водяни́ца

FORGED    FROM    ICE    ,    WIND    &    SNOW    .

[ofmoscows]

LYUDMILA           VASILYEVNA           OF         MOSCOW

—‒   but   in   time   the   little   girl   had   grown   to   be   a      serpent      in   a   woman’s   body.   her   shy   sweet   lilt   of   a   voice   bent   to   sharp   ,      silver      tongue   as   if   overnight   she’d   grown   to   match   her   mother’s   ambition   ,      hiding      it      somewhere         in         plain         sight.   by   the   corner   of   her   sly   smile   .   for   the   first   time   she   tasted   her   new   title   in   her   mouth   ;     GRAND   DUCHESS   .

a   roleplay   account   associated   with   @amethystrp

biography

[ofmoscows]

beatricedeluna​ .

Chuckling as Lyudmila referred to the carriage ride, she arched her brows.  “You’re not wrong, there,” she agreed.  “I feared I should lose my mind with the tedium…Though, even so, I believe it was decidedly better than crossing the perilous crossing of the Channel.  I’ve braved that twice, now,” she said.  “And I confess, I privately wish I could somehow be spared it a third time, though it seems unlikely.”  England might not be especially fond of the Aragonese Queen and her countrymen, but Beatrice could not imagine spending her life anywhere else, now.

Smiling as her companion spoke, her look was inviting.  “More than I imagined, I confess.  I believe I had quite pictured an iceberg,” she joked.  “But, come, tell me: where have you been?  Outside Russia, at all?”

Beatrice smiled softly.  “Treasure it, then,” she began, softly.  “We women have few opportunities to ever see again the places we were born, and memories of it will be your comfort in your future life, should you ever leave.  Oh, I do not say that you will not find new comforts wherever you may journey, but there is something unique the place where you were born that no other place can ever be.”

Smiling softly as her gaze wandered over the fuchsia water blossom, she smiled.  “I can easily see why.  It is truly mesmerizing.  Do they bloom every summer?  The scent is so refreshing!  I imagine it must be a special pleasure to gather a bouquet of them, is it not?”

“i’ve   traveled   seldom   traveled   beyond   our   borders   ,   but   once   i   went   as   far   west   as   bohemia   ,   crossing   the   poles   and   into   the   holy   roman   empire   .   &   to   the   east   i’ve   glimpsed   the   lands   of   the   golden   horde   only   once.”   she   explained   .   how   unworldly   she   must   have   seemed   then   .   she   had   only   really   allowed   to   dream   of   far   of   places   ,   but   her   family   had   always   been   dreamers   .   her   mother   had   achieved   her   grand   dreams   to   be   besides   the   seat   of   the   throne   .   lyudmila   was   certain   someday   she   would   too   would   rise   to   such   greatness   with   her   mother’s   gusto   running   through   her   veins   .

as   the   mental   image   of   sailing   across   the   channel   crossed   her   mind   lyudmila   cringed   .   anytime   she   had   ever   stepped   on   a   boat   she   could   not   wait   to   get   off   .   the   gentle   rocking   of   waves   licking   against   a   boat’s   side   had   always   made   her   queasy   .   “i   myself   have   never   been   fond   of   boating   ,   even   here   on   our   moskva   .   should   i   ever   brave   the   channel   i   fear   for   my   stomach   .”

lyudmila’s   face   softened   .   it   was   true   ,   one   day   she   would   be   married   and   quickly   ushered   away   to   whatever   part   of   the   world   he   hailed   from   ,   save   for   the   small   chance   she   married   someone   russian   born   .   perhaps   then   she   would   never   see   it   again   .   perhaps   it   would   not   survive   in   this   mysterious   country’s   gardens   and   it   would   only   grow   in   her   memory   .      how   little   time   she   likely   had   left   with   with   it   ,   with   her   homeland   and   its   people   .   “yes   ,   i   most   certainly   will   .   indeed,   they   make   for   a   lovely   centerpiece   in   any   flower   arrangement.   they   bloom   each   summer   and   are   gone   by   early   fall   .”   &   this   summer   could   be   her   last   .

[ofmoscows]

cfcyprus​ .

Marguerite believed her, for even in the most sparse of horizons, something prevailed. From the smallest insect to the strongest herb, it was nature’s beauty that allowed Marguerite to soften into a gentle state of calm. She had spent almost thirty long years upon that Golden Isle, spending a large amount of that time preparing the nest of childbirth or becoming one with the Cypriot people — understanding their beliefs, their fears and wants. This, she thought, was what every young daughter of every noble household should prepare for, for her maternal love yearned to reach out, to tell this girl to hold onto herself, for soon she assumed that her time would come, to become a hostage to someone else. 

