I hope you’ll enjoy it! It’s a next generation story <3
A Melody and A Flame
Coriane
My life began to take a turn downward with that cursed party. Before, I was a girl just like any other, no one special, who only wanted to improve on the violin and whose biggest problem was jealousy of her pampered baby brother.
I could’ve guessed, I suppose, paid more attention, listened to my parents discussing matters going beyond the concerns of a 12-year-old. In hindsight, everything is possible and foreseeable, when in truth, I don’t think it would’ve changed anything. It wasn’t my fault.
Furthermore, I had no reason to anticipate anything. I was a child, and everyone in my family, everyone who cared about me and who I cared for in return, wanted me to do anything but be a child. For them, this simple thing had been a luxury they happily granted me.
Unfortunately, there were people who didn’t care about me, but my pedigree.
I have to confess I was the most excited about the party myself. It was to be an event much grander than the usual school concerts I played at; a soirée of guests from all over Norta and even from beyond her borders where several groups of young musicians could present their skills. Weeks before I was listed in the string orchestra, I’d had been eyeing a dress in a Summerton boutique. I’d tried it on a few times, sneaking behind the vendors, and fell in love with the deep green gown with its high lace cleavage, dreaming of myself on the stage in the ballroom of the Summerton town hall, the former palace.
The day I received the news that I would play at the party, I’d also saved enough of my own money to go and buy the dress. No longer the awkward 12-year-old in the exquisite shop, I entered the boutique with determination and pride, trying on the dress for a final time and lifting my violin out of its case to test its feel against the fabric as well.
The vendors listened intently to the handful of notes that spread through the shop, smiling at me with utmost politeness when we finished the trade. I beamed as well, obviously, and did so the rest of the day and when I stormed home, full of joy.
My parents weren’t at home, so I couldn’t tell them yet. Instead I took care of Shade, my little brother. Years ago, our parents had been worried if it worked out, my violin lessons and a lively toddler, yet that had never become a problem. When he was a baby, I’d been ambitious to get good enough to play him lullabies he’d sleep to, and as he grew, he still loved to listen to my exercises – no matter how repetitive – while he’d play quietly with his own toys.
Even at mere five years, he knew to congratulate me as I told him about the party concert and after I showed him the piece I was to perform, I played games with him in turn.
It was one of the best days of my life, altogether. Maybe because that night, I went to bed full of happiness and self-confidence as well as naiveté, for the last time.
My parents heard the news at breakfast. Mom squealed when she learned of it, kissing and hugging and maybe even a little shocking me. I was so happy she was happy for me. Dad was like always, proud of everything I did like I was his own kind of princess, but Mom’s excited outbursts were rare, and thus more precious. It wasn’t just the one concert, it was the perspective coming with it – me becoming a musician, a person living her dream. All Mom could want for her children.
The high mood soured in the afternoon when I presented the dress I loved so much. They still smiled, and I with them, but something had changed. I couldn’t read their faces, didn’t want to either. Finally, Dad pulled me over, sitting down with me. “Coriane, I’m not sure,” he said. “We can’t … we aren’t …”
It was the first of many times I heard these half sentences, buzzing with implications.
We can’t. We aren’t. A code of rules I hadn’t known of caged our lives.
My hands fidgeted and I had to look away. Of course I was pissed, too. How dared they deny me my dream dress?
Dad squeezed my hand and when I pulled away, Mom came over and looked in my eyes.
“It’s green like Montfort,” she said, and Dad nodded. She sighed. “Coriane, see, we can’t … it’s better if we don’t show any allegiances.”
I was bewildered. Montfort was an ally of Norta; Mom’s family lived there and we visited them twice a year. Of course we had ties to Montfort, so why should that ban wearing a colour?
Calmly, they told me that Montfort and Norta kept a careful distance to avoid shedding suspicions of unduly influences – or imperialism – from Montfort’s side. Especially the Barrow-Calore family, once we’d settled back in Norta, had to stay neutral.
M parents were soldiers. Since the last years had been peaceful, I hadn’t watched for signs of political unrest. I hadn’t seen reason to. Life was good. But while my parents weren’t politicians themselves, they were enwrapped with friends high up who provided them with intelligence. In turn, Mom and Dad weren’t to show their personal opinions. Which, I had to realize, extended to their children.
Irked, I tried to take it lightly and proposed in jest several other colours for me to wear – which were all discouraged, a lakelands blue being the last of those. “What? I’d offend everyone equally,” I snapped.
“White is neutral, it’s all colours,” Dad offered eventually. Technically, the same applied to black but even I knew that was the real taboo. Black was the colour of the royal house Calore and its loyalists.
