"Hey, Uh, Eli?" Came a slightly nervous voice as Erika rounded the corner, rubbing the back of her head. "We've, uh, known each other for a while, and I think. Er." She hummed- still wondering if this was a good idea. "I think I would like to introduce you to my- my brother."
“You... all right.” Elincia smiled, trying to be reassuring. Clearly this was a tough subject for Erika. “I won’t ask why now. Please... lead the way.”
@fatedguardhouse
Ah Valentine’s Day, a wonderful day of coming together with the one dearest to you and expressing your love in the greatest ways you can imagine, some of which were…..intimate. Confessions were made, kisses were exchanged, and Voltaire usually spent the day sad and alone.
‘Usually’ is the keyword there, since this year something was different than the rest of his life: He had a girlfriend to spend it with. Before Patricia he’d expected to spend this say by his lonesome, reminiscing on happier times. Now he’d been looking forward to spending time with her today. He wasn’t sure what but he’d spend the entire morning thinking about it, and think about it hard he did with few results. It’s hard to get into the mindset after twenty three years of not.
Then, in about the middle of the day, a note was slipped under his door. By the time he got up and walked to the door, whoever did it was long gone, leaving him to unfold it. It simply read: Happy Valentine’s Day! Come to the barracks this evening, she’ll be ready for you then. Have fun~’
It wasn’t signed, but Voltaire had a pretty good idea (AKA absolutely knew) who’d sent it. So he simply followed the instructions, and went about his daily business. When evening came around he headed out, stopping to buy a box of chocolates before arriving at the barracks and door he was becoming oh so familiar with. He knocked and waited, not sure if the flush in his cheeks was from the chilly breeze or thinking of what that note implied. …..was that what it implied?
“So, uh, tha’s why I’m ‘ere. Got a right nasty cold.” Bergliot sniffled, crossing her arms as she stood in Erika’s laboratory. She couldn’t help but be curious about the girl behind the mask- of course- but just the same, perhaps it was for the best she couldn’t see how cute she was...
Sometimes, the third-generation royal was convinced that the world was conspiring to drive her insane. Her mother's cavalier approach to organizing their lives, her father's constant distraction with his work - it was a miracle that she hadn't torn out her hair already. Brushing long blue locks back behind her ears, she started pinning the dyed-blond threads into place, mumbling to herself around the clips in her mouth.
"Stuphid mofer...leafing me alone for a week..." Spitting out the last clip she slid it into space and started pulling on one of her more casual dresses, the long crimson skirt reaching down to halfway along her shins as she shrugged on a thin purple jacket to cover the rest. Leaving the room, she found the shared living area that her part of the family used in surprisingly good shape, shoulders relaxing as she realized that perhaps it wouldn't be too bad a week after all.
"Thank you, Alex." She addressed the butler, smiling as she walked over to the table and sat down to have her breakfast, deciding to enjoy the relative peace. "Won't you join me? It's ever so lonely with the rest of them gone, even if the quiet's nice."
She batted her long, thin eyelashes - one of the few reminders of her father's Plegian heritage - at him, smiling a little before focusing on the fruit in front of her, waiting for his answer.
Kam strolled through the barracks when he smelled... sweets? His stomach grumbled. He sighed. I guess I have no choice then, he thought. He followed the scent, hoping to run into what the source was in order to end his hunger.
As he walked closer, the smells he began to recognize all too well: Sour candies. His favorite kind!
She wasn’t certain what was running through her mind.
But seeing the tears running down Aila’s face the night before, something deep within her clicked.
They really weren’t so different. Try as she might to deny it, try as she might to pretend it wasn’t the case, Bella knew she had more in common with Aila than she even likely knew.
Bella, too, cried herself to sleep some nights. Bella, too, wondered what it would be like to be free of her father’s pressure and abuse.
Both of them wore glasses. Both of them had sharp teeth that caught the light when they smiled. Both of them loved blue and the ocean. Both of them loved the winter.
Yet Bella was still confused when she dived in the way of a volley of arrows aimed at Aila. Still, she wondered why she’d done it, as she felt them pierce her skin.
Still, she wondered why they hadn’t been friends but for petty jealousy, as she died.
Her father was dead. Garon was dead, and in his place, a monster- all a product of his vassals’ greed and his lovers’ pride. As they clawed their way to the top, they’d torn him apart, leaving him vulnerable to the worst kind of magic.
Slime, thick and noxious, covered the floor of Krakenburg castle, and Aila stood in it, Bolverk in one hand and Levie in the other. Her father, dead, by her own hand.
And his vassals would be next.
Off with Hans’s head, Iago earning a slower death. Off with his hands, feet, legs, arms, then his head.
Blood mixed with the slime, and people began to slip and slide as they hurried into the throne room, having heard the screams.
But it didn’t matter. Anyone who attacked her was killed, easily as she could lift her blade. Anyone who got too close was attacked and left to bleed out on the floor.
Though tears streaked her face, Aila didn’t care as mad laughter began to ring through the room, as her mind grew foggy and her voice no longer her own.