 France, itself, was a country Marguerite barely knew. She had spent almost twelve years within the convent, under the watchful guise of her maternal aunt — she had remained behind large, ivy-coated walls, with strict instructions from her mother to stick to the bible, to read and re-read whilst keeping an ear to the ground for news of her fate. As a girl, she had heard rumours of England to halt the bloodshed before the war itself was won, then there was the Holy Roman Empire, the Scandinavian vaults or the Spanish States — she had never once prepared herself for Cyprus. Cyprus, compared to the expanse of France, was another world entirely. Tall olive trees, ripened purple figs, bunches of myrtle flowers nourished by the fabled blood of Adonis, bunches of oregano… the difference could not be told in long lists. But Cyprus was cultivated by golden allures, the sea-foam forever staining her skin and clothes with salt. Even then, she could taste its tang against her tongue, as if the sand yet remained flowing beside her blood. 

And yet, she did not correct the Russian girl, and instead nodded in one slow swoop of her head, before pushing herself back. “It had its own beauty, of course, as everything does —” Marguerite muttered, a hand thus leaning against the wall, glad to feel the cool of its brickwork, for something to anchor the Dowager to reality. “How do you find the invasion?” SHe asked, in both jest and coded interrogation — for as much as she admired her, Marguerite was never far from the plan she had been at work on since the death of her dearest Hugo (the younger). “I mean, your home has been flooded with foreigners… You must find it strange.”

"invasion   is   a   strong   word   ,"   she   chuckled   .   "although   the   experience   has   certainly   been   interesting   thus   far."   lyudmila   felt   strangely   comfortable   amongst   these   foreigners   .   never   had   she   been   surrounded   by   so   many   new   faces   .   yet   ,   if   there   was   any   shred   of   discomfort   ,   lyudmila's   jolly   disposition   did   not   falter   .   her   mother   feodosia   had   trained   her   well   ,   so   it   seemed   .   now   lyudmila   could   wear   a   fake   smile   for   days   on   end   if   need   be   .   there   had   been   questions   surrounding   lyudmila's   ability   to   acclimate   to   the   social   climate   of   the   royal   court   since   girlhood   .   there   had   been   a   time   where   she   appeared   to   be   a   rather   hopeless   cause   ,   but   her   mother   had   never   given   up   on   her   overly   emotional   child   .   it   had   been   some   years   since   her   last   outburst   and   since   she   had   flourished   .   blooming   like   one   of   the   garden   flowers   .

“i   suppose   i   am   a   social   sort   .   though   i   can   imagine   a   less   outgoing   person   to   feel,   perhaps,   infringed   upon   ,   i   am   not   so   shy.”   she   shrugged   her   dainty   shoulders   .   “for   me   its   most   exhilarating   to   meet   you   all   ,   to   hear   your   stories   .   compared   to   many   of   our   visitors   my   lifestyle   is   practically   provincial   ."   

it   was   partially   true   ,   though   lyudmila   kept   a   few   cards   guarded   close   to   her   chest   .   she   kept   a   keen   eye   open   for   suiters   ,   in   a   bid   to   gain   power   as   young   woman   titles   always   must   in   their   unforgiving   predicament   .   she   counted   herself   lucky   to   be   born   pretty   with   locks   of   golden   blonde   and   bright   blue   doe   eyes   to   attract   them   .   like   some   mythological   siren   or   rusalka   as   her   people   called   it   ,   dragging   men   to   their   fate   below   water   .      of   course   ,   these   suitors   would   need   to   be   approved   by   her   mother   ,   no   doubt   ,   who   too   looked   to   accrue   power   through   her   daughters   marriage   arrangements   .   one   day   lyudmila   would   either   birth   a   boy   or   train   her   daughters   to   do   the   same   &   on   &   on   the   cycle   went   ad   infinitum   .   

it   was   a   sad   thing   ,   to   be   sure   ,   but   lyudmila   would   sacrifice   a   negotiable   amount   of   happiness   for   status   &   wealth   ,   which   made   it   all   go   down   much   easier   .   with   that   status   &   wealth   the   happiness   would   certainly   come   again   .   it   would   come   in   the   form   of   mansions   &   gold   .   knowing   that   she   could   sleep   easy   .

[ofmoscows]

oljeiprincess· .

“Indeed.” Öljei said, nodding in agreement.

Upon hearing her suggestion, a sad smile came across her face.

“I think it would be lovely, but at this point I do not think any flowers still grow in Mukhsha. I do not even think Mukhsha is even a place anymore. For me it is merely a memory.” She said sadly.

“This one… Chamomile. It reminds me of Mukhsha however. I will take a liking to it instead. It reminds me of the smell of freshly trodden Earth after The Horde’s horses rode back into the Capital after winning a battle.”

"chamomile   makes   excellent   an   tea   ,   and   it   can   be   sweetened   with   honey   .   perhaps   you'd   find   it   do   your   tastes   ."   she   said   ,   awkwardly   .   naturally   ,   it   was   difficult   to   maintain   pleasantries   with   vasily's   captive   .   it   especially   so   when   discussing   matters   such   as   her   homeland   of   muksha   ,   which   she   spoke   of   with   such   quiet   resignation   .   perhaps   for   her   it   would   be   better   for   that   place   to   remain   a   memory   belonging   only   to   her   .   lyudmila   decided   it   was   best   not   to   pry   too   much   farther   ,   lest   it   bring   about   painful   memories   .

