#hshqtask039

[rcmvncv]

PSYCHE | /ˈsʌɪki/

The intellect. The human soul. The mind functioning as the center of thought, emotion, and behavior and consciously or unconsciously adjusting or mediating the body's responses to the social and physical environment.

Much of Alexei’s decision making revolves around his family. He takes ( or used to take, hmm, we do not know ) his role as the head of the family seriously. It’s sort of drilled into his head that he has to know what to do, he has to be able to carry the rest, he has to be understanding. In that sense the role of the czar is less prominent in his life because being the czar doesn’t affect his personal relationships as much as the role of a big brother. 

For a good amount of time, Alexei has existed for two things: his family and Russia. It, in the long run, hasn’t been very rewarding. His siblings have more going on with their lives and because he struggles to make time for them, he ends up feeling like a spectator rather than a participant. He joins his family for dinner: Nadya and Kostya talk about what they did the previous afternoon, Irinka laughs at something that happened with Vasya and Anya. Had he been invited? He can’t remember but what he remembers is the feeling of not being there. It shaves off parts inside his chest and he feels cold hollowness. These sort of moments build up... but then it’s all wiped away when one of them comes by to talk about something that’s been bothering them. He feels important again and remembers that maybe it’s not his place to see the most mundane moments of his family. He just needs to do what he’s been doing his whole life: be the reliable understanding older brother. 

There’s this constant fear that he’s not being good enough. If he’s a poor older brother then they’ll stop needing him, won’t they? They already have each other to seek support from, if he doesn’t offer something more then... It’s definitely one of the things keeping the walls up. He doesn’t want to burden the rest because it’s just not what he does. It’s not what he’s there for. Besides, if he did... would they even understand what he’s trying to say? It sounds like a horrible situation to end up in, not only would he not feel accepted, he’d appear less like the person he’s supposed to be. His loneliness is very much self-cast sentence. The walls stay up.

He cares about his family, the decisions he makes in his personal life are considerate and empathetic. When it comes to politics... he doesn’t care quite as much. If a person is not within his inner circle, his compassion hits a wall very quickly. It easily feels energy wasted. If he worried about everything and everyone, his head would end up filled with smoke. It’s why he would have been able to discard Vanamo so easily — he doesn’t necessarily think he owes strangers anything. Yes, he owes Russia good leadership, but he doesn’t owe some cunning duchess his loyalty. And being a good czar and being a good person are two very different things. 

To people outside of his inner circle, he really owes nothing — basic respect is given to most people but nothing more. He knows his position on the board and it really leaves only a handful of people for him to bow to. His apathy towards manners comes from two things: to him, they are frilly fancy rules that are just meant to hide people’s real intentions, and he doesn’t need to put in the effort. He’s at the top of the food chain, he doesn’t need to bother with such things. So he’s blunt and rigid. He doesn’t entertain people. And he believes there’s certain type of fairness in his bluntness. Honesty will always be more valuable than politeness in his mind — he wishes more people would see it that way.

Alexei is also on the older side. He has life experience and he has had quite the eventful life. He has had his ups and downs. He has seen a good number of events fold out, he has seen disappointments, he has experienced them as well. At the moment he has sort of come to terms with the fact that most things proceed at their own pace. People are very powerless to stop the world from turning. This thing with Anneli is almost unprecedented! It’d be more like him to stay seated in his chair, waiting for time to go by. It’s hard for him to picture an exciting future. What he said to Anya about milestones, how there are none left for him, ties into this. He has turned eighteen, he has done his military service, he has graduated, he has been crowned — what’s the sort of thing left anymore? He won’t retire, he doesn’t have children, he has his title and his work that has felt redundant and meaningless for quite a while. His mind is very heavy and at the moment this heaviness steers him quite a bit. He looks for easy solutions, quick effortless solutions. He dwells on problems less nowadays and has hung his excessive cautiousness. Because at the end of the day, he can go through a situation a dozen times in his head and think about the possible outcomes and still... still things can go astray. It’s almost easier to react than to plan. 

