mise en scenè ⸺ the farm, mary’s cottage, a little after daybreak. closed for @oncequeen.
on the thoroughfare below a gallery of perpetually-flowering magnolias, lancelot stood gazing at the idyllic cottage which nested to the west of the main house. it was ringed by a white picket fence and an immaculate garden whose tending was entirely sorcerous. it was a little after daybreak, and the light was transparent as cathedral glass.
as he waited, he felt for a moment irrationally brittle, though he had no reason to be. he’d seen her just the week prior, in the city, which had not yet resonated with lancelot so much as defeated him into a placid acquiescence. last they’d spoken, it’d been at great length about days-of-yore and a now faraway world; how the silk of their splendour had frayed, yet she was enduring as time itself.
it was an old ache that assailed him. an archaic fear, so unlike anything he’d learnt to take fright at since. that she would someday be lost to him, too.
he strode down the cobbled path at last, to the door of the little cottage, and raised a fist to knock.
she had fallen asleep waiting, for something or someone, the very warmth of the eternal sun, and now, it's her haunted consciousness that stirs her awake, compelling her to look for the first wan wisps of light. at the door, instead of the window, half-dazed and nonplussed, ginevra twists the doorknob, pulled forward by something akin to gravity.
"lancelot," his name like a thorn in her throat that no one amount of swallowed honey would dislodge, his name, a devotional novena she had sung in search of eternal salvation. no other sound had ever been so tender upon her tongue. two fingers, barren and denuded of any embellishments like branches of the old honey locust tree in the verdant yard, find their way up to ginevra's lips, contorting in the shape of a question mark, half elliptical. "i didn't assume i'd see you here." a mere breath away.
"perhaps i'm only half-awake, imagining things." because what are they if not a tale of loss? what if she had conjured him somewhere in the penetralia of her mind, ethereal and evocative, just to lose him again to dream-dashing daybreak?
open to. anyone — come one, come all !
setting & notes. pre-event starter. located @ blacksmith's forge, somewhere around mid-day. feel free to assume connections if not plotted yet, or this can be their first interaction if you'd like.
it was as if hamlet had been in a daze, occupying his hands — and in turn, their mind — to the point of lucidity. at this point, his handicraft was an extension of themselves, acquainted with steel and titanium just as much as he with flesh and blood. blissful, willing ignorance, some would say. hamlet would agree. at this point, it was the only thing keeping him sane. alas, they could only build fortresses so high before the rot inevitably seeps in, buzzing around each ear with its chanted taunts.
a momentary pause, just a quick breather after hours of being slumped over a sander, refining a new blade that was for nothing but show. only the crunch of dry brush beneath a sole alerted hamlet to this newfound presence, eyes squinting to make out the silhouette against the setting sun. " you must forgive me for my ill preparedness. i don't recall anyone was supposed to pay the forge a visit today ... no one told me, at least. " they remarked, the other's presence welcomed regardless.
it's the metallic smell, of course, that takes her back, a vicious melange of things she wrongfully named as forgotten. modernity has divested ginevra of most of her old possessions and recollections which laid latent in the crevices of her keen mind, but here and now, she thinks of home, of once dazzling camelot, of fleeting hope and fatalistic pride.
"no, it is you who must forgive me. i come unannounced." a touch of shame sears her cheeks like tears, striking with precision right beneath her eyes and across the arch of her nose, violent in its bloom, no different than a field of volatile poppies in spring. "i was only hoping to see someone... but it doesn't truly matter anymore." guileless, her heavy gaze loses its sharpness, surrendering to distant memories. "that blade, however, looks remarkable."
time: halfway through the gala. location: the rooftop, the woodland luxury apartments. status: for @fallensroses, @faeritells + 2 open spot(s).
briar's brown eyes scan the room around her and an easygoing, albeit small, smile tugs at the corner of her rose tainted lips. there is a sense of safety in being surrounded by so many people ( however minimal and undeserved, especially with what is known about what goes on outside of the safety of the magical ward around fabletown ) and briar lets herself be surrounded by the familiar faces, the chatter and the clink of glasses. it's easy to forget her problems, the unknown figure that brought her back from slumber not with a kiss but something else ━━ something strong enough to pull her out without any problem.
just the mere thought of it is enough to create a crack in briar's good mood and she excuses herself out of the gala's room ━━ the sleeping beauty slips away and in a snap of fingers it is if her familiar slumber calls to her, just as she allowed herself a moment. briar reaches the rooftop, a small garden just above the celebration. she opens a small container and downs one, two, three sips of it's contents. it's then that she hears someone else's footsteps and, as if caught red-handed, briar stops mid sip and looks at her newfound company. "i know what this must look like and it's not booze." briar smiles, shaking the metal container. "it's coffee. you can have a bit, if you'd like."
"no thank you. if it were wine, perhaps i'd reconsider but..." ginvera pauses, tender as the night that enshrouds them like plush silk, locking eyes with briar before allowing a sigh to squeeze past her parted lips. something coils inside of her gut, each one of her thoughts chasing the other, redolent of an emerald snake eating its own tail. "i need something to help me fall asleep, coffee would make things much worse."
consumed by something she has yet to name or give proper place and room within the apsidal chapel guarded by her ivory ribcage, she pushes herself closer to the rooftop's edge, pliant pale fingers reaching for the wrought-iron balustrade. "i only came here for the fresh air. forgive me, it wasn't my intention to disturb you."
jane de leon. cis woman. she/her. 27/496. ⸻ king roberon cole welcomes GINEVRA VILLA to fabletown—or, as they were once known, GUINEVERE from ARTHURIAN LEGEND. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of a thousand flowers; a woman who is a meadow full of them; her presence, such a quiet feeling, like the light coming into a room; the golden crown upon her head, illuminating the ruins of the world. the tale from which they hail exalted their COURAGE and ALLURE, but decried their DECEPTIVENESS and TREACHERY in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: she did nothing to prevent the downfall of camelot.
¹.
FULL NAME . GINEVRA VILLA ALSO KNOWN AS . QUEEN GUINEVERE TITLE(S) . HIGH QUEEN OF BRITAIN AGE . CLOSE TO TWENTY-SEVEN IN APPERANCE , BUT IS HUNDREDS OF YEARS OLD GENDER + PRONOUNS . CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER BIRTHPLACE . CAMELIARD DATE OF BIRTH . MAY 19TH, CENTURIES LATER ON THE SAME DAY ANNE BOLEYN LOST HER HEAD CURRENT OCCUPATION PERFORMER / BURLESQUE DANCER @ PUDDING & PIE LANGUAGES BRYTHONIC, ENGLISH, FRENCH
².
a daughter first, then a princess, always a queen and always condemned. fair guinevere, salt upon their lips, it is dishonor that she brings. why hast thou been so cruel to your good lord father, your benevolent and well-loved king, and the people who worshipped the ground beneath your feet?
the misdeeds of one woman echo through generations, told over and over again, numbing lashing tongues with each retelling of her cardinal sins ⸻ they should've tied her to a stake and allowed the flames to have her. what a shame to let the realm crumble beneath the weight of one stray, unfaithful heart.
they'll never say how she loved, the knights, and the realm, and all her people. when she sat at the round table, it was not just arthur they had listened to, but her as well. appointed as the fair mother, the fey queen, the good lady judge, it was her they had beseeched for mercy, a fair trial, and last redemption. they never did give her the same in return ⸻ offering instead either a noose or fire.
so between her body and camelot ⸻ she chose to see only one in flames. for centuries to come she's reduced only to that ⸻ her body. denuded of her name and her gold, but never her jewels, she shines upon a stage, swathed in silk, camelot's last fallen star.
ᵇᵃˢⁱᶜˢ. once a daughter of king leodegrance, guin at times struggled with the notion of being the queen od camelot and by proximity arthur's wife. as an incredibly politically savvy individual, guinevere had been tasked with running camelot's judicial system, and was also greatly revered by the knights of the round the table. i'd like to believe that she had managed to inspire them in more ways than one, and greatly wished and fought for camelot's prosperity up until a certain point. after all, all rulers are eventually damned no matter how fair and justifiable their actions are. year after year, she had amassed certain dislike from the lesser nobles ( under the influence of mordrer or someone else ) who wished to witness her fall her grace. evidently, they played a role in her affair being exposed.
despite being generous and gracious, especially to those less fortunate, and anyone who had the fortune of running into her, guinevere also had a propensity for splendid selfishness, a selfishness of course that took on the form of desire. upon her affair being discovered, she was condemned to be executed, but since the fall of camelot is yet to be plotted, i'll leave this part ambiguous and note that she did not face her chargers. she was, however, aware of the potential destruction, but did nothing to prevent it.
for the most part, she reverently tries to forget and be oblivious to the past, wanting instead to escape it, even though she wishes she could attone for her sins. nonetheless, ginevra villa or queen guinevere remains a divisive figure in almost every way. to those fond of places such as pudding & pie, she's best known as an entertainer, though just how far that entertainment goes is disputable. in every life, or rather rendition, there are many arms and hands reaching out in reverence, only for different reasons. her performances are known to be extravagant and a show of its own, with additional lights, heady perfume, and gleaming glitter. during every performance, however, ginevra wears crystals about her head arranged in a circle, almost like a diadem, which is a silent nod to the crown she had once worn.
described by some as stubborn and attention-seeking, either out of jealousy, fear or even indifference, those closest to her know that there's something deeper under the vain and glimmering surface, a notion that is starkly confirmed by her willingness to privately play the role of a nurse for anyone who cannot or does not want to seek professional medics. it's an old habit, of course, as once upon a time, she had done the same for her king and realm.
Why Get Angry at Helen?
Genesis (3:13) // Eve, Anna Lea Merritt // Agamemnon, Aeschylus (tr. by Anne Carson) // The Tale's Worth Telling: A Thematic Comparison of Homer's Iliad and Malory's Morte D'Arthur (x) // Love's Shadow, Frederick Sandys // Guinevere, Lord Alfred Tennyson // The Winter King, Bernard Cornwell // Helen of Troy, Frederick Sandys // Guenevere, Sara Teasdale // The Faerie Queene, Edmund Spenser // La Belle Dame Sans Merci, Frank Dicksee // Pandora's Jar: Women in the Greek Myths, Natalie Haynes // Psyche Opening The Golden Box, John William Waterhouse
