I can't feel this way any longer!

Almedha, Disgraced Princess of Goldoa. Resident of Garreg Mach, affiliated with the Officer's Academy.

[veiledowager]

"How precious. Still obsessed with garnering the adoration of peasants, are we? Aren't you past that yet, my dear?"

MUSE / MUN / INTERVIEW / STATS / THREADS

Almedha from Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn | Closed RP blog affiliated with the Officers Academy | Resident of Garreg Mach | Portrayed by Aunyx

[veiledowager]

ACTIVITY CHECK: MARCH 2026

Total Skill Points: 7 >>> 8 Points Allocated: Authority D >>> D+ Classes Accessed: N/A Classes Mastered: N/A Items/Skills Acquired: N/A

[senerist]

momma's widdle baby boy

[senerist]

As if serendipitous, a stranger inserts herself into the conversation.  soren glances up at her only briefly.  She looks familiar to him, but the veil she wears makes it difficult to discern where he's seen her, or if that's even the truth at all.  his first assumption is that she means to swoop in and take the tome he targets for herself, but her words don't seem to match with that appraisal.

Is she… helping him?  Why?

soren's lip twitches, but he smooths it down before it can become a sneer.  he's not interested in owing debts to a stranger, but it isn't as though he can erase her presence from the conversation now.

“Hanged?” the merchant expels, breathless, as though he'd been caught off guard.  “Apprehended, certainly, but you don't honestly believe they'd execute me?”

soren swoops in.  “i had assumed you were willing to die for your profession,” he says innocently.  “Did you not realize why you crossed coin unto the guards' palms?”

“I -”

The merchant sputters, glancing between these two dark-clad shoppers as they blur the line between customer and savior in his eyes.  His gaze falls to the tome in question.  soren can see the horror in his eyes.

“In over your head?  Allow me to compensate you some of the cost.  i can take the tome off your hands and none need ever know we spoke,” soren suggests.

The merchant understands his plan.  “Y-yes, one-fifty will more than suffice,” he replies, though he has difficulty keeping his cool as much as the two standing at the other side of wares.

“More than fair, thank you,” soren replies, folding his hand over the right amount and setting it beside the book before removing it from the table.  “i look forward to business with you again, if you come across such rare artifacts in the future.”

he glances again to the woman beside him, offering her some sort of nod of acknowledgment.  It was by her efforts that the deal progressed smoothly, after all, but soren must remove himself from the coward merchant's table before anything escalates.  he expects her to follow - he expects her to want something of him.

[veiledowager]

He's successful in his transaction, effortlessly following up her riposte. Her son is a fine man indeed, and he will always have what He wants.

Still, Almedha has not considered what would come after. There had been no thought spared for her Son's reaction, or the trader's; what she would say, how she would look at Him.

He nods at her. The boy; the young man. Soren. Her son, a stranger. He has her eyes; she sees more of her brothers in Him than His own father. Perhaps it is a relief, as much as it is a curse.

For a second time, He has graced her with more than she could ever ask. And for a second time, it is more than she can bear. How all-consumingly selfish would she be, to wrap her arms around Him? To make His existence just another possession on her bedside shelf?

He is too vast for that. He deserves more of the world than she could ever show Him.

She turns, and she runs, as if the ground may swallow her. She cannot even spare a word for Him. She prays she will simply be forgotten.

end.

[sanakialtina]

in light of recent events

Sanaki + Almedha, from here

[sanakialtina]

In turn, Sanaki will not insult Almedha by showing pity, or worse, offering thanks for those answers so reluctantly given. "You should ask it of me," she presses, tilting her head to try to catch the woman's gaze behind the veil. "If I were in your position, I also would not have expected to find me here. It's only natural to be curious."

In fact, it's even more rude of Almedha to pose the question as a threat, but Sanaki is not too proud to accept anyway. "I tire of pretense, so I'll answer plainly. Unlike you, I am not afraid to admit that I am running away." A wry smile, only a little superior. "It is shameful, to gallivant about in a foreign land and leave the den of vipers to my subordinates. But when I return to my throne..."

She trails off, unable to finish the sentence honestly. She will be older, but will she be wiser, stronger, strong enough to lead her nation to the light---well, who's to say?