[alessandrxs]

          𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌    𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇    𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆    𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄    𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄   𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓    ;                        𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐕𝐄    𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌    𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓    𝐘𝐎𝐔    𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄    𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑫    .

he always had an acute sense of not only his own emotions but of those around him, even from an early age.    if somebody else was in pain, he’d feel that pain with them.    if someone was happy, he would feel as if the clouds have parted.    ale has a sympathetic mindset and it’s one that makes him want to please other people  ;    he feels as though it’s his duty to make others happy, even if he himself is left short in the long - run.

growing up with siblings meant that there would no doubt be bumps in the road in terms of maintaining a steady relationship with them.    he’s been the liaison in arguments, been the shoulder to cry on, been the one to try and spare a minute for each of them  ;    but never a minute for himself.    as a child and through his teenage years, he taught himself to put others first.    he would give every single person in his life every single second he could spare for them.

if he can blame anything for this, it’s his compassion.    he hates seeing people in pain and would do anything to make them happy  ;    it’s even worse when he’s the one that’s caused it.    an excessive overthinker, he could spend hours alone in his own thoughts, thinking about his actions, the actions of others, what could have been done differently to avoid the situation.    he often criticises himself for not handling things better, when he’s been raised to believe you should think before you speak.

in general, alessandro just loves making people feel comfortable around him.    he loves meeting new people and loves getting to know them even more  ;    he absolutely despises seeing a new face and not knowing anything about them.    he could talk for hours, too.    ale will never run out of things to say so long as the person in conversation with is still engaging with him.    his curiosity means he wants to know everything, and he’s good at that.    he’s learned how to read people, can adapt easily and knows exactly what they want to hear.

it’s this curiosity that drove ale to start traveling.    he loves going to new places, experiencing new things and sharing his stories with people who are gracious enough to ask.    he’s enthralled by different cultures and beliefs and is never fully satisfied with what he knows.    every single time he goes to a new place, he never forgets it.    not a moment in his life he feels has ever been wasted, and that’s how he prefers it.    why should he stay in one place when there’s so many things to see  ?

his mindset had to be altered when he joined the military, though.    up until that point, he was driven by his emotions  ;    and for someone who feels them more deeply than most, this was a big thing to change.    he had to think more strategically, by doing what had to be done rather than what felt fair.    his decisions up until then were made based on what he thought was moral and made others happy, but he needed to stop that.    he needed to be more calculating and clever with what he did, and so he was.

it wasn’t until his father died, though, that he started to think about himself.    he realised then that he shouldn’t take the people in his life for granted  ;    people were going to leave, he was going to lose those that he loves, and he’s just as important as those around him.    and although he felt guilty for leaving his family at the age of eighteen to join the air force, he didn’t regret it as much.    he did what he did to make himself happy, which he realised was important too.

all in all, ale just likes being liked.    he believes in being loyal, brave, and compassionate.    he believes that people aren’t permanent, and if they wanted to be in his life, they would stay there.    he’s learned not to hand his trust out so easily, and that it’s okay to forgive but it’s also okay to look after himself and take one of the moments he saves for other people and save it for himself.

[yvrivic]

PSYCHE  —  THE MIND, OR THE DEEPEST THOUGHTS, FEELINGS, OR BELIEFS OF A PERSON.

“WHO WE ARE AND WHO WE NEED TO BE TO SURVIVE ARE TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS.”

Roman has always been comfortable alone. To be honest, people, peers, they entered his everyday life right before he hit his teens. So he was used to being alone with his thoughts. And alone he tried to learn how to question ideas, ask more questions, and adapt. It was not an easy task: it was an impossible task.

He spent some of his most formative years alone. Sharing? He had to learn that later. Compromises? For the longest of time they made his insides boil. Caring? Only after Margaux was born could he understand unconditional love. Morals? Mature pragmatism taints them. Nationalism? Sown into him by every adult in his life.

He was taught that people were expendable. That people came into your life and they left when they didn’t need you. He had seen it happen, he had done it himself, and it had been done to him. He despises the idea of being expendable to someone. It makes him feel worthless. He will keep people at an arm’s length just so that he cannot be called foolish. He will only have himself to blame if someone uses him and discards him. Only himself.