Mom gave me a wry smile. “I have a surprise for you,” she said compassionately and got up. Left waiting, I stared in a mirror. Would the rest of my life be like this, forbidden to wear a certain colour in a certain place, or only when important people could see me?
Coriane Barrow-Calore, that name had never been a problem before. In Summerton, everyone had family or friends who had history with each other, reaching a long way back, rarely nicely. I was one of many. You didn’t see a princess when you met me. My blood was obviously Red, and with my small though not delicate figure, brown skin and brown eyes, I resembled Mom more than Dad. Apart from my long black falling down my back in shiny waves. I loved my hair. Would soon people appear and claim how “Calore” it made me look?
What else did I inherit from him?
Mom returned with another gown, a wholly different one she held up with fanfare. Dad smiled, gestured for me to take it.
I got up slowly. The dress was white, high-waisted and would look rather plain if not for its exquisite materials and tailoring. It was soft cotton and lush silk with intricate embroidery shimmering pearly. It was obviously more expensive than anything I could’ve bought myself.
Mom gazed at the gown with affection. “My sister Gisa made it and sent it as a present for you,” she explained. “It would make her proud if you wore it on the occasion.”
My hand trailed over its skirts. “Sure,” I agreed quietly to make peace. I swallowed my annoyance since the gown was so beautiful. Maybe my parents had really only wanted me to wear this dress. Maybe nothing was actually this dramatic. I realized I couldn’t ignore my royal descent as before but, well, I thought being aware it was a part of growing up.
My parents’ concerns were quickly forgotten as I returned to exercising my music for the concert, returning to what was really important to me.
The evening of the party I put on Gisa’s creation with awe, watching its skirts swing as I pirouetted. Dad seemed similarly amazed. He pinned up half my hair and let the other fall down in curls. Gold and copper make-up shimmered on my cheeks and eyelids, letting my brown eyes sparkle. I hugged Shade before we left and, full of anticipation, played my piece for him one last time. He was still too little for such a party; Mom said he’d be bored. She glanced at me then. I blinked but we said nothing else.
My parents both wore dress uniforms, as usual for events like this.
I understood Mom’s thoughtful look later at the party. The decorated ballroom was impressing, the students playing before me were passionate. So was I. My group was scheduled to play in the middle and my heart beat so fast, I didn’t know if it was excitement or the sensual onslaught of the party. A surprise were the animal decorations of butterflies and birds on the ceilings, corners and pillars. I felt watched and with nervousness, I rushed behind the stage for last preparations. I don’t remember much of the actual concert; it was only about 15 minutes long. My anxiety changed to concentration as I held up my violin and sunk into the music in harmony with my fellow musicians. Pleasant warmth spread through my body. I’d been so glad to receive this spot at all; I didn’t mind not having a solo part. I loved perfecting my skills more than being special. I was no one special during my performance, rather someone talented, and it was good.
This emotion of content was lost afterward. I still brimmed with its lingering presence but the party itself became a drag for me. I didn’t know the guests besides my fellow musicians, didn’t know who to talk to or what to say. The ever-present noise bothered me too much to even try to follow a conversation and I abhorred dancing (and with who, furthermore?). Unlike my parents, who, after praising and congratulating me, left me alone to refresh old contacts. I found a seat close to the stage and defended it by staying seated, only to be even more bored after the youth concerts ended. I wanted good music to listen to instead of the droning voices, or at least something to read. I itched to get my violin back from the cloakroom, if only to get comfort by holding and touching it and occupying my fingers.
Instead, I passed the evening with eating. I couldn’t figure out many of the dishes, so I was hesitant at first, but after I’d found a favourite, I piled a large portion of it on my plate and rushed back to my place. At least nothing bad could be said about the potatoes.
Sometimes, I thought I heard my name whispered behind me and startled. Had someone noticed I was one of the artists? Yet I dreaded being spoken to and was relieved when nothing followed up. My unsettlement stayed though and the animal decorations only turned weirder. From the corners of my eyes, I believed they were moving, but how could that be? In my growing confusion, I looked around the ballroom and glimpsed my parents in the distance. I jumped up. It was getting late enough to leave.
Give it a good end, I said to myself, find Mom and Dad and say goodbye to your music partners. I strove for them, careful not to bump into people. I was relieved when I reached the empty dancefloor yet something was odd about it. I’d intended to dash across it, to the alcove where Dad was, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I footed further, goose bumps rising on my skin. My eyes moved as I gasped: This time, I was certain the birds moved.
And then they flew toward me.
I screamed.
I lifted my arms to protect myself. I was so hot. Butterflies joined the birds and I stepped back. The heat was a comfort. My hand jerked forward and with it, a flame.