There is one thing she knows for certain, but it's far too maudlin for even this conversation. "I do not fault you for seeking reprieve," she offers instead, letting her eyes fall shut. "I know of your pain. Of course I do not understand it. But no one ever will, if you do not speak of it with others. That is one of many lessons that the war taught me."

[veiledowager]

Lady Sanaki's assertion is, admittedly, unexpected. She should ask? Even if the answers Lady Sanaki divulges may flood the well of her own pain? Who would willingly face that, to give clarity to someone who has not deserved it?

This girl perplexes her - then stirs her rage, again, implying that Almedha is running. In fact, Almedha is here because she tires of running. She only wants to settle herself down, not feel prying eyes on her at every turn. Even here, she does not claim that small comfort.

Almedha is about to release her tongue when Lady Sanaki claims to know her pain, but as she inhales to conjure a sharp retort, she is left unarmed again.

Her eyes burn with useless tears. This is why she does not speak of it - because her body is not strong enough to hold all of this grief once it's wrenched open from its carefully constructed prison.

"My pain would flood the world twice over again, girl," Almedha manages through her tightened throat. "You may be wise beyond your years, but you cannot bear the breadth of it, if I scarcely can."

Almedha's nails dig into her arm, no doubt putting runs in the fabric. "If you truly desire my company," she says, steadying her voice again, "I may offer it. But not everyone is so willing to prattle on to the first kind ear they find."

[veiledowager]

subject in the foreground

almedha & shigure >>> continued from here

[pastbelow]

“Oh, no, no…. please don’t cry,” he tries, hurriedly standing up from his stool and backing away, hands held out placatingly. His thoughts swirl about in a panic. Art, as a veiled display of emotions too heavy to give voice to, was still created to soothe. A blade deftly blunted, never to hurt others.

How had it come to this, then? His shoulders stiffen with the strain of finding something appropriate to say. An it’s not personal could be a good lie, except, well, it is personal; or perhaps it’s not an accusation, except what had he meant to do, exactly, except carve a piece of his own sorrows out for her to see?

When the woman lifts her veil, whatever half-baked lie he had been entertaining dies easily in his throat. His amber gaze meets her red, and it’s almost habit to catalogue her expression as if he was preparing to capture it with ink and paper. A weary severity at the brow, a proud tilt of the chin even in her clear distress; mouth lifted in a warm smile, a tightness about the corners that suggests it’s not an expression often worn. Like the waning moon finally peeking out behind clouds in the night sky, just before the dawn—subtle and imminently overshadowed but no less beautiful for how long awaited it was. 

Well, he can’t say he expected that she would feel so deeply about the piece, either… but he supposes he should be honored, shouldn’t he.

“There’s need to thank me,” he replies softly, doing his best to settle a sincere smile of his own on his face. “I was only drawing from my own experiences, but… the same piece of art can convey many different emotions to different viewers.” A slight incline of the head, almost distantly a bow. “I’m glad you got something valuable out of mine.” 

There's no need to ask what, exactly, she had seen and felt. Everybody has their own unhappiness—it's not for him to know.

[veiledowager]

Almedha's heart flutters as the boy frets; she hadn't meant to cause him distress. "Do not worry, child," she assures him. "I so often take the arts for granted, I suppose. One thing you've taught me today is not to underestimate them."

His words bring unease, however, and she can't shake it. His own experiences? Is this boy missing his mother, too? Does she have any right to fill that void, when she is just a woman passing him on the street?

"You are," she continues, "so young to bear so much pain. And my own, I've experienced from...the other perspective, you could say." I am the fleeting mother. I am the cast of darkness over all that I hold dear. All I have ever done is block the sun.

"In any case." Almedha replaces her veil, even as its light fabric sticks to her wettened face. "I've taken enough of your time, dear. I cannot be the first to tell you this, but you are very skilled at what you do. If I may be bold enough to extend any advice..."

Almedha takes one last look at the painting, ignoring the sting in her ribs as she does so. "You need not spill all of your feelings upon a canvas. Or, if you must, it's okay if it's only for your eyes. If the wrong person witnesses your grief...they can wield it against you."