“i   do   hope   you   are   not   distressed   by   our   sheer   number   of   visitors   .   i   understand   how   an   event   like   this   could   prove   quite   stressful   for   some   .”   she   said   ,   changing   subjects   delicately   .

[ofmoscows]

xiaqinghe· .

❂

“I am quite fond of them. They provide a reminder of home,” she admitted, allowing her gaze to again drop to the lotus flower that was so like the ones she knew. It reminded her that, despite the distance they had traveled, Russia and China still shared some commonalities. There was something almost soothing to the thought, though Qinghe would not let it make her complacent.

“We should be glad to have you,” Qinghe assured her, offering a smile. “Of course I cannot speak for the Emperor himself, but I know that my household should be very happy to host visitors.” She paused, studying the younger woman with a perceptive eye. “You are one of Russia’s duchesses, are you not? I’m sorry to have not had the pleasure.”

she   had   been   so   distracted   by   her   garden   that   formalities   had   eluded   her   ,   she   realized   with   a   shock   .   a   small   social   faux   pas   in   front   of   the   empress   of   china   .   what   luck   .   “yes   ,   forgive   my   lack   of   introduction   ,   your   grace”   she   said   ,   with   a   quick   ,   elegant   curtsey   .   “i   am   lyudmila   vasilyevna   ,   grand   duchess   of   russia   .      a   pleasure   .”

“thank   you   ,   it   is   an   honor   to   know   i   am   so   welcome   .”   &   it   really   was   .   lyudmila   found   her   first   invitation   to   another   court   ,   by   such   an   important   fixture   of   global   politics   no   less   ,   absolutely   riveting   .   it   was   the   sort   of   direct   invitation   she’d   been   groomed   for   .   these   were   the   sorts   of      she’d   need   to   remember   her   etiquette   should   she   want   more   doors   to   open   to   her   .

[ofmoscows]

beatricedeluna​ .

Beatrice’s gaze moved from one radiant color to the next, drinking in the verdant wilds of Russian summer.  She’d not been wholly certain what to expect, she could admit, which had caused curiosity to foist her outside at the first opportunity.  She’d thought herself, in truth, quite alone, but she was soon pleasantly surprised to realize this was not so.

“I could not resist,” she laughed, her air friendly as ever.  “While I must confess I have little love of the means we take in journeying, I do love the ends of travel: exploring new places, seeing new sights.  Is there any joy greater?”  She smiled to herself – perhaps at herself – and looped an affectionate finger around the petal of a nearby bloom.

Hearing her interlocutor’s assessment, she bit her lip.  “Spoken like a native,” she said, as if Lyudmila’s dress had not given her away.  “Have you a particular favorite?“  She paused, bit her lip as she gazed over the softly bobbing heads.  “I was born in Aragon, and to me there is nothing so lovely as a cherry plum in full bloom.  I think there is a magic about the flowers of our youths – nothing will ever quite compare.”

She paused, considering.  This seemed a woman Russian-born, but Beatrice did not wish to assume.  “Were you born here, or is your situation an accident of marriage?”

"understandable,   nothing   is   more   tedious   than   a   long   carriage   ride   ."   she   agreed   .   between   the   cramped   wagon   ,   the   poor   resistance   to   outside   weather   &   the   incessant   stench   of   horses   there   was   little   lyudmila   enjoyed   of   the   journey   before   the   destination   .   the   views   ,   however   ,   were   sometimes   picturesque   .   she   recalled   once   crossing   a   river   during   sundown   in   the   countryside   ,   how   the   sky   painted   the   water   a   shimmering   orange   and   yellow   .   the   light   refracting   off   the   surface   of   the   waves   so   that   it   looked   heavenly   &   alive   .   but   the   sheer   length   of   transportation   between   aragon   &   russia   seemed   hellish   .   "but   i   do   so   love   to   see   more   of   our   known   world   .   i   hope   you   find   russia   to   be   all   you've   imagined   ."

it   was   difficult   to   mistake   her   for   anything   other   than   slavic   in   her   dress   ,   which   differed   so   greatly   from   the   styles   common   in   beatrice's   western   europe   .   "indeed   ,   i   was   born   here   &   have   seldom   left   ."   she   explained   .   though   with   hope   one   day   she   would   marry   and   leave   this   place   behind   to   climb   the   aristocratic   social   ladder   .   that   filled   her   with   an   unspoken   sadness   ,      which   she   pushed   away   from   her   mind   quickly   .

lyudmila   gestured   to   the   lotus   for   beatrice   to   see   ,   "i   hate   to   give   preferential   treatment   ,   but   yes   .   this   is   my   cherry   blumb   ;   the   russian   lotus   ."   the   flower   was   large   &   a   vibrant   pink   ,   with   a   bright   yellow   center   .   its   petals   fanning   out   from   that   middle   like   blades   .   perhaps   to   some   its   vivid   colors   might   seem   a   bit   garish   ,   but   that   mattered   not   to   lyudmila   who   adored   decadence   .   

