it was often the only inquietude within her life. Once the crownwearer was finally established, set in stone and heralded as the one, their lives could settle back to some stretch of normalcy and she needn't worry about tending to both Silas' and their middle siblings potent ambitions for rule any longer.

Idalia settled amongst a familiar riverbank; normally tidied in elaborate corsets and gowns which were fastened with several layers, Idalia's current fashion choice was tame. Glittering linens of gold, but something which proved more of a slip than anything, it could be deemed worthless to the youngest Eluwe. Regardless, a squeak of surprise left her as she noted a streak of waxen ivory collect her things and nearly hobble off, some sense of bacchanalian revelry inspiring them, surely.

" Is this what inspires great fun in Morkul ? " her question bubbled forth on the precipice of a laugh, her nose crinkling in amusement, " A delightfully rotten nymph you are , " she walked patiently towards the bushes, " That samite gown should be far too heavy for you to have sped off with it , Lord Chae . " She was rather impressed it had not dragged the young lord down with its weight.

[temilades]

JAYME LAWSON ESSENCE | Behind The Scenes (2026)

[insatiabilitics]

—(••÷  [   JAYME LAWSON   ,   CIS FEMALE   ,   SHE/HER  ]   in  the  darkness  you  arrive  ,    it   seems   IDALIA ELUWE  has  emerged  from  malriths  embrace.   the   LADY OF VARNMERE CASTLE,   brings  with  them  such  passion  in  their  wake  and  they  are  known  for  being  SANGUINE  but  also  CLUELESS. the  bloodmoon  shines  when  the  TWENTY EIGHT  year  old  joins  the  war.  what  songs  would  be  sung  in  their  name  ?  [  CRAVE   +   PARAMORE   ]  for  in  the  decades  to  come  they  will  speak  of  :  a doe wandering down a dark and forsaken path , gracious opulence within divine abundance , the fragile hope that love will prevail   .  may  your  journey  bring  fruit ,  welcome  to nocturnia  forgotten  one.  [   gia    .   she/her   .   28   .   est   .  n/a   ] ÷••)—

background.

name: idalia eluwe nickname(s): dalia , lia titles: lady of varnmere castle age: twenty eight height: 5'6" date of birth: may 7th pronouns: she/her sexuality: demi relationship status: single positive traits. endearing, compassionate, ambitious, negative traits. impulsive, a dreamer, materialistic.

history.

Idalia's birth eclipsed any prized gem or pearl found in their home, bright-eyed and screaming, her eyes the reflection of a true Heliophrian with their stark shades of orange. Where her eldest brother was a free spirit and their middle sibling righteously ambitious, Idalia teetered a line that spoke of her dreamer nature and nurturing spirit. While she did not aspire for the politics of their world, weaned on riches beyond any commoner's wants, such lack of investment did not make her bitter nor callous towards their world. Idalia has always ventured forth with hands wide open, more more more; a fragile expression that danced between greed and curiosity. Her name had predestined the spark of her spirit - Idalia, behold the sun - an epithet for the burning star they could walk under no longer. She did not let this truth of darkness douse her noxious positivity and she rather delighted in the moniker of being the people's princess (a name she certainly allotted for herself before others took it on); for though they were not Heliophra's ruling house, she walked the realm as if indeed she was. Connection was her prize gem, a weak point and a strength as she bled her own truths with ease. She vied to be loved above all else, it was not enough to be liked and she learned early on that money and gemstones worked even when her romanticism of Nocturnia's cold embrace did not. Nocturnia was beautiful simply because she had envisioned it so. Even the most despaired parts could be a vision of gold and glamour and she outstretched her hand to any, for even if they bit that which fed, Idalia could twist the blood into rivers of gold. An adoration for fashion above all else, any true sense of pride is tailored to this; she must be a pristine image, a representation of the wealth Varnmere Castle holds in droves. A hair nor stitch out of place, Idalia has proven herself to be a diplomat of their home even without the official title. A warm voice, limitless coin, and an ensnaring vision of beauty, she has only ever loved to wander. A dreamer who allows her delusion to inspire, for the world will only ever grow cold if they let it and she refuses to allow bitterness to prevail.