[wingboundwarrior]

Calling A Fish A Fish

↳ Fiora & Almedha Goddess Messenger, Epidemic Mission Board

[wingboundwarrior]

The woman to her left is about her height and her senior — in the dark, there’s little of the color of her hair or eyes that Fiora can quite make out, and she can see from the moon-whisper that a veil obscures the majority of her face, either way. Fiora still offers a bright expression — the brightest she can manage, weighted here-and-there — and breathes in lake breath as the breeze blows her hair back.

“I don’t quite seek it, myself,” she says, head half-tilted in thought. “There are better fishers than I who have cast their line and have yet to reel her in — to think I would be so fortunate is foolhardy.” But what would she do if she caught it? That’s quite the question… She considers it as she lazily reels inwards, an active bait to whatever fish may be out there, looking at her line.

Hm… “Perhaps I would sell it to the church?” Surely that is the right answer. It’s something holy to them, isn’t it? Surely they’d wish to obtain it.

[veiledowager]

Almedha can't help it. She laughs, loud and unbidden from her chest.

"Apologies, miss; you're not the one I'm laughing at." She stifles her giggles as she stares across the moonlit pond. "That the Church would buy such a thing - an incarnate of their own Goddess! It's quite a tale of folly, isn't it?"

It sounds like the kind of foolish thing that a beorc might do - witness the majesty of the divine, and seek only profit from it. Not that she blames this knight - she's right, in fact, to imagine that such a plan might work well for her. Almedha finds her frankness quite refreshing, actually.

"In my view," she continues, her composure regained, "if you did catch the Goddess Messenger, that would make you a prophet. Such a creature would be particular about whom it chooses to allow to catch it. You wouldn't need money, girl, if the Church were wise. They ought to make you a Saint."

Almedha glances around behind her; in certain company, perhaps such words would be blasphemy. But this knight doesn't seem to mind. Almedha giggles again to herself, strangely delighted. "You intrigue me, Miss Knight. Fiora, you said your name was?" She did not endeavor to offer her own name, in turn, but she was unusually compelled to learn more. "Does the knight life treat you well here, milady?"

[veiledowager]

neath the grove is a heart

almedha & l'arachel >>> continued from here

[veiledowager]

Almedha fights the urge to crumple in on herself further. There is no denying what this woman has seen, and she has offered nothing but kindness - that, and her handkerchief.

What would it mean to take the offer? Does it make her weak? Does it mean she is valued?

Against her deeper instincts, Almedha lifts her veil, plucking the handkerchief from the young lady's hand and dabbing at her eyes. It's a divinely soft fabric - this woman must be no less than a princess. That would coincide with the prim way that she speaks and carries herself.

Well, if a noble woman - even a beorc - has laid herself so low as to show such compassion to someone so lost, Almedha is not one to fight it.

"You're too kind," she says, and she means it. Being so forward with a stranger could get her seriously hurt one day. "Truly, if you know of a place that we could sit a while...I would appreciate the company. What is your name, m'lady?"

@far-from-common

[veiledowager]

❰❰ HURT ❱❱ + reverse

Each cough scraped his throat raw, droplets of hot blood speckled Almedha’s hands. He wanted to smack her arms away and snap at her. If she wasn’t so helpless, she could’ve seared the axe’s blade and its wielder with Banshee. The brigand wouldn’t have been stupid enough to dive in—wouldn’t be on the dirt floor, Almedha cradled safely in his arms.

Whatever cruelty he tried to mustered came out as a weak groan. Miklan cringed at the pathetic wet noise.

It was all her fault.

A horrible dread stops Almedha cold when Miklan falls in front of her; without a second thought, she concentrates a dark volley toward them, conjured from the deepest recesses of her rage, her grief. She screeches, echoing through the encampment, setting off the nearby crows. It's enough to send the rest of the stragglers howling, for now.

Miklan will survive this. She knows this, even as she falls to her knees in the damp dirt, just another stain for her silken gown to bear. Even as tears stream down her face, as she tries in vain to remember the simplest incantation of a healing tome she had breezed through one unhurried morning, she curses him.

Curses him, because he dares to look at Almedha like this. Like she is the reason for his spilled blood, even though he had dragged her out here. He is the stronger one between them, undoubtedly. That makes it his duty to protect her.

That she is worthy of being protected - scalding tears continue to fall along the gash at Miklan's side, her shaking hands failing to summon enough healing light to close it. He will survive this, and he will hate her for it.