— He’s a bit of a pessimist. A pessimist who has humbled himself over time with the help of life experience. Roman Yurivic will not be tricked by something as common hubris. He has been forced to take responsibility for mistakes, cruel actions, and questionable behaviour... There isn’t a situation where Roman cannot own up to what he has done. The truth will never mold itself to suit you. No amount of begging or praying will change what is. Roman knows this. The mistakes you make, you pay for, and the decisions you make, you will call your own. For this he has no one else to thank for but himself and the observations he has made. 

The authority figures he has had have taught him something very different: nationalism. Roman’s father liked to remind him how wonderful it was to be able to call their great country a sovereign state. Cleansed of Soviet scum. Uncle Pyotr spoke about the sacred responsibility he had to his subjects. Roman’s commanding officer kept reminding him how fortunate they were not to have war in their own country. Belarus, Belarus, Belarus... At times Roman has felt lost but one thing that’s always been so very clear to him is that Belarus is and always be the place he calls home. He can recite a poem or two and knows quite a few folk songs. Belarus is something delicate, holy, and extraordinary in his mind. It belongs to ten million people and to those people alone — and it is worth protecting. 

Just one more ingredient and it becomes understandable how he was capable of great evil. Numbers. The suffering of one, no matter how great, will always be the lesser bad of the suffering of many. It seems like a stupidly simple concept to him. He will spend a fraction of a second on the trolley problem and no philosopher will be able to make him even reconsider. 

While he had a plethora of selfish, petty and cruel reasons to dispose of Milena, only two truly matter. One, Russians do not belong on the throne of Belarus. Two, Roman could not imagine encouraging a civil war. He struggled with the idea of forcing soldiers to fight in a war that could be avoided. With a few drops of strychnine all that could have been avoided...

[vrnvuld]

                                  HSHQTASK039: PSYCHE

If anything Arnauld is perceptive. Other people are curious creatures he gladly studies and learns from. Much of his exterior is based on what he has realized is the right way to be. He smiles because he knows it makes him seem kind. He excels at light conversations because he knows the power they have. He delivers his warnings with insinuations because he knows people are more likely to contain themselves when he doesn’t challenge their autonomy. 

Arnauld is a man of rules. It’s much more likely to find him smoking than breaking his strict social rules. They are sown into his very personality that they come as a second nature to him. He knows exactly what’s acceptable and what is not. It bothers him deeply when people show disrespect --- doesn’t matter if the disrespect is directed at him or someone else --- because he deems it unfair that others act in such a wrong manner and still ‘get away with it’. Too many times has he witnessed people shrugging off insubordination or plain rudeness. He finds it unfair that he follows the rules to his best ability and receives no praise for it while some people fail in such grandieur manner. It’s a cage he built around himself and he gladly keeps it from rusting. 

The reason he has these self imposed rules is because he often can’t tell if he’s doing the right thing. Growing up he’d say one thing and watch his peers get upset. It’s a very bad situation to find yourself in --- Arnauld certainly did not start at the top. He’s social skills weren’t innate, not in any way. He learnt tricks that let him climb to the top. 

What made the task difficult though were the adults in his life. His parents especially who only saw him as a “very bright boy” they could be insufferably proud of. Kind words, endless praising, and words of encouragement fed the part of Arnauld that would, with time, make him blind to his own flaws. The part of him that made him think that he was the most important person in any given room. The part of him that found other people beneath him. It’s why he needs his rules that are tried and true. 

People kept saying he’d become a great man. It was impossible to not let it mold his personality. His self-image was made of diamond by the time he got his degree. Indestructible, beautiful, and cold. Only Freja and Henri come close to being his equals --- close, he doesn’t think they are quite as perfect as he is. He truly thinks only his way of living, doing things, his views on issues are the only ones worth following. His narcissism doesn’t let anyone smudge his belief. His inflexible view on the world is the core reason to his unreasonable demands and reactions. He guards other people’s morals despite barely having his own. His rules are an obsession for him.