[ofmoscows]

dowagerempressxiaojing​ .

    It had not been the Dowager’s expressed intention to approach or address Lyudmila – their acquaintance had yet to warrant such friendly endeavours. At ease, she had meant only to observe the girl, her own figure unseen, as she moved amidst swaying greenery. But the young lady looked upon her admirer ; in a pretty humour was Lyudmila, whose youthful lustre played across silken petals like a morning light. “I have heard much praise for Moscow’s gardens; I have thus been charged, to determine the merit of such reports. Whilst I am pleased to discredit falsities, I thus far, affirm all reports to be entirely truthful.” In a mood as good as a new moon, the Dowager’s countenance had in it a friendly promise that day. Amidst her many gifts, Xiaojing possessed a talent for gardening - she delighted in tending to, and fostering, plants. It was an endeavour which served to soothe her nerves, and provide fodder for all pleasant nightly musings, in which her son repose beneath a bed of soil. 

   “Have you been bequeathed the gardens, as your domain to entreat and entertain us foreign dignitaries? If so, I commend your choice; rose-bushes would induce any king into a joyful, blithe mood - all the more pliable, to ones desires.” The young girl but answered with an animated smile, bestowed upon her features by her beaming sun’s, animated kiss. “I believe myself to be of fine company, and thus enter in a request, that we hold ourselves to a standard of intelligence; in short, let us remark upon no nuptials, or remarks upon my journey here. What future does her grace fashion for herself? Do you court foreign opinion, or reject it?” 

"I'm   pleased   to   hear   you   find   our   gardens   satisfactory   ."   she   replied   .   many   are   surprised   to   see   so   much   of   natures   bounty   in   these   northern   lands   ,   let   alone   gardens   as   vast   as   this   .   but   lyudmila   was   pleased   to   hear   that   not   all   of   the   world   thought   of   russia   as   a   land   of   only   ice   covered   tundra   and   frigid   cold   .   there   was   culture   here   to   ,   an   abundance   of   it   at   that   &   power   .   "it   is   unfortunate   that   not   all   can   truly   appreciate   or   see   russia's   beauty   as   you   do   ."   or   perhaps   they   simply   refused   to   do   so   .   remarking   upon   this   growing   threat   of   an   empire   may   legitimize   it   in   their   eyes   .   lyudmila   understood   well   that   much   of   foreign   high   born   society   would   have   preferred   remain   the   northern   a   land   of   peasants   .   easily   forgotten   &   unthreatening   .

lyudmila   had   nothing   but   respect   for   the   dowager's   bluntness   .   she   was   willing   to   shed   the   thin   veneer   of   niceties   &   court   small   talk   and   get   down   to   brass   tacks   .   these   formal   conversations   proved   quite   dull   .   &   it   expressed   respect   on   the   part   of   xiaojing   to   her   intelligence   ,   to   her   worth   beyond   flowers   &   pretty   clothes   .   important   they   may   be   there   was   always   a   desire   to   express   her   power   beyond   the   confine   of   aesthetics   ,   marriage   and   beauty   .   how   exhausting   the   incessant   infantilization   was   .   so   yes   ,   let   them   both   speak   woman   to   woman   about   such   matters   .   "to   ignore   the   foreign   court   is   to   bring   about   stagnation   ."   she   answered   .   "what   growth   can   one   expect   to   have   under   such   isolationism   ?"   the   corners   of   her   pink   lips   turned   up   in   an   artful   grin   ,   "have   you   or   your   court   an   opinion   you   wish   to   posit   ?"

[ofmoscows]

if    you    forget   my    name    you   will    go   astray   like  a   killer    whale    trapped     in    a    bay .

[vi0light]

tagged: @annacfmoscow & @ofmoscows

location: feodosia's apartments.

The tsarina was not prone to bouts of anxiety, she could count on one hand the amount of times the knot formed beneath her breast and the palpations that ensued had kept her slumber at bay. Most of those instances had revolved around her late husband, as she eagerly awaited news from the battlefield – an ear trained to the wind, listening intently for tolling bells. What tidings their chimes cried out for she dare not question, lest she tempt the fates. A similar restriction had ailed her when Lyudmila had been a babe, her fragility a reminder of the cruelty and might of the gods. So willing to bestow with one hand and threaten to take with the other. Then again with Anna, when she had come to her that fateful night and relayed her predicament.

Yet such moments were shrouded with infrequency, much to Feodosia's relief. What plagued the tsarina most, however, was the tendency to overthink - her mind simply refused to rest and how could it ? At every turn she was met with resistance, in every darkened corner there lurked a courtier with blade in hand awaiting the moment to plunge it into her back. Her ides of march were nigh, and she would not fall to the same follies as the great Caesar himself. She was, after all, greater still.

The gatherings in Moscow had been a necessary evil, one designed to usher in the future and although Feodosia viewed it through an eye of scepticism - perhaps even pessimism - she was determined that she and her daughter would carve out their own place in the sun. Their futures were bright and Feodosia would see to it that nothing or no one stood in their way.

