Written to music: Goodbye brother // Ramin Djawadi
Tzarine became unbearably cold that winter.
Cold, and singing with sharp undertones borne by a wind that was biting and had no care for any soul's brightness. The sun was determinedly absent, as if in self imposed solitude, and even when it did grace the sky its light seemed weak and its journey hasty, as if it too could not bear to be there.
Time was a fluid that dragged differently in every moment. She couldn't measure it, she couldn't capture it, the only indication that it passed at all was the gradual unravelling of her mind. Skin and bones no longer held her; she was dispersed, she was scattered beyond the confines of her body. Every feat of nature seemed to spark at the edge of her consciousness, important somehow, trying to tell her something- but what, she could not tell. Delirium was caught in her throat and paranoia had hatched in her brain, she cycled through staff so quickly that the execution block scarcely had time to dry between usage.
She didn't know how to mourn, she had never been taught how to lose. Mercifully, her glib tongue did not seem to rely on any sort of sanity, her presence in the court remained looming and malevolent. Her subordinates thought her heartless to continue as /effortlessly/ as she did- but she was in no way surprised. Her intelligence had never known compassion, it had never known kindness. It operated solely for itself, and she quickly learnt to follow its cues.
Her children withdrew from her, but she consoled herself that it was for the best. They were young, still, and would not be punished for being impenetrable. Better still it was that Remiel made her retreat to the lofty tower library, where more than once Iridescia's spies reported her sleeping with her head in a book. Idelia did not seem so keen to smother her grief in learning, but rather in smiles and nervous niceties. She grew flowers, she wrote letters and then never sent them. She wept at night, but neither her mother nor sister came to comfort her.
Oh, how lonesome they all became.
Occasionally, Iridescia would turn too quickly and see a ghost. Of herself laughing, or Miranda. Other days she would translate every minor happening into a sign. She'd /convince/ herself that Miranda was trying to talk to her, and those times were the most tremulous of all because it felt as if the world would just shatter for her hatred of it.
On the anniversary of Miranda's execution, House of Descia relocated to the Firerise quarter, and within weeks their old chambers were incinerated. Remiel never forgave her it, but Iridescia relished striking the match and destroying all evidence of Miranda's existence. She would burn her memories away. She had to.
More on Astrometric // Other writing