Take Giselle for example. In Arnauld’s book family is a top priority. Their family is everything. Their family is the heart of the nation. Their family is there to keep the morale up. Their family is the family their people should be proud of. He takes Giselle’s inability to do uphold the pristine image as an attack on their family. Arnauld thinks Giselle is selfish to a fault for failing at her marriage. Giselle is lazy and does not care for their family the same way Arnauld does. For crimes against the family, she deserved her punishment. You reap what you sow.

All in all, he suffers from chronic boredom. When his life becomes too ordinary, he has a pathological need to shake it up. On a day when he’s of sound mind, the decisions he makes out of boredom seem ridiculous. They go against his better judgment. The need is too deep down in his subconscious for him to realize when he’s self sabotaging for the sake of having something to fix. He’s the type to leave going to the airport to the last minute just so that he can get a rush from having to hurry to the plane ( or at least would be if he flew coach ). He needs games in his life for it to be enjoyable. All of his big plans are games at the very core. He’s a very sore loser.

[henridorleans]

TASK 039 : PSYCHE

— ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE ,

henri is the second son, and he knows it. his parents were hoping for a baby girl and instead they got henri. he faded behind arnauld almost immediately, and then a year later giselle was born and henri all but disappeared. for a while, he was content with that, happy to live in the background while his parents doted on giselle and raised arnauld to be king. but there was a hollowness, a desperation. the need to stand out came upon henri like a tidal wave. he realized very quickly that no one would pay attention to him unless he made them pay attention, and thus the darling boy was born.

ask henri’s first governess and she’d tell you without a second thought that henri was a quite boy. he could speak, he just… didn’t, for a long while. and when he did, the words were soft and gentle. he had a way of watching, bright-eyed, for much of his childhood. and then along came that need for attention, and overnight henri changed. now, he spoke frequently and he spoke well. a flatterer, complimentary by nature, because he had seen the way that kind words settle onto conversations like morning dew, delicate and beautiful. along came the fascination with words. what strange power they hold! how could such silly things, frivolous, meaningless, hold such power? promises were fleeting, fickle things, and yet pleading eyes and a sincere i promise not to do it again were enough to excuse him of even the most egregious crimes! and therein was the source of his contempt; the people around him believed him so easily, even when he was lying through his teeth. the people around him were fools.

here is the safest assumption: he’s lying. words are a means to an end, little more.

— AND ALL THE MEN AND WOMEN MERELY PLAYERS ,

henri understands a lot of things. he understands people, he understands parties, he understands what to say and when to say it. he understands polite smiles and body language. there is an innate understanding of the human condition born from years spent observing the people around him, understanding which henri weaponizes to its fullest extent. but there is a disconnect when it comes to grasping consequences. he often fails to foresee what will come of his actions until it’s far too late.

there is a fascination with people, certainly, which mixes heavy and dangerous with all that loathing. people are playthings, guinea pigs. there’s great fun to be had in toying with emotion, toying with the trust people seem to put in him so freely. how weak, how pathetic, the feelings found in those around him. feelings make people far too easy to exploit. what utter fools.

— THEY HAVE THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES ,

love is conditional. love can and will be taken away at a moment’s notice. say the wrong words, make the wrong face, laugh at the wrong time, and love will dissipate like morning fog. or so henri believes. this stems back to childhood, where he had to be the perfect son, the golden child, to get so much as half a glance. from this strange relationship with love comes the need to be needed. he has learned to make himself indispensable, to make himself charming and flattering and pleasing to be around, because if he is not pleasing to be around he will be left alone.

— AND ONE MAN IN HIS TIME PLAYS MANY PARTS ,

henri wears a plethora of masks. he has a different face for every situation: there is the charming high society darling, the ruthless politician, the philanthropist, the great manipulator. it’s easy for him to get lost in all these different acts, easy for him to hide behind his walls so much that he himself forgets who he really is. if you asked henri, i don’t know that he’d be able to tell you who he is at his core, or maybe who he once was. but the truth is this: henri is a deeply lonely person. when henri is overwhelmed, and when he feels safe, the suave man, the politician, the puller-of-strings disappears, and left standing in his place is a man desperately seeking real, genuine human connection. beneath his many masks, henri is a man overflowing with emotion.