possible connections.

twin stars: i would accept anyone for this connection, though would prefer a heliophrian muse where they could have grown up together and bonded through each phase of life. this is someone who accepts idalia as they are even if they do not agree with her dreamer/romanticist take on life. it would be cute if they were opposites who just let the ferocity of their bond overtake any differences they have on the surface, both each other's closest confidant. KALI ALMARA

eclipsed rain: sometimes she is 'ruthless' in her pursuit to be liked and will blindly let money/gems lead the way to a path of friendship. indeed she has bought this friendship, but your muse can either have grown to genuinely like her or it is still more of a frenemies vibe on their end with their shameless ways of collecting a paycheck for their friendship!

lustrous love: indeed she is demi, but she loves love! you are friends with occasional benefits as there are no hard feelings from either end.

dying star: on the other hand, you are someone idalia fell for very hard but it did not go well. either the politics of houses kept you apart or worse you had to let her down easy for she was enamored and perhaps you were not. etc.

shining consulate: she is naive and doesn't care much for the politics of their world, but she loves adventure and to see the spoils of the world! indeed, she has worked her charm to manage negotiations or relationships through your house and hers and some sort of connection has formed as a result.

sweet song: you both have bonded over the indulgences of your lifestyle. whether through fashion, the pursuit of love and love lost, adventure, etc.

the muse: your character is an artist and she the muse of course!

[eachandeverything]

[indu1ge]

ah,  and  here  he'd  meant  to  be  a  simple  spectator.  such  maudlin  affairs  were  better  to  scoff  at  from  afar,  in  ran's  experience.  seldom  a  stranger  to  despair  and  desperation,  such  tragedies  had  seemed  to  him  more  like  passing  circuses  than  instances  deserving  of  sympathy.  he  was  meant  to  stand  lips  pursed,  snacks  in  hand  as  he  chittered  away  with  some  like-minded  soul  (  or  whoever  he  could  cajole  into  listening  to  his  erstwhile  babbling  )  as  to  what  sort  of  splatter  one  might  make.  but  he  had  none  of  that  now,  save  for  the  grimacing  expression.  his  pursuit  of  fresh  air  cursed  him,  the  grinding  noise  of  an  aborted  retreat  hammered  it  into  his  soul.

ran  long  since  believed  that  there  was  never  any  way  to  go  but  forward,  and  so  that  is  where  he  walked.  a  measured,  steady  gait  clipped  whatever  indigence  of  enthusiasm  exuded  from  him  before,  almost  casual  the  way  he  draped  his  arms  over  the  lip  of  the  balcony.  his  lip  curled  at  the  sight  of  the  lady's  rustling  little  companion,  though  he  was  proud  of  himself  for  fighting  the  urge  to  flick  it  off  of  her.  surely,  those  wings  were  not  merely  vestigial.  but  even  for  him,  such  rudeness  seemed  a  touch  too  far.

“  sacrifice,  ”  he  repeated  quietly.  “  is  that  what  you  would  call  it  ?  ”  if  anyone  dared  to  ask  his  opinion  ⸻  murder,  slaughter.  she  was  put  down  like  a  dog.  but  he  knew  that  if  the  words  ever  left  his  lips,  his  ruling  lord  might  (  try  to  )  have  his  head  on  a  spike.  as  confident  as  ran  was  in  his  abilities  to  fight  off  any  threat  that  dared  to  challenge  him,  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  making  himself  a  pariah  by  law.  “  i  can't  say  i'm  one  for  theorizing.  ”  something  self-deprecating  lingered  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  sparking  a  startled  blink.  “  you  have  thoughts,  surely.  muddled  as  they  seem  to  be.  think  you're  next  ?  not  an  admission  of  guilt,  but  ⸻  if  you  do,  you're  making  it  very  easy  for  me.  ”

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── There was an unwell fascination she had with most who were death-touched in Braxigar. Their hand was forced to live a life of violence, their name sullied even before their adoption - or, rare chance, birth - was finalized. She could commiserate in that, and in a subconscious reminder, it was likely such shared fact which bound them to a cruel likeness that explained her fascination in each deathling. She sighed at the question, silence hanging between them momentarily as though the air had been pried from the sky and shunted into a strange vacuum. The only thing which broke the silence which overtook her was the chittering of life beyond the balcony - any bird or bug making themselves known amongst the glittering night.