"Send for my daughters, I wish to speak to them." She dictated, breaking hours of silence from the tsarina abruptly. It startled her ladies from their card game, the women rising from their perches to fulfil their mistresses command with haste. Expecting them imminently, Feodosia did not busy herself with trivial activities, she remained situated upon the cushioned ledge of her window, her gaze fixated upon the darkened landscape.

Obscured by darkness, it was not the silhouetted buildings that transfixed her, more the darkness itself. There was something so cathartic within the abyss and in the respite before her daughters arrival, it soothed Feodosia's troubled mind. The serenity was not to last, and once more intruding thoughts penetrated her mind. Turning her gaze towards the door as it opened, the tsarina regarded Lyudmila and Anna with a measured but affectionate smile. "Come sit with me shchenki, I wish to discuss some matters with you."

[ofmoscows]

when   lyudmila   was   called   upon   she   could   tell   it   was   a   matter   of   importance   .   a   private   discussion   coinciding   with   this   event   was   no   coincidence   .   she   walked   the   halls   with   an   almost   anxious   anticipation   .   there   were   important   matters   of   her   future   to   tackle   .   matters   which   carried   lifelong   consequences   for   her   &   the   consequences   of   some   of   the   known   worlds   most   powerful   nations   .   lydmila   too   had   understood   that   it   was   rare   for   so   many   monarchs      to   reside   under   one   roof   .   a   golden   opportunity   had   presented   itself   .   one   which   she   must   navigate   tactfully   &   that   required   guidance   ,   lest   she   come   under   some   kind   of   social   faux   pah   .

as   she   was   escorted   through   the   intricately   painted   halls   of   the   kremlin   she   could   not   help   but   feel   as   if   watched   by   the   two   dimensional   faces   of   christ   &   his   saints   on   the   frescos   .   they   looked   down   at   her   from   their   perches   judgmentally   &   expectantly   .   looking   as   if   they   were   waiting   for   her   to   fill   the   great   shoes   of   her   mother   &   father   ,   to   meet   the   demands   of   her   bloodline   .   at   last   she   reached   the   large   wooden   door   of   her   mother's   chambers   .   she   hesitated   for   but   a   brief   moment   ,   readying   herself   .   gather   your   wits   ,   she   told   herself   .   she   wondered   if   her   sister   felt   the   same   daunting   pressure   as   she   stood   beside   her   .

it   was   not   that   her   mother   put   too   much   pressure   on   her   ,   not   really   .   feodosia   had   done   what   was   required   to   lift   them   out   of   their   illegitimate   status   ,   to   grant   them   some   power   .   now   she   wished   only   to   increase   it   .   every   thought   she   had   was   for   her   daughters   ,   this   lyudmila   knew   .   still   ,   these   waters   in   which   her   family   swam   were   dangerous   ,   shark   infested   .   there   was   always   some   possibility   lyudmila   may   fall   through   the   cracks   either   via   the   smallest   of   offenses   or   entirely   through   no   fault   of   her   own   .   such   was   the   nature   of   the   high   stakes   game   they   played   .

finally   ,   she   opened   the   door   and   was   met   with   the   darkness   of   her   mother's   quarters   .   her   mother   looked   ominous   when   casted   in   a   dim   light   .   so   many   already   considered   feodosia   fearsome   .   those   craven   men   who   feared   her   womanly   might   should   see   her   in   such   a   light   .   they   would   drop   dead   of   fright   .   the   thought   almost   made   her   laugh   .   good   ,   let   them   be   afraid   .   let   them   shiver   in   their   boots   like   the   little   boys   they   were   .   one   day   lyudmila   hoped   to   inspire   even   half   as   much   dread   as   her   mother   did   .

lyudmila   returned   the   polite   smile   and   did   as   instructed   with   a   nod,   taking   her   seat   .   "yes   ,   mother   .   what   is   it   you   would   have   us   discuss   ?"   she   asked,   softly   ,   her   voice   smaller   than   she   had   intended   for   it   to   be   .

[ofmoscows]

cfcyprus .

The vision of this girl, adorned with treasures from not only Russia but anywhere she saw fit, was quite outstanding. She thought that her son, the King of Cyprus, would be the type of person to fall for her within seconds— she would, Marguerite thought in good humour, enrage Aphrodite (who had always kept such a keen presence upon the Cypriot shores) with such beauty, for one twist of her head would be just enough to send the primordial Greek Goddess into such a flurry of envy that’d rip apart the entire world. John, the boy she had raised, would take her as his bride without much thought, and for that she understood and was for the first time, grateful, that he had not been invited to the summit. 

She thought of her brother, wondering how he’d react to such a gilded princess of Russia — perhaps he’d abandon his prospective Byzantine bride for her, and for that thought Marguerite almost shivered with pleasure. It wasn’t that she trusted the Rus over the Byzantine-Greeks, but rather than she would prefer anyone over the offspring of Alice of Cyprus. 