— HIS ACTS BEING SEVEN AGES .

that said, it is often difficult or downright impossible to actually pull any of those emotions out of him. his walls often need to be torn down by force. this fear of vulnerability stems from a fear of being perceived as weak. henri believes wholeheartedly that he is a coward. he believes that all his feelings are pathetic, that all his feelings make him less-than. all that loathing for the weak, emotional fools around him is a reflection of his own self-hatred. he hates feelings, so he does his damnedest to ignore them.

henri locks emotion up deep inside and only lets it out when he absolutely has to, when he physically cannot hold it in anymore. he aches for genuine connection but he is petrified of the vulnerability it entails, petrified of seeming weak, of seeming sensitive. and so he hides behind his walls and his masks, carefully keeps his feelings contained. he plays his part: the dutiful prince, the high society darling, the jewel of france. he hides behind his hollow smiles and his empty laughs, and he never lets the cracks in his armor show through.

or at least, he tries his best.

[vnncli]

                                              anneli’s psyche

𝐼. i’m a rock of a desert.

Anneli thinks she has herself figured out. She’s the sensible one, the one that stays in control, the unfeeling one. She doesn’t get emotional. Those are the things people say about her. When you hear something often enough, it becomes the truth. “Unemotional and analytical.” She likes it. Immensely. She takes it as a compliment when someone says they can’t imagine seeing her cry. To be a person as hard as stone, strong, willful... It’s what she wants to be so she takes care of the traits that help her uphold the image. She views the traits as personal strength. The absence of emotions. It’s the highest form of intelligence.

𝐼𝐼. when i’m told to cry.

She can keep most of the cracks in her facade covered by sheer willpower. A strong unwanted feeling fills her? She regulates her behaviour until it’s nothing but a small sting at the back of her mind. She’ll tell herself a lie over and over and over again until she believes in it firmly. The lie takes over and covers a weak spot. Thankfully. It’s just that Anneli can’t have anyone see through her armour. Weaknesses are embarrassing, shameful things that she wishes she was clean of. The very thing that makes her human is the part of her that she’s embarrassed of. So she pretends it doesn’t exist, believes it doesn’t exit. 

𝐼𝐼𝐼 . i can’t be changed

Sometimes Anneli assesses herself in a very clinical manner. Diagnoses herself, explains her behavior to herself. Her unappreciated behavior. She’ll erase the real reason for an emotional outburst if the real reason seems too flimsy, too irrational, to her. She gives the flood of emotions some acceptable reason. She allows to feel everything, of course, but the reason for feeling sad, angry or hurt should fit certain criteria. For example, if she feels insecure after someone has made fun of her, she gets frustrated at herself: she’s too old to be hurt by words. By childish taunts. She’ll tell herself it was just because she was having a bad day! She had spilled her coffee that morning and forgotten her earphones — she was just having a bad day and feeling abnormally touchy! Normally she’d never let anyone mess with her self-confidence. One bad day, that’s all.

𝐼𝒱. not by others

Anneli struggles to express her vulnerable emotions. She’s the kind to scream silently. If she wants help, she’ll never ask for it. She’ll say one thing, something characteristically harsh and rough, and her rational side will tell her what kind of a reaction expect from the other... but there’s a small piece of her that wishes that the other would prove her wrong, read between the lines, decode the message. Stay and ask. When it comes to talking about her emotions, Anneli is an amateur. Not only does she think it’s conceited to make the topic of a conversation her, she thinks she should be strong enough to handle her own burdens. 

𝒱.  not by myself.

The two worlds collide and leave a wreckage when she is forced to make difficult decisions. Her heart and her mind rarely make compromises with each other. Her rational side always wins because it’s the one she likes and admires. She’ll hold onto her image of herself tooth and nail and then afterwards have an excruciating fight with her conscience. It wouldn’t happen if she was: who she thinks she is, or honest with herself. 

[giorxcci]

               Nothing ever ends poetically                                                                                        It ends and we turn it into p o e t ry                                                                                    All that blood was never once beautiful                                                                                              It was a l w a y s just red .