I’d felt the heat for months. It rose sometimes when I was anxious yet instead of making me sweat in stress, it coursed my body pleasantly and erased my discomforts. For a moment, it did this at the party too. I’d burned a few of the animals to ashes and bones that dropped to the ground, the rest retreated. I fell to my knees. I stared at my hands that brought forth fire. I didn’t know I could but I wasn’t surprised. Not at all. I smiled faintly. The fire was within me and I could call it back whenever I wanted.
The murmurs returned to the room and with it, my peace vanished. I froze. The master of ceremonies ran toward me and patted my shoulder carefully, as if afraid I’d burn him.
“Madame,” he urged quietly. I blinked; I hadn’t liked his touch. He swallowed, his lips moving before he repeated, “madame…!” and prompted me to rise.
He took my hand by the fingertips in an odd mix of firm and light which I only realized later as reverence, as well as that he’d wanted to call me by my name first. Fortunately, he didn’t, or I wouldn’t have made it to my parents and back home before the guests figured out who I was by themselves.
That was bound to happen soon enough.
I didn’t go to school the days after the party. We didn’t know what to do when the letters started to arrive. The morning after the event, my parents pretended normalcy. They were good at it, at least in front of Shade and me. Mom played with Shade and Dad was his usual talkative self. I considered he liked that I was a burner like him. No one could guess what kind of ability I’d have and I’d imagined how Mom and Dad would joke with each other once we found out.
I wanted to find that in the way he smiled but I saw no genuine joy. I knew when he asked me if there’d been a spark.
“A spark?”
He sighed. “Did you need a source to … make fire?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, looking away. I did know. He asked because he wondered if my ability was like a Silver’s or a Newblood’s. I had to be Newblood, didn’t I? I was a Red with an ability, but could one be sure when I was half Silver?
Sure was I that the fire came from within me, no need for a spark. It was mine. While Dad was merely curious about my ability, the letters told another story: Of people who believed my fire a beacon of rebirth – the rebirth of the burning crown.
I read every one of the letters; my parents soon ceasing to try to talk me out of it. I had to know what concerned me. None of the letters was straight-forwardly royalist. None addressed me as “highness” or “princess”. The master of ceremonies had only been the beginning of an endless line of “madames” and “my ladies”, used so often it turned into something deeper than politeness. It was blatant. Some even dared to reduce my name to “Coriane Calore”, dropping Mom’s last name like they wanted to remove her heritage from me and Norta herself.
Beyond the addresses, the contents were artworks of suggestive insinuations. What a pleasure to see a burner in the Hall of the Sun, they wrote, using the old name of the building that was outdated though not forbidden.
Your flame gave me hope for Norta, said another.
My family rejoiced at the memories you woke, said the letter sent by Carol Viper, probably the most disturbing one. The Vipers were the important, most dangerous of the royalists and seceders and likely those responsible for the bird assault causing my outburst. It’d be investigated. The Vipers liked to deny accusations of animal spies or attacks and so Carol Viper was barely tolerated in Norta only for her insistence of distance to her traitorous relatives.
I figured which memories she wrote about – my mother falling into Summerton’s Queenstrial 23 years ago and revealing her Newblood ability. I suppose, while I was a burner like Dad, Mom and I would always share the way our abilities showed themselves in public.
The letters were a slap in the face that came back again and again. After two days and a dozen of them, I expected Prince Arthur of the Lakelands – who had been one of the foreign guests – to ask for my hand in marriage. I thought that my childhood was over, that a girl is only allowed to be a child until someone notices she is useful for them. Now I was some kind of fire goddess. I stared at the walls of my room when I didn’t read the letters. For once, I didn’t yearn for my violin, didn’t itch to occupy my mind and fingers by creating music. I thought … I thought my dream of a music career had ended, that I was no longer free to pursuit it when I was under the threat of being turned a reactionary’s political tool. The fear of losing the music pained me.
Mom came for me every day, joining me on the bed with her face full of care and worry and love. She understood how strange this was. A Red girl with an ability, a child of a Red and a Silver, no one would’ve cared for me 20 years ago. I would’ve been reviled at best; now the royalists probably thought themselves progressive by “championing” me.
Mom waited until I asked her to hug me and after years, I wanted it again. I hadn’t enjoyed touches since I was little. With her arms around me, I cried, craving to be a little kid again, when I was my parents’ greatest treasure. Their firstborn child, born of Mom’s first pregnancy ever without any of the complications that came after. Mom and Dad had held me for comfort after her miscarriages; happy that while having a second child turned out to be so difficult, they’d always have me.
I was jealous of baby Shade because everything had become different by then, in the seven years that lay between us. I was the strong and healthy big girl while he was little, frail and to be protected. No matter that he grew up as strong as me, Mom and Dad pampered Shade for the losses we’d suffered.