[marichive]

An Extremely Self-Indulgent Meme

Physical prompts based around some of my favorite tropes / physical actions in threads. Send this   + reverse   to change which muse does which action.

tw for implied violence in some

❰❰ PIN ❱❱ sender pins receiver during a fight/training

❰❰ HURT ❱❱ sender is hurt protecting receiver

❰❰ CARRY ❱❱ sender carries receiver bridal style

❰❰ LIFT ❱❱ sender carries receiver over their shoulder

❰❰ MEDIC ❱❱ sender bandages receiver’s wounds

❰❰ SUPPORT ❱❱ sender comforts receiver after a loss / traumatic event

❰❰ THREAT ❱❱ sender holds a weapon up to receiver as a threat

❰❰ SAVE ❱❱ sender saves receiver’s life

❰❰ CRY ❱❱ sender cries in front of receiver

❰❰ DANCE ❱❱ sender invites receiver to slow dance

❰❰ HAND KISS ❱❱ sender kisses receiver on the hand or wrist

❰❰ CHEEK KISS ❱❱ sender kisses receiver on the cheek

❰❰ HEAD KISS ❱❱ sender kisses receiver on the forehead

❰❰ EMBRACE ❱❱ sender embraces receiver

❰❰ HANDS ❱❱ sender’s fingers graze the receiver’s fingers

❰❰ CUDDLE ❱❱ our muses cuddle

❰❰ BED ❱❱ our muses share a bed

❰❰ BRUSH ❱❱ sender plays with / brushes receiver’s hair

❰❰ GAZE ❱❱ our muses make extended eye contact

❰❰ ALMOST ❱❱ our muses almost kiss but don’t or are interrupted before they do

❰❰ ARGUE ❱❱ sender ends an argument with receiver with a kiss

❰❰ ARM ❱❱ sender puts their arm around receiver

❰❰ PULL ❱❱ sender pulls receiver close to them

❰❰ BACK ❱❱ sender touches receiver on the back

❰❰ SHOULDER ❱❱ sender touches receiver on the shoulder

❰❰ LEAN ❱❱ sender leans against receiver

❰❰ CARESS ❱❱ sender caresses the receiver’s cheek

❰❰ HAIR ❱❱ sender pushes receiver’s hair away from their face

❰❰ TILT ❱❱ sender tilts the receiver’s chin with their hand

❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ sender tilts the receiver’s chin with their weapon

❰❰ LEG ❱❱ sender’s leg touches the receiver’s leg under the table

❰❰ FOOD ❱❱ sender feeds the receiver

❰❰ WALL ❱❱ sender pushes the receiver against a wall

❰❰ FREE ❱❱ sender frees the receiver from restraints

❰❰ TACKLE ❱❱ sender hugs the receiver so hard they almost fall over / do fall over

❰❰ DYING ❱❱ sender finds the receiver near death

❰❰ PANIC ❱❱ sender comforts the receiver as they have a panic attack or get overstimulated

[sanakialtina]

in light of recent events

Sanaki + Almedha, from here

[sanakialtina]

“No longer your home,” Sanaki repeats, before settling on the bench herself, crossing her legs at the ankles. Even if the Goldoan princess is not one to acknowledge formal invitations, she should be no stranger to basic social etiquette, like how to avoid the faux-pas of glowering down at nobility above her station.

A scoff, and a considering tilt of the head. “You would really have me believe that, when King Kurthnaga himself broke Goldoa’s thousand-year policy of neutrality to rush to your side?” When her late brother, Rajaion… never mind. Not even Sanaki is shameless enough to prod at wounds so hastily bandaged over. 

In any case, if there’s anything she knows of the dragon tribe, it’s that they treasure their own, almost above all else. “I was certain your brother would welcome you back with open arms, despite your condition. So let me rephrase—” she leans forward, resting her chin on one hand, “—why did you choose to leave home once more, Lady Almedha?”

Her gaze, trained on the other woman’s face, glitters so sharply it could almost cut through the veil—or so Sanaki imagines, at least. “Of course, you don’t have to answer that question.” she continues, her tone clear that the offer is no reprieve. “if you like, you can tell me about your 'new start’ instead.”