He grew up adored. He knows that it was the first thing he said in the form of infant wails – he screamed it at the nurses that held him, at his mother who cooed her adoration, at his father who praised whatever gods may be that his wife bore a son with well-disguised indifference.  He cried it, cheeks coloring with fury at the thought of being deprived a necessity at so young an age. He would soon find out that not everyone will. There are some people that simply do not know the pinnacle of beauty and charisma, though it glares at them quite blatantly – as he often did when his father refused his demands, shooed him, and shut the door in his face because he was busy leading assemblies. His father would apologize later but like many children, Gio didn’t understand. His mother, though recognized beauty and the limitless potential that saturated everything her sweet Giovanni did and for that, he recognized her as the better of the two until he was seven. When he called, she simpered at his feet. When he demanded, she made sure he got what he deserved straight away. There was a relentlessness to her devotion that he knew he deserved and could not help but appreciate. Her affection was given without reservation. Its how he learned to give, experience, and thrive in it, in love, with reckless abandon.

She fostered a love for the arts and his country, taught him his rich culture, and defined pride in himself. Being with his mother ( Ernesto, his father made time when possible ) wove humanity into his being. He was rosy checked, smiling at volunteer events, in the fields playing with local children, helping as he could, all the while being the loudest to play in a room. He was freely a child. Until he turned seven and could understand what is to be seen but not heard. Gio then began traveling the world with his father, starry-eyed by what his hero represented: respect and power, in every essence of the words. But no longer could he bask in what it meant to be young. Gio was quietly seated next to his father in ill-fitted polo’s, smiling and nodding profusely as if he understood the weight of conversation being had around him. But, did he so ever cherish his 'papa.' The trips taught him integrity as much as it brought clarity. This was expected of him

And so he grew to resent the position that had stolen so much of his childhood freedom. He couldn’t sleep over a friend's house because they had to be vetted prior, he'd explain but it fell on deaf ears. Other kids didn’t understand what it meant to bear the weight of a crown, they simply wanted him at their birthday parties, in ball pits, rippling over cobblestone for a game of tag without burly men lurking in the distance. He felt isolated, especially when scooped from classes to sit in on, again, meetings he didn’t understand. No one wanted to be friends with the kid who was barely present but their parents sure wanted them to be. When it came time for his own parties, they’d attend but played around him rather than with him which, of course, their parents tutted while pushing them in his direction. At least he had time with his father made up for it, right? Smiling goofy like a right-hand man. Gio fell into this routine, resenting the position and realized at a young age he didn’t want to be king, he wanted to be normal. 

At fifteen, rebelling subtly, he discovered ways to avert duties, which translated to eluding his father as well. The young prince skipped out on meetings, escorts, anything associated with the crown to meander about with those his age. Truancy became a routine as his grades slipped all to be seen as cool while earning those friends he so eagerly wanted. The feeling remained when it came time to leave for college, he sought refuge in the option farthest away from the institution that represented his grim imprisoned future. Oxford, thankfully, his father's alma mater that quickly earned a stamp of approval from officials representing the crown. They could spin the story into a glistening silky web.

At 17 just shy of 18, Gio spent every passing second away from home during his first three years at Oxford. There wasn’t a single holiday nor event nor birthday that could lure him home. Phone calls were missed, ignored, or hurried off. He lavished in the ability to be himself unbidden. Polite, caring, passionate, eager. People adored him without the dragging need to be on parade as he would at home in Turin. Life was good. Until he’d been roused at 3am in 2017 by palace officials who demanded he return home immediately, because the news couldn’t be relayed over insecure phone lines. His father had died and it’s a ripple of anger he carries with him today.