So, she watched, as the girl made her way through the pleasantry of the Kremlin’s gardens, her eyes set upon the headdress that slipped from her crown time to time, the innocent act as simple measure made to humble her, perhaps. In contrast to her intricate costume, Marguerite wore a dark blue gown of a modest cut, with the traditional caulette cradling her face, hiding the bountiful brown hair that she had once taken care to brush every evening and every morning. One day, she thought, she’d like to return to the entertainment of fashion, to betray the rules of the older women, to expose the body that had been in such torment, since her time as Queen. 

“Yes,” she answered, though she knew little Russian — and guessed that she also would know little Greek. So, she remained upon her French tongue, lifting a hand to brush the sage. “Your gardens are quite unique, you know? I wouldn’t have guessed that such harsh conditions could nourish such beauty.” 

“it   is   true   much   of   our   most   northern   lands   are   quite   barren   ,   in   some   parts   very   little   grows   green   ,   but   here   in   the   south   stubborn   flowers   still   take   root   in   the   cold   .”   she   had   seen   the   muddy   summers   of   the   north   where   what   little   grass   there   was   grew   yellowish   like   straw   .   north   where   the   peasants   lived   in   their   sparse   wooden   hovels   half   hidden   amongst   the   heaps   of   snow.   still   ,   there   was   a   savage   beauty   in   the   harshness   of   the   it’s   winters   .   even   more   beautiful   than   the   already   extreme   winters   of   moscow   ,   where   the   cold   could   freeze   most   foreigners   to   the   bone   with   only   a   breeze   .         

but   she   knew   the   beauty   of   france   ;   where   all   grew   green   &   fields   ran   rampant   with   flowers   .   in   comparison   the   planes   of   russia   were   harsh   &   spare   .   unfortunately   ,   she   had   only   seen   france   in   paintings   and   its   flowers   in   the   unloved   ,   old   ,   dusty   herbal   manuscripts   in   the   kremlin   library   .   not   only   was   she   rarely   taken   abroad   due   to   her   illegitimate   heritage   ,   even   when   given   a   title   france   was   just   so   far   a   journey   away   .   the   french   language   she   was   very   familiar   with   ,   however   .      as   a   youth   her   education   focused   heavily   on   foreign   tongues   to   increase   her   marriage   prospects   .   as   french   was   so   widely   spoken   and   aristocratic   it   was   taught   to   her   early   &   she   had   found   some   ease   in   learning   it   compared   to   english   with   its   confusing   grammar   .   though   eventually   ,   she   had   no   choice   but   to   master   both   and   some   others   too   .   perhaps   it   was   he   already   existing   knowledge   of   marguerite’s   time   in   cyprus   ,   but   she   thought   she   could   hear   the   smallest   hint   of   mediterranean   in   her   french   speech   .   

“i’ve   seen   paintings   of   the   marvelous   lavender   ,   poppy   &   sunflower   fields   along   the   french   countryside   .   i   imagine   in   comparison   our   russia’s   natural   beauty   appears   most   modest   .”   she   added,   attempting   to   sound   as   humble   as   she   could   while   dressed   such   audacious   attire   .   

one   day   she   would   like   to   travel   to   both   lands   .   in   fact   ,   she’d   like   to   travel   all   the   world   should   she   have   the   privilege   .   a   privilege   that   would   only   come   through   the   marriage   of   the   right   man   .   the   scorns   of   womanhood   ,   she   thought   ruefully   .   nevertheless   ,   she   had   no   choice   but   to   submit   to   the   social   requirements   of   her   gender   .   so   she   navigated   the   world   carefully   ,   as   all   aristocratic   women   did   .   with   her   eyes   watching   hawk   like   for   the   the   right   match   .

[ofmoscows]

xiaqinghe· .

❂ 

“They are indeed exquisite,” Qinghe agreed, her own silken hanfu a vibrant shade of crimson, standing out against the soft colors of the Moscow gardens. She had been curious, of course, as to how different the gardens here might be, and they had not disappointed her, though the sight of the lotus flower that Lyudmila was admiring pleased her.

Coming closer, Qinghe leaned closer to admire the blossom. “There are flowers quite like this in Nanjing,” she mused aloud, glancing to meet Lyudmila’s gaze. “A thing of purity and beauty, emerging from the dirt and soil. But the gardens are different. They are not so…” She considered her words. “They are not so linear, as the gardens I have seen here.”

it   was   easy   to   decipher   she   was   talking   to   the   ming   empress   herself   .   standing   there   in   all   her   majesty   there   was   no   mistaking   her   .   lyudmila   was   quick   to   notice   the   luxurious   brightly   colored   material   of   the   empresses   hanfu   .   china   had   long   been   known   to   have   the   best   silks   in   the   known   world   .   the   thought   cross   her   mind   that   should   good   trade   between   their   nations   come   of   this   event   she'd   have   more   elegant   silks   for   her   wardrobe   .   she'd   best   act   wisely   should   any   negotiations   occur   .

she   had   been   left   behind   on   most   travels   before   acquiring   her   title   of   grand   duchess   .   her   family   wouldn't   stand   for   the   embarrassment   of   an   illegitimate   child   tagging   along   for   political   affairs   .   since   that   stroke   of   luck   she'd   been   permitted   to   travel   some   ,   but   she'd   never   seen   the   lands   empress   qinghe   called   home   .      she   tried   to   imagine   these   less   linear   gardens   for   herself   .   "what   a   poetic   way   to   describe   a   flower   .   "   she   said.   "i   would   like   to   visit   your   gardens   myself   one   day   ,   should   i   be   so   lucky   .   "

[ofmoscows]

 oljeiprincess​ .