@veiledowager

[veiledowager]

Lady Sanaki may be an Empress, making her bolder than her peers, but she is still a child who does not understand the power her words wield. A child who does not understand the thorns she finds herself in, when she speaks of Kurthnaga, of all of Goldoa.

Still, spitting venom at a little girl would bring Almedha little comfort. She bites her tongue, taking a seat on the bench where Lady Sanaki has perched herself.

That venom still sits on her tongue, though, as she decides how to answer. Who is Lady Sanaki, to question her motives? Why can they not just sit in silence and marvel at the wind blowing through the trees? Lady Sanaki's life is so short, and it has just begun. How much of her time does she spend gossiping like a clucking hen?

"Perceptive," Almedha mutters, her tone as even as a tide. "Goldoa was my home, until it stifled me. I longed to settle in a new place, amongst those who do not assume themselves to understand my position." She must keep her eyes averted, so as not to glare.

"I could ask the same of you," Almedha continues, letting the crouched threat hang between them. "But it would be rude of me. So I will not."

[veiledowager]

Activity Check: February 2026

meme credit to slanky/@duchaisruin

PASSED!

Total Skill Points: 6 >>> 7 Monthly: Allocated to Faith E >>> E+ Classes Accessed: N/A Classes Mastered: N/A Items/Skills Acquired: N/A

[veiledowager]

Almedha is a tall woman.

This is a fact that Sanaki has known for quite some time, from Tormod’s initial intelligence of Daein’s Liberation Army to when she first laid her own eyes on the queen dowager after the world was turned to stone. It is not merely the height, however, that renders Almedha's figure so distinctive in the diverse milieu of Garreg Mach’s townfolk; it is also the heavy black robes in the midday sun, the imposing veil that flutters down her back, a woman made shadow by perpetual mourning.

Sanaki's not so heartless as to be unable to feel sympathy. But if Almedha is clearly so inclined to spend her days licking her wounds and wallowing in her regrets, why here, why now? Those in glass houses should not throw stones, but as Empress, when faced with so volatile an individual—her duties beg of her to throw them anyway.

“Lady Almedha, queen mother of Daein,” Sanaki approaches in greeting, tone so formal as to be almost cold. It’s somewhat difficult to meet the Goldoan’s gaze evenly without tilting her head back in a comical manner, but that is a disadvantage Sanaki has long grown accustomed to. “Why have you once again ventured so far from Goldoa? Did your king brother send you?”

A gesture of the hand towards a nearby park bench that brooks no argument. “Sit with me. I would value your honesty.”

Almedha has been making an effort to find solace in the world outside her little home. It would do her no good to become a shut-in, to only have books for companions and stale air for sustenance. Even she must acquiesce that Garreg Mach, settled into a natural fortress of mountains and sparse forests, is beautiful.

She seeks to find that beauty alone, but no such peace can go uninterrupted. Lady Sanaki may not bear her usual Begnion regalia, but she is unmistakable all the same: the hue of her hair, her small yet poised stature, and her eyes, most of all, giving her away.

She is young, Almedha must remind herself. Not yet born when she had last set foot in Goldoa. Younger than most books that Almedha owns. Motherless, her childhood excised by her own birthright. As such, Lady Sanaki understands deference, although the kind she gives feels unwarranted.

Queen Mother. How long has it been since she's called herself that? Does this child know that it was a cruel lie, ripped from her arms like her own infant son?

The title does not deserve scolding. Lady Sanaki may only seek Almedha's company out of pity, but it would be foolish to scorn her. Although they have as much to talk about as a fish has business climbing a tree.

"Lady Sanaki." Almedha turns her head toward the girl, but she does not bow or grovel. "Goldoa is no longer my home. Nor would any other land have me. It seemed prudent to...start anew."

[wingboundwarrior]

Calling A Fish A Fish

↳ Fiora & Almedha Goddess Messenger, Epidemic Mission Board

[wingboundwarrior]

As a (now hobbyist) fisher who lives around the monastery, Fiora has heard tale of the Goddess Messenger before — a rare fish that graces the lake in a flurry of shining light, now and again, and it seems the time for the fish to surface has come. Serious fishers have been casting their lines in attempts to reel it in, but one evening, under the sigh of a soft evening, Fiora ventures out with a fishing rod, some bait, and the thought of catching at least a few fish to throw at a monger later in the week.