And, oh, does it come in waves. Gio adapted the grief stages to fit his necessities. A form of deeply rooted sorrow was compartmentalized because people looked to him to assume his father's role considering he’s next in line. He was human, and it was a reality that had steadily grown more and more difficult to grasp over the years following Ernesto’s abrupt death and his extreme rise in power and influence. He wasn’t afforded the time to properly grieve and blames himself for distancing from his father. He feels like its lost years he could have cherished more, mostly for the sole reason he’d thought time would be a constant on his side. One more month away wouldn’t hurt him, right? Because there’s always next week or next month or next year. Gio rejects the sadness of it all. He needed a cure for the pulsing pain, saturating ache, and all that he knew his anger was capable of providing. He knows how to use that ; how to harness that force and let it drive him towards the rot of callousness and rip regret clean from his heart before it could fill it up any more. A pendulum of mood swings now dwells where sadness, and perhaps happiness, once lived; rage consumed it and now turns its eyes on Gio. It threatens to burn him and whoever comes near. It cultivates the idea that everything he loves will eventually leave him. So Gio self-sabotages anything that's going good for him in an attempt to make peace, to bid it farewell before it can part ways with him. It’s how he proceeds through every aspect of his life. This cocktail mixture of sadness and anger has forced him to refute karma. No matter how good of a person you are, terrible endings will seek you out, bury you, suffocate you. So does it really matter if you’re a good person anyway? He retreats into himself and rather than thinking of others, he solely puts himself first. It's a do now, think later mentality of which he often twists a sour thought into a narrative that is beneficial for himself by silencing his conscience.

If he scorned someone its because they had it coming, it's fate. He's warped preferable attributes into brusque mannerisms. The earnest pride that that once bloomed inside wilted as weeds of untamed vainity grew in its place. People adore him, so he uses it to an advantage through manipulation, it helps he's in a position of power. He's learned to weaponize that glowing cheshire grin of his so that it may leave others in a trance.

Like pale gold, bright eyes and high cheeks have dimmed and darkened, Gio has fashioned a second skin to protect himself, one infamous for its apathy when in reality, his nature was one of passion and yet its defining, fire-imbued sentiment never seems to slink past the foreboding walls of his closed-off demeanor. They say that such a characteristic is a sure means of spotting a pretender; that their empty eyes and muted heartbeats expose them in ways their dazzling smiles and lilting words could never suffice to conceal. Perhaps there’s some truth to that, but when it comes to Giovanni, his detachment is not an oversight, but a c h o i c e.

[kscniya]

hshqtask039 »  psyche.

‘ wish the thoughts would go AWAY, floatin’ further away. ‘

as a child, she had always been passive, dwelling in the shadows of milena, where she was most comfortable. growing up surrounded by her cousins, who were older but also much wiser and more important than she was, a young kseniya would hardly dare to open her mouth out of turn. with five other older sibling figures, there was never a lack of love, but even in a full house, there were moments she’d feel lonely. with ten years between her and nadya, the youngest romanov cousin, any of her troubles or challenges would suddenly feel trivial and trifling. after all, her siblings had a country’s worth of problems resting on their plates. pretty smiles and curt nods ; it would have been a rare occurrence for even milena to see a frown upon her face.

for as long as kseniya can remember, the thoughts that lingered at the back of her mind had been riddled with survivor’s guilt. at six years old, it would be unlikely to see her without a book in hand or her nose between pages. new words served as an exciting challenge for her, but most importantly, it was an inoffensive pastime. lost in a world, without a peep of noise escaping her. she had a curious mind, but a quiet soul, attractive signs in a child, until the questions begun forming. they were innocent questions, with difficult answers no child should be hearing. it was at this age that kseniya had acquired the knowledge that her mother had passed due to complications with the childbirth. docile turned meek by her shallow understanding of the events. this was probably the most formative to her character to date.

the death of ekaterina romanova had ignited a chain of events, resulting in the deaths of her father, maksim, and their firstborn, nikolai. this knowledge is a heavy burden that had been unveiled to kseniya at later points of her life. later on, she also learns that she’d been conceived out of an affair, which has further internalised a sense of otherness and disconnection. residing in a palace, signing papers with an imperial surname, eating dinner from the same table as the czar, all while no royal blood would course through her veins, she felt like a hindrance. of course, she would never voice these thoughts. she did her best to keep to herself, to never cause more trouble than she already has. inevitably, this has triggered a number of depressive episodes during her teenage years.

to combat her intrinsic perception of herself as a burden, kseniya attempts to overcompensate by being friendly. she yearns for the feeling of being liked, and is terrified of the idea of upsetting people. despite being closed off in terms of personal matters and thoughts, she’s bubbly in the hopes of making people happy and comfortable around her.