“Yes your grace, I have. The flowers are all beautiful.” Öljei said as she approached the grand duchess.

It was nice to get out of her chambers and to smell the fragrant flowers that Russia had to offer… well it was nicer now than it had been when she had first been in these very gardens some months after she had been married off to Vasily.

Back then she had wished to rip each flower up from root and stem until no flower had been left in the Russian garden… but she did not. Doing such a thing would have only put herself and her sister in danger.

“I find it to be very peaceful here. Other than the beauty of the flowers, do you find it to be peaceful here as well?” The Princess of Shemyaka asked as she sniffed some chamomile… the scent reminded her of Mukhsha, for the flower held an earthy scent to it.

lyudmila   nodded   in   agreement   ,   "yes   ,   I   do   consider   it   a   rather   peaceful   place   ."   there   was   no   real   peace   to   be   found   within   the   walls   of   the   kremlin   ,   at   least   for   her   .   the   halls   had   too   many   memories   for   her   to   ever   be   fully   at   ease   .   but   here   amongst   the   flowers   she   could   find   a   sense   of   serenity   .   what   a   pity   the   flowers   were   not   always   in   bloom   .

"perhaps   we   should   have   some   flowers   transported   from   your   native   territory   if   it   pleases   you   .   surely   some   would   take   root   in   our   gardens   &   there   is   much   space   for   it   ."   lyudmila   did   have   much   knowledge   of   the   horde   ,   but   that   was   not   necessary   to   see   the   princess's   pain   .   pain   that   was   the   result   of   her   half   brothers'   rakish   foolishness   .   men   played   with   those   affected   by   war   like   little   chess   pieces      at   their   disposal   .   little   boys   playing   with   in   soldiers   .

[ofmoscows]

spiderings .​

Dao had made two great journeys in her life, each removing her entirely from the familiar and dumping her unceremoniously into an alien environment. The first, from her hometown to Nanjing, saw her separated her from the majority of her family and forced her to compete for a prize that felt somewhat lacklustre, stared at with envy and pity in equal measure. The second, from Nanjing to Moscow, was even more foreign to her, where the title of concubine had her looked at as though she were an oddity. But though the land was different and their customs strange, she was a farmer’s daughter, and consequently could find peace wherever she travelled so long as there was greenery. 

The gardens of the Kremlin were perhaps a little too uniform for her taste, her preferences always lying in the wild and untameable, but the sheer scale of them was undeniably impressive - each day she wandered out there she seemed to discover something previously unseen, conquering new land. That afternoon, it was a narrow path with ponds either side that she stumbled upon, but it was the impressive silhouette that stood in her path which drew her attention. Dao encountered others in the gardens frequently, but aside from courteous bows she largely ignored them, and they her. She was prepared to skirt around this one to continue her leisurely walk, but was surprised to find herself addressed directly as she approached.

Her gaze fell upon the face of the speaker, and she bowed deeply before the glittering figure, recognising her as a member of the Russian royal family. In her peacock-patterned hanfu and silver hair pins, Dao felt practically dowdy in comparison, but her chin had a confident tilt as she straightened again, locking eyes without shame. “I have,” she said in careful English, tongue still not used to the shapes and sounds she’d practiced on her own in front of the mirror. “I come here often to think, but I haven’t seen this part before. These remind me of home.” A small, pale hand gestured at the flower in the hand of the other. Truthfully, the lotus was not quite as large or beautiful as the ones that she was used to in Nanjing, but it was a welcome sight all the same, and it bobbed in the breeze like an old friend greeting her. “I can see why you might like to spend time here, also. To have so many guests in your home must feel like an invasion. Do you wish to have us all removed yet, Your Grace?” Her tone was light, almost gently teasing. Though they were strangers and there was a broad difference in their rank, there was a distinct ease that came with talking to another woman of a similar age, a bridging of a vast gap.

english   had   never   been   lyudmila's   strong   suit   ,   even   as   a   girl   when   her   tutor   had   instructed   her   in   the   language   .   she   would   moan   &   cry   childishly   until   sometimes   the   lesson   was   cut   short   due   to   her   sheer   insolence   &   unwillingness   to   learn   .   at   the   time   she   saw   little   use   in   it   ,   after   all,   she   was   russian   and   spoke   russian   and   that   was   all   their   was   to   her   very   small   world   at   the   time   .   it   had   taken   her   years   to   grasp   the   language   and   understand   its   importance   ,   but   her   accent   was   left   in   tact   out   of   a   bit   of   patriotic   russian   pride   .