Sometimes she envied the freedom of each winged thing, wondered how it could feel to truly fly. Perhaps it was where her recklessness came from now, one leg hanging over the balcony; an easy target but one such which still held little worth to the game of tyrants. Finally her blank stare, which had bordered on disbelief of the question, broke towards an answer, " You would kill simply for the sake of doing so ? That is a pity . " It grounded her, not entirely in mind, but in the sense of shifting her leg over the balcony, both feet planted on the marble beneath them.

Regardless, she let her weak points speak for themselves, closing her eyes and inhaling sharp as though he were indeed going to push her over; if this was to be her last moment she would enjoy the wind in her hair and the sweet floral notes which drifted through the sandy air of Heliophra. " Her life was granted as an oblation for something - my name , my title , even my fight for crown . . . some would figure it meaningless . I am only another cog in the machine . " She smiled , shamelessly mad , the sickness of her house a festering miasma which occluded her wit , " So , if you dare not to push me , at least dare to vote my name for the crown , hm ? "

[graeclings]

"Do you wish to warn me off, or has your aim simply missed its target?" The knife nestled in the ground between her feet glinted in the pale whispers of light emanating from the moon; what had been an aimless venture, meant to test her strength, was now tinted with an air of uncertainty. Such had become Elowen's existence, when life demanded she leave the sanctity of her home --- she had yet to determine whether she relished or despised such interruptions to a life of quiet. "My children often climbed trees when they were young, hiding out for hours at a time; I always cautioned them, that they could easily fall. But I look upon you now, and I think it is a vulnerable thing, to find refuge in a tree. You are above me, but entirely at my mercy, should you ever choose to descend."

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── " If I wished to harm you , indeed , you would be struck , " there is no ego in the message, his cadence unwavering in the truth of his precision as a blade. Amidst the canopy of branches which housed him, Taemris studded her; shoulders rolled high, unrestrained elegance, certainly she ruled over a house. That fact alone inspired Taemris to remain perched upon the branch for now, not out of fear of harm, but within a disinterest of being recognized by a significant figure within a house or hollow. " Pray tell , my Lady , for I wish not to offend with my assumptions , but have you ever held a blade with the intent to maim , to kill ? " She spoke of being at her mercy if he were to continue this reckless charade and that alone spoke to talents she kept hidden within; he figured one of her caliber and status would not make an empty threat to bargain with.

[insatiabilitics]

𝖜𝖍𝖔: taemris morvaen && @moonvcils (luz solkarith) 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊: courtyard of elaris keep, near the gardens probably 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓: after the council's current statement (a few days within heliophra now)

✧˚ · . ─── A fragile representation of a smile found Taemris at the sight of Luz; he'd not seen them since their chosen separation from Braxigar and it seemed he was in a small minority who found great delight in their decision. So often he was mocked for his complacency, so often it was he who waltzed into the metaphorical cage and shut the door with lock and key. Perhaps a sliver of envy was inspired within him knowing Luz had cast away what was given to them in pursuit of something greater. If only he could rise to a similar occasion, if only this fear in his heart could be molded to purpose.

" I hear you bring great shame to your House's name , " the sarcasm was evident as he approached Luz in what seemed to be a fervent practice with their blade. " I'm curious myself as to what Heliophra offers your blade which Braxigar cannot , " Taemris gestured at their sword, his eyes scanning the marble building off in the distance; a beacon even in the dark.

