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Dear Corvo, I read your diary
Send my muse ‘Dear Diary’ and they will write a diary entry about your character!
6th Day, Month of Earth, 1853
Emily, please don’t read my diary. There’s nothing interesting in here. Or there is, but it’s not something you should be reading. If there’s something you want to know, passerotta, you can try asking, first.
[the rest of the page is a not-all-that great doodle of Emily and Corvo, just to mess with Emily.]
@voidemarked
It’s been...a week? Two weeks? Time never seemed to move at all in the Void, only before his eyes as he watched, ever a spectator. But now he’s part of time again, and he can’t tell, really, what’s what. He knows he can count the number of times the sun sets and rises, but he still can’t look out the window during the day without cringing, the light hurting his eyes. At least it’s quiet in Addermire, and at least the doctor doesn’t ask him too many questions. She lets him be in one of the private rooms on the highest floor by her office -- the one she says used to hold a shrine to him -- with the shades drawn to let him stay in the dim light and the silence, huddled in blankets.
He hates, in a way, how weak and helpless he feels. Not too long ago he was a god, the avatar of the Void, and now...and now he is a child, cowering away from bright lights and loud noises. He was marked, thank the Void, so he didn’t feel entirely useless, but...
He starts out of his own thoughts when the door opens, and he blinks at the figure in the doorway, bewildered. Is that...he lets out a sharp, short laugh. It’s strange to see her in the light, color in her face and clothes, and he must look so very strange like this to her -- not the ethereal, eldritch being she’s used to, but a skinny teenage boy with a scar on his neck, solid and real. Even his eyes are different, still ink-black as an owl’s but no longer from edge to edge. There are whites visible, now, lessening his eeriness but not completely.
“Hello, Emily,” the Outsider says with a faint smile. “I didn’t think I‘d see you again so soon.”
@voidemarked (x)
“Corvo-” she sniffled, “I’m the Empress of the Isles, I don’t have time to waste in bed.” But that was the thing about being sick, it made her useless. At least if she’d made it to the court, the thought of spreading the illness to the idiots there would have made the pounding in her head worth it. Instead, her father had found her slumped against a wall. Emily would have been embarrassed, if it were anyone else. Instead, she offered him a languid smile.
He smiles faintly in return, offering her his hand so she can straighten, at the very least. “And here I thought you’d jump at the chance to avoid court for a day,” he says, voice fond even as he scolds her. “You can barely walk, Emily, you should be resting. Whatever business you have can wait until tomorrow.” And if the nobles push it, he’ll make them wait.
He reaches out to check her temperature, fingers brushing her forehead. “Mm. Fever,” he notes. “You’re definitely going back to bed.”
♬
♬ - Do you listen to music when you write? If yes, what kind of music?
Movie/game tracks and classical music.
“perhaps you aren’t as powerful as you think.”
THE ELDER SCROLLS V: SKYRIM SENTENCE STARTERS ( accepting ) !
no more hide and seek. the game of cat and mouse ends as he rises from his chair and he gathers his effects; buckling his pistol and blade into place. he’ll wait for her in his laboratory, but the damage she has cost him for demolishing his clockwork soldiers is unforgivable.
though not sentient, they were irreplaceable. and cost him a great sum of not only money, but his pride. like lifeless children they were to him, and she had killed them without mercy.
he admired that, and hated it too.
❛ no, perhaps not as powerful as you used to be. make your way to me, your imperial majesty. your power diminishes by the second here in karnaca, and i definitely won’t let you trapeze all over my house anymore.
—- you’re merely a guest of honour, but in my mansion i am sovereign. ❜