My jealousy was so meaningless now.
“Can’t we go back to Montfort, Mom?” I asked. “To that lonely cottage in the mountains?”
Mom stayed silent like she was considering it. Then she shrugged. “You have a guest,” she said instead, stroking my hair one last time. I groaned, she smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s family,” she reassured me. She rose and left and the door didn’t open before Clara, my cousin, entered the room.
I yelped because she still enjoyed startling people by teleporting.
It made for very good distraction, though.
Clara grinned, falling on the bed beside me. Her amusement waned a little as she noticed my blotchy, tear-stained face. “It’s good to see you,” I said to avoid her pity.
“I hurried to come here but I couldn’t make it to your concert,” Clara replied.
“Too short notice,” I agreed. Her teleporting made it easier to see Clara than my other relatives who lived in Montfort. As her assistant, Clara also accompanied her mother the general on her travels that often meant my parents and Aunt Diana met frequently.
I remembered when Clara and Diana had glared at each other one time when they spoke of Clara’s choice to became a soldier. They hadn’t needed many words, and even I understood them.
You could be anything, Diana’s frown said.
But I choose this, Clara’s lifted chin retorted.
Today, Clara still wore her uniform as we chatted. Usually, she changed into frilly dresses as fast as possible. She’d really hurried and I felt a pang of love for her. My tall and beautiful cousin of 22 was so cool.
She blew a curl out of her face. “You haven’t heard the best yet,” she said. “You know that Ada Wallace left the Harbor Bay government?”
“After like … 20 years?” Ada was – had been – the senator of the region and the partner of Clara’s mom.
Clara nodded. “It was quite hard for Mama and Ada to have a distance relationship but they made it work.” Her serious tone shifted into a wide smile. “We dined together two days ago, to celebrate Ada’s resign – or so I thought.” Clara beamed now. “But then, Ada proposed.”
“No!” I exclaimed.
“Sure! It was the most romantic thing. ‘We served freedom and our countries all this time, you there, me here. Now I’ve done all I could for Harbor Bay, I want to be with you. Always.’ Aww. I cried. Mama cried! And Ada was beyond elated, you should’ve seen her.”
“Damn,” I whispered. “I’ll have to congratulate them.”
Clara tilted her head. “You will, you will. At the wedding the latest.”
“Sure,” I said quietly, again rather uncertain of my future.
Clara played with a tress of my hair. “I expect you to play the waltz, Coriane.”
I took a deep breath. I knew where this was going. My life would continue no matter what.
I’d keep playing the violin. And wearing my lovely green dress, I’d celebrate the hell out of my aunt’s private wedding feast.
“Absolutely,” I promised.
I chose for what I burned.
A/N: The story should speak for itself, but if any of you tag this with “coriane calore”, please don’t ever read one of my stories again.
THE HOLIDAYS ARE HERE, and with them, comes the time to give back to our friends, family, and community. Here at redqueenetwork, we want to celebrate the holidays by making new friends and creating things we love, therefore we are launching our first ever secret santa event!!
HOW IT WORKS
You complete this form right here, telling us what you’d like to receive as a present and what you can make to give as one!!
After a week, we’ll reach you with your secret santa match, the person who you’ll be giving a present to!!
From dec. 15 to dec. 24, you send your match annonymous asks to get to know them better. This could be of literally anything, asking them how their day was or what was the last movie they enjoyed, try to get to know them!!
On december 25, you post your creation tagging your match and using @redqueenetwork’s secret santa event | (creation theme) for @match as your description.
TO PARTICIPATE, YOU MUST
be following the network
reblog this post to spread the word
use the tag #rqss19 in all asks you post and on your present
join our discord server (this is not mandatory, but it’s a good way to get to know the person you’re giving a present to + other cool people!!)
And that’s all!! You have until december 14th to sign up. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask, and once again, we wish you happy holidays and best wishes for 2020!!
Hey! Just wanted to tell you, I'm your Secret Santa 😊 I wanted to write a RQ one shot for you, and I ask you if you have a favourite ship? Happy soon-to-be Christmas 💌
Aww, thanks for the ask, I’m so excited!^^
My favourite ship is Fade and I can never get enough content for them since their canon time together is so brief <3
Hello! It's your Secret Santa! I wanted to tell you the Fade one-shot will be posted tomorrow! I'll tag you, and send a massage. If it doesn't work, you can try searching #SecretSantaFade. Enjoy Christmas! 💌
You get me so excited <3 And thank you again for sending all these asks, they’re wonderful
I’ll surely do everything to find this marvellous present, don’t worry^^