[decthless]

Sacrifice is a word he was taught too early; small at first, then gradually larger as he came of age—sacrifice a toy for the joy of your younger sibling, the recklessness of youth for the fires of duty, a chance at freedom for a sense of purpose, and a clear conscience, in the hopes others would not have to stain their own hands red. He understood sacrifice with more intimacy than most children knew their mother's touch—and he knew better than most what it cost: everything. But sacrifice implied choice, of which she had been robbed, her husband, her child along with it. It was senseless horror, it could have no meaning for it was an act of unspeakable evil; she was a kind woman, he knew this much. Whatever monsters may lurked in the shadows of Braxigar, whatever shadows of madness lurked in the heart of its red-eyed children—it had not touched her. She was a kind woman, and all those around her were kinder for it, her absence is already felt, and Braxigar would always be darker, colder for it. There was no room for solace, he could not bring himself to make poetry of the death of an innocent. It was not good, or fair, or needed. It could not be anything other than a horrible tragedy.

It seems everyone around him is desperate to attach meaning to death these days—find a way to leverage it. Death was nothing but a thief, it took without asking permission, snatching away precious moments, and plans, and people, leaving behind an unavoidable wake of grief.

Perhaps he should be enraged, but even his rage had left him now. He had awaken, disoriented and uneasy, filled with nothing but weariness, and a deep-seethed dread that would not leave him. He risen, and come here looking for respite in his own loneliness, but found her instead: perched at the balcony like a tragic figure, as if baiting someone to push her off, teetering on the verge of insanity; she did not look well. He would know. He had looked neither well nor sane in quite some time. "Lady Velwyrn," the mad rattle she had made of her mouth surely did not meant to catch his ear, did not account for the angular shape of him, morphing into the inky blackness like a wraith coiled in the cold embrace of shadows, but it summoned him all the same, and so he made himself known; dark fabric whispering against the stone, his tall silhouette cut out against the light. "Perhaps this is not the most opportune location for your feverish ramblings... you already put a target on your head, I would suggest you at least make for a challenge for your enemies to drag you into early grave." his tone is dry, absent of warmth as it were, but he comes closer, a hand outstretches to beckon her out of her perch.

[insatiabilitics]

✧˚ · . ─── Had the arrow of ambition pierced her temple instead of her heart ? Efigenia's mind spun endlessly, a mangled and unsightly meshing of all her wants, jumbled into something even she found difficult to decipher. There was one plume of smoke amidst the haze of her mind, a beacon amidst the tenebrous shambles; her ire - that would see her through. The stars above spoke of light, this pervasive and insidious brilliance which would never be hers, never be theirs - noted at Sheng's approach. His hand was outstretched, a life line unfurling slow upon the sinking ship which she had created.

Indeed, she would rather drown. The mess created had been grotesque, but it had been hers. So long she had sat as some tidy and soothed thing, hiding the bristling rage within until it grew too large for her bones. So often she had been an apparition, dangling on the periphery of each hollow and house; but now, she commanded. Efigenia would not leave this place without ensuring her ambitions were not only heard but granted. Graveholt would not be this lifeless entity no longer, life would swell again within and power would follow suit. If Amarei could not see the vision, Efigenia would ensure her sister could see, even if it burned to gaze upon.

" Lord Sheng ," the smile grew slow on her waxen complexion, though she had always delighted in the magic of a monster and he was the perfect vision of such entity. " No , you've never been a hireling , have you . . . " even a Braxigarian could construct a moral compass and those of Nuwa were not blind killers. She sighed, stretched even, the balcony a frangible holding for the terrors barely restrained within her soul. She was never meant to be maiden nor bride, she vied to be king.

Her beetles skittered to the smooth marble of the balcony, parting to the sides as though to brace themselves for her to inevitable slip and fall. Her veiled hand, masked with an onyx glove of silk reached out to Sheng's, disappointed affixed in her eyes. " To what do I owe the pleasure ? "