lyudmila   could   not   help   but   laugh   at   the   question   .   her   laughter   was   high   in   pitched   &   rang   out   like   a   little   bell   .   "removed   is   a   strong   word,   though   I   suppose   at   times   I   miss   the   sense   of   privacy   ."   lyudmila   had   never   had   much   of   a   sense   of   privacy   ,   so   what   little   there   was   she   treasured   .   all   of   the   royal   courts   around   the   world   were   different   in   many   ways   ,   but   all   proved   to   be   equally   intrusive   .   they   were   places   fueled   by   nosiness   ,   information   &   secrets   .   with   that   being   said   ,   it   was   a   small   price   to   pay   for   the   riches      that   came   with   it   .   after   living   in   luxury   all   her   life   ,   even   as   a   bastard   ,   she   could   not   so   much   as   fathom   life   with   any   less   ,   nor   did   she   desire   to   .   besides   ,   she   had   been   groomed   for   royal   niceties   since   birth   ,   despite   being   a   bit   of   a   nuisance   ,   she   was   skilled   at   navigating   them   .

her   gaze   fell   upon   the   lotus   once   more   .   lyudmila   had   not   traveled   nearly   as   much   as   her   legitimate   family   had   ,   though   since   being   granted   a   title   and   legitimacy   through   her   mothers   marriage   she'd   traveled   some   .   china   was   not   one   of   these   places   .   to   bring   a   royal   bastard   would   have   a   great   embarrassment   .   perhaps   now   that   she   had   the   ability   she   might   be   privileged   enough   to   see   these   chinese   lotuses   .   she   wondered   if   they   were   different   in   size   ,   shape   and   smell   .   she   wondered   what   unique   flowers   grew   there   that   she'd   never   seen   before   .   she'd   read   a   great   many   things   about   the   vast   beauty   of   china   ,   but   descriptions   were   surely   lacking   in   comparison   to   seeing   it   for   herself   .   "it   must   be   lovely   to   see   a   semblance   of   home   so   far   away   ."   she   said   .   "i've   not   had   the   fortune   of   seeing   your   homeland   myself   ,   but   the   manuscripts   tell   it   is   splendid   &   grand   beyond   imagining   .   "

[ofmoscows]

open starter .

ah   ,   the   beauty   of   russian   summer   !   when   the   snow   was   at   last   forced   to   part   and   uncover   the   flora   below   .   it   was   on   such   serene   summer   afternoons   lyudmila   walked   the   kremlin’s   gardens   to   see   what   nature   had   hidden   from   them   all   year   round   .   never   was   the   grass   so   green   ,   or   the   flowers   so   vibrant   .   though   the   other   kingdoms   had   their   natural   charms   nothing   brought   upon   the   sense   of   pure   aesthetic   bliss   in   her   like   the   summers   of   her   homeland   .   how   lucky   she   was   to   be   able   to   treasure   it   once   a   year   .   sometimes   she   would   remain   here   in   the   gardens   until   sundown   simply   admiring   her   surroundings   .   if   it   was   not   for   the   social   requirements   of   her   current   circumstance   she’d   have   stayed   out   here   all   evening   enjoying   the   roses   &   the   solitude   .

the   roses   were   nearly   as   beautiful   as   she   .   lyudmila   was   always   overdressed   no   matter   the   occasion   .   she   wore   a   traditional   sarafan   made   of   fine   material   sourced   across   europe   .   it   was   dyed   the   rare   &   expensive   tyrian   purple   sourced   all   the   way   from   the   mediterranean   sea   .   on   her   head   her   large   gilded   kokoshnik   was   impractical   for   something   as   physical   as   even   a   stroll   and   lyudmila   found   herself   routinely   pushing   it   back   into   place   every   few   steps   .   from   it   hung   links   of   temple   rings   to   accent   her   face   ,   their   metal   glimmered   under   the   summer   sun   and   blotted   out   some   of   her   vision   .   despite   these   flaws   she   never   let   practicality   get   in   the   way   of   her   fashion   sense   .

lyudmila   passed   purple   stalks   of   sage   ,   a   bushel   of   yellow   white   daisies   and   a   hoard   of   chamomile   .   it   was   only   when   she   reached   her   favorite   flower   ;   the   russian   lotus   that   she   raised   it   to   her   face   and   breathed   in   and   savored   its   sweet   perfume   .   her   kokoshnik   threatened   to   fall   once   again   as   she   bent   her   head   forward   ,   but   lyudmila   hastily   adjusted   it   saving   herself   from   the   embarrassment   of   it   tumbling   down   into   the   mulch   below   .   in   perfect   timing   too   so   it   would   appear   .   lyuidmila   heard   the   sound   of   nearing   soft   footsteps   .

"come   to   sample   the   gardens   ,   have   you   ?   the   flowers   are   truly   divine   in   the   late   summer   ."

[diordaydreamin]

anya taylor joy as emma woodhouse, emma (2020).