The sounds of beating drums and lively singing filled the air as Karma entered the festival grounds. In her Order of the Lotus regalia and her fans by her side, the Elder strolled through the streets, stopping every once in a while to admire the gorgeous festival robes many had donned for the special occassion.
One particular yukata had managed to pique the Elder’s interest. While it appeared as a simple festival robe at first glance, under the crimson silk of the yukata, layers of glowing fabric billowed out, drawing the attention of nearly everyone who passed by. However, it was the robe’s wearer that garnered Karma’s attention. A young red-headed lady whose feature were far from Ionian.
Without hesitation, the duchess approached the woman with a smile and a curt bow. “Miss, my name is Lady Karma,” she introduced herself as she rose from her bow. “I hope I am not interrupting your time, but I could not help but admire your taste in fashion. It is rare to see such beautiful robes on display, much less from a visitor. May I ask your name, miss?”
The sound of music drifted in the wind and through the sea of people, to Valentina’s ears only to be hummed to with little effort as she moved through the crowd. The song was different, as everything was in Ionia, but she picked it up easily enough. Her steps held a certain bounce as she walked, her head turning from side to side to drink in all she could amidst the festival.
She could see the way in which the people looked to her, and she remembered then the special garb she’d purchased and worn with pride. A little flame she was, her fiery hair kept half up, half down, the top portion divided into small buns to refer to her usual style. The yukata hugged her figure and shone where the special fabric was sown, highlighting her features in warm shades. The Queen kept her face composed as not to look too smug; being the centre of attention was what she liked best after all.
Too busy thinking of her own presence, the Queen failed to notice that of the figure who materialized before her. She stopped in her walk, blue eyes wide as the taller woman bowed. Her own outfit, the first thing she’d noticed, was beautifully made and intricate and awed Valentina before she, too, bowed her head.
“Not interrupting at all,” she said in a friendly manner, her lips parting in a smile. “And I do thank you--your outfit as well, it is very impressive and beautiful. As for my name--” She held a hand out to shake, as she thought it customary regardless of their cultures. “I am Valentina Rusalka, but Valentina is just fine.”
