who: @omerflorent setting: nightfall, following the union of lord omer florent and lady lucrezia redwyne upon the island of the arbor. celebrations have continued in the great gathering hall, and whilst there was to be no bedding ceremony, the lady of the arbor was being attended on by her closest maidservants.
this was a farce. she felt guilty for finding something special within it, considering this was no sacred night. perhaps it was. she knew entirely why it was she was sat feeling utterly torn regarding what was expected of this night; or rather, the picture everyone else had painted of this night. and she remained sat upon the end of the bed, which had been blessed by septons in both her tongue and the tongue of her husband.
her handmaiden continued to brush and gently apply light amounts of oil to hair, scent the inside of her wrists with oud. it was supposed to be a holy night. and how unholy it was, to admit that this was a game they had long danced in the shadows; thresholds over doors, quiet whispered arguments with words left unspoken that were drowned out in prolonged kisses. the way they had crashed together, like a crack of lightening or thunder, that night upon the boat; too much to not say, too much to not do.
how was she to accept that she had been thinking of his touch for months? in all those months of quiet despair, self-doubt and devaluing herself for everything she once stood for, when night came and she stared atop her canopy she remembered the things she had done for him. done to him. the ways in which he had helped her reach such levels of pleasure. her stomach flipped.
and as she hears the door open, eyes falling upon the familiar face, a sense of relief creeped over her. to know she was not entirely alone in her confusion. she dipped into a small, graceful curtsy alongside the rest of the individuals in the room. "my lord." and her gaze flickered from the silk white of her nightgown and wrap around to his own ocean hues. trapped. just like that.