"Don't tell me you agree with them." Pausing, she crossed her arms and sent her best friend a look.
Following her, Felix stopped in his tracks, turning to face her while raising his hands playfully in surrender. "Perish the thought, dearest Clemmie."
"Hmm. Oh, I don't know."
"Please?" When she didn't immediately respond, he woefully added, "How many lemon tart slices will it take to smooth things over? One? Two?"
She kept a blank expression, trying not to laugh at his dramatics.
"Seven? Ten?"
It was getting harder not to laugh.
"Must I buy out the entire store for you? Because I will if that's what it takes." He acted as if she demanded for the impossible, which she wasn't, but it was fun to watch him sweat for it.
"Do I?" She twisted the gold band on her ring finger, sliding the ring into her jewelry case. "Oh, well, it's not as if it matters in the grand scheme of things."
"No?"
"No." On second thought, she didn't wish to have such a keepsake with her. Plucking the ring out of the velvet lined space, she placed it on the counter of the vanity. Such a ring did not deserve to be kept and commeralized. "Should he prove as ungallant as my first husband, then I shall simply remind him the mortality of men." With a soft thump, the lid to her jewelry box closed shut.
Her brother threw his head back and laughed, delighted by her words. "We," he corrects. "I would be a horrible brother otherwise."
A sigh escaped Tiresais. "If I was trying to seduce you, you would know it. How much have you had to drink tonight?" He didn't wait for an answer as he leaned in to snag Trajan's glass from his hand. "On second thought, no more wine for you."
"Give that back!"
"Hmm, I think not."
`
"Tiresias."
"Fine." But instead of immediately handing it over, he first brought the glass up to his lips, draining its contents.
The audacity of this man knew no bounds. But he did also make for a lovely sight, with his throat bared like so.
"Here." The empty glass was thrust toward him.
"This is treason," he mutters, pushing the hand away. "Of the highest order."
Tiresias chuckled. "Is it now?"
"I could have you executed."
"You wouldn't."
Privately, Trajan agreed. The man was far too handsome to be sent to death's greedy clutches.
trying to get back in a writing mood because I want to do the time travelling clemmie justice. but because I'm having a little bit of a writer's block with it, I'm trying to work on other things
a peek of sorts(?) into a wip
~~~~
You are five or six when the President married his second wife. Of course, back then, you knew nothing about first or second wives.
For you, the entire spectacle was something out of a fairy tale, and when you look at the happy couple, you staunchly declare to your mother that one day, you will find someone who looks at you the same way the President looked at his wife.
`
You are 22. Fresh out of university. You still dream of fairytale weddings, but first you need a job to support yourself.
There is an opening at the presidential estate. A personal assistant. As you sit there, patiently waiting your turn for your interview, you wonder if you haven’t dressed well enough. Those around you seem dressed to the nines. In expensive suits, and oddly enough, some of them are dressed as if they plan to do a lot more than a personal assistant should.
He appears at the interview. Now you really feel out of place amongst the other candidates. Yet it is you that the President selects to be his wife’s personal assistant.
`
Very quickly you learn the First Lady would rather not have a personal assistant of all things. Instead, you’re soon reduced to a messenger between the two households. Yes, that’s right. Two households. Although the two live in the same home, it is obvious that they are far from the happy couple you’d once seen on television. In front of the public, they are no different from they were back then. But once the doors close on them, she withdraws from him.
Now it makes sense why those other candidates had dressed like so. Not that it does anything. No matter how many pretty faces are shoved toward the President who remains a handsome man in his 50s, he doesn’t entertain any of them.
`
Rumours go that the President loves his wife dearly, that he sends her freshly cut roses each morning. It is true, but what they don’t tell you is that she loves wisteria best.
They don’t tell you how she withdraws into the piano room when – the one room he refuses to intrude on. You’ve been here long enough to know how he will intrude on any other room but that one.
In a couple of months, when she warms to you, or so you hope, she tells you that the piano is from her late husband’s granduncle. You won’t realize that she’s referring to the former President until you’re in bed that night.
`
You are 24, in the two short years you’ve been employed, you wonder how much of it is a facade.
He still glances at her when she isn’t looking.
She hesitates each time he offers out his hand. Sometimes she rebuffs him, other times, she doesn’t. But perhaps it is this hesitation that has him holding onto the hope that things might change.
`
A few weeks after your 26th birthday, they have an argument if one would call it that. A disagreement might be more apt, and you should have learned the art of pretending that you aren’t there. Most staff here have this perfected to an art form a few months into their employ. It’s but one of the necessary skills here.
“Have you forgotten what your vows were?” he asks in that voice that experience taught you could lead to a termination, that is if one were a member of the staff employed here.
“What use is there to keep vows made to an oathbreaker?”
`
“And what will they say?”
“I find it silly you’d ask such a thing.” She gestured to the space around them. “You are so fond of reminding others of your title, are you not? Then command them to echo your truths. Tell them I am too fragile, too–” Her hand came to her chest, as if it hurt.
“Are you–”
Even now she refused his touch as she stumbled out the door. “No.”
`
“Stay.”
She does not. Neither does the piano. Save for cleaning, nobody enters that room anymore.
5 universes where Clemensia is in love, and the 1 where she once was
~~~~
a set of blurbs with Clemmie being paired with a different love interest:
~~~~
I. Iphigenia Moss - in a fairy tale-like AU
`
“Marry me.”
What?
“Marry me,” repeats Clemensia, as if she hadn’t just turned Iphigenia’s world upside down. “Then you’ll be a Dovecote and not a Moss. Your father won’t be able to lift a finger regarding you.”
Then her world came crashing down. A marriage of convenience? She couldn’t ask this of her dearest friend – one that she dreamed nightly of kissing. As far as rumours go, the Dovecotes only marry for love and nothing else. So how could she condemn her friend to such a fate? “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
`
“Clem.” How was she to say this? “You deserve more than a marriage of convenience.” Even if it meant that Iphigenia couldn’t be with her.
“You think I would propose this solution if I didn’t love you?”
Her mouth went dry. What?
“You don’t possibly think that –” Clemensia stared. “Nia? Is it me, have I misread the–”
No! “Never! I just thought–” Oh, stars…
“Nia?”
Iphigenia hated the way Clemensia looked so nervous now, as if she was worried that her love was not reciprocated. As if she had not been in love with her since they were 16. “Ask me once more,” she pleads, not quite sure if she was dreaming.
`
This time, when Clemensia repeats the question, the answer spills from her lips without hesitation.
Sometimes, being named for mercy and forgiveness can be a cruelty in itself. It's difficult to be merciful without first experiencing situations that demand such a task from you.