And if she ends up with a Goddess Messenger to show for it… she’d be astounded, really. But she doesn’t quite count on it. She’d always been good enough to bring home fish, but… enough to catch a fish like that? She isn’t sure.

There’s someone else at the water’s edge, staring in interest, as though waiting for the tell-tale sparkle of more than just moon shadow, and Fiora smiles lightly as she joins them. “Are you looking for the Goddess Messenger?” she asks. She sees that this person, however, does not have any fishing equipment with them. Perhaps Fiora was mistaken. “Ah… forgive me my forwardness, ma’am. My name is Fiora. I am with the Knights of Seiros…”

With that, she casts her line, not too far away from the woman.

↳ @veiledowager

[veiledowager]

Every day, Almedha takes a few steps closer to the heart of the monastery. She swallows the trepidation that rises in her throat when she thinks of the consequences, the possibility of her Son drawing near again. Of seeing herself in His eyes, of breaking to her knees and weeping, and losing him again.

Still, another curiosity has drawn her to the pond on the monastery grounds. She's been reading about the Goddess that Garreg Mach boasts about - purely in a scholarly fashion, not a worshipful one. There's a tale that's come up multiple times of a fish, gargantuan in size and golden in hue, carrying Her message from a distant sea. Whatever that may mean.

Truthfully, Almedha finds it quaint. It's hard to imagine the Goddesses of her own land, either of Chaos or Order, using a fish to speak to mortals. It almost endears her to those who worship Fodlan's Goddess, who bow to statues of Her Saints. What simple lives they must lead.

She fears, for a moment, that when company arrives, she will be asked to leave. It might be easy to weep for a soft-hearted knight, to beg him to let her stay just a little longer. But this knight is a tall, gracious woman, and she is not here to patrol; she is here to fish.

Almedha nods in the woman's direction, not yet ready to exchange the courtesy of her name. "The Goddess Messenger," Almedha repeats, gaze fixed on Fiora from under her veil. "Do you seek it, also? What would you do, if you caught it?"

[veiledowager]

Plotting Call - Epidemic

I'm a little bit late, but Almedha could still use some love.

❥Mission Task Board (Requires Blue Lion)

[Reason +1] Almedha isn't really motivated by finding a cure, but she is a strategist, so she enjoys looking at all of the factors in a given situation. If someone partners with her, she's likely to toy with experiment with her subjects to learn how magic affects them. Get a li'l mad scientist out of her!

❥Non-Mission Task Board

[Goddess Messenger] Almedha doesn't care for fishing, but she's read tales of the legendary fish, and she'd be willing to watch someone else reel them in for the spectacle. She'll make it worth your while, especially in you indulge her in some discussion about Fodlan's Goddess. She just hopes this one is kinder than the one from her own homeland. (lol. lmao.) - Taken by Fiora

❥ Other:

I would still love some interaction with Tellius muses! Even if they hate her guts! In fact, especially then!

If your muse is a beastkin, manakete, laguz, or otherwise non-human entity, please step right up! Almedha's got complicated feelings! She exists in a space where she is not a human or a dragon, and is unable to transform. Furthermore, because of the loss of her power, she has no distinct scent. Come along and ask her some prying personal questions! Nothing can go wrong.

Almedha volunteers at a local orphanage, as caring for underprivileged children has been one of the only prospects to spark a desire in her to grow and thrive. She becomes particularly attached to one of the kids and, just kind of decides to uhm. Take them home. She means no harm; she genuinely thinks she's doing a good deed by giving this kid a bed and three square meals. Maybe your muse is tasked with finding the missing child, and has been saddled with the unfortunate task of convincing Almedha that kidnapping is bad.

In addition to the orphanage volunteering, Almedha has found herself in charge of a branch of the Garreg Mach Youths. Normally, this is a position reserved for academy students or retired knights, but she has proven her prowess in battle strategy enough to be given a shot. She thinks it'll be no problem to instill some discipline in a gaggle of twelve-to-fifteen year olds, but it turns out it's harder than it looks. If your muse is gifted with kids, do you want to give her a hand?

Please DM me on discord or ping me in the server if you'd like to plot!

[veiledowager]

[cw: suggestive]

@duchaisruin asked:

The crisp snap of metal lingered in the air. Miklan tugged his belt around his hip bones. He wasn’t exactly hungover, but his senses hadn’t sharpened back to avoiding missing a buckle. Miklan pressed the soles of fingers into the grooves of the metal. With a strong tug, the brigand yanked his slacks into place. Content, he dusted himself off and stepped back into the markets littering Burrow street. “Don’t expect it to be a habit,” He didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder at his tryst. Why the hell would he? She had nothing else that could be of use to him.

She hadn't thought their composure would break here. Back in her little flat, maybe, where her creaky little bed might not have enough room for him to lay beside her. They're both they crafty sort, though; they could've managed.

Instead, she's lowered herself this far, amongst the underground streets that Miklan knows like the creases of his own knuckles. They hadn't been careful or quiet; anyone could have stumbled upon them, and she rather thinks neither of them would have cared much.

Almedha should be furious. With herself, with him, with the world -- but she cannot find her anger. Her skirts have been soaked in puddles , her face and hair marred by sweat and grime, and yet, Miklan has satisfied her.

She finds herself smiling softly as he walks away, as he tells her this won't happen again. It's as if he's convincing himself, more than Almedha. Men are always like this, acting like a woman's beauty has corrupted them, but they're always the ones who return when the nights get too cold.

Her laughter rings through the alley. Maybe it's for irony, crumpled against the filthy stone as she is. Maybe she just thinks it's funny, that Miklan is lying to himself.

She'll gather herself in time, slip back to the surface where her little bed waits. She knows Miklan never forgets a route he's taken.

[catchameme]

Send a word and "+ HC" and I will write a headcanon for my muse based on the word(s) sent!

[veiledowager]

subject in the foreground

almedha & shigure >>> continued from here

[pastbelow]

Ah, she only intends to watch. That’s familiar enough of a notion, even if he’s not sure what she could glean from the process of a complete stranger. “I’ll continue, then. Feel free to stay as long as you like,” he offers with a smile, more at ease.

The mother of the nest… he considers the scene and his work-in-progress, the latter technically sound but bereft of meaning. “I really have gotten worse at seeing what’s not there,” he muses, a little self-deprecating. “But you’re right. Even if she’s not in the final composition, considering the mother will allow the piece to say something different…”

So is the mother circling about the nest, shielding her eggs with her wings? Is she returning from a flight, twigs and mosses in her beak to keep her offspring warm? Intensely watched as Shigure is at the moment, both these ideas feel oddly dishonest. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sets his brush to a third.

When he next pauses in his work, there is the shadow of outstretched wings in the background, angled away from the nest and soaring off the edge of the canvas. The eggs and nest are brighter than before, now solidly the subject of the image, but set against a backdrop of uncertainty. The shadow asks: when did the mother leave? Will she ever return? Was she ever there, in the first place?

…Or maybe Shigure’s just projecting. Artistic intention means very little if it’s not clear to the viewer. “How is it now?” he asks quietly. “Do you feel anything when looking at it?”

He glances up, and still, he can’t read the expression in the woman’s veiled eyes. 

[veiledowager]

Almedha intently watches as the young man sets back to his work, grateful that she hasn't disturbed him too much. She's content to keep a bit of distance as his hand moves, like his brush is another arm, or an independent being entirely.

She expects, not really having a background in this sort of thing, that he will simply paint the mother bird perched atop her nest. Maybe he hasn't seen her yet, and can only guess at what she looks like. Is that what he means, by seeing what isn't there?

But she catches on to his intention: the nest is illuminated for the darkness beyond, the shadow of the mother's wings. She can't say why; she's just never had the vocabulary for this craft. But her eyes well with tears.

The shadow that she had cast over her own little son's life, wanting to reach out but not knowing where or how; wanting to see Him grow and hold Him as he cried, but never getting the chance. She thinks of her little boy, shivering and starving and alone.

All she has been, all this time, is that shadow.

Almedha allows herself a few moments of quiet, desperate grief, tears spilling across her cheeks. She hopes she doesn't worry the boy too much as she gasps and sobs and dabs at her eyes.

At last, she lifts her veil. The light is absurdly bright, and being seen feels far too vulnerable for the state she's in. But he must see what this piece has made of her, to assuage his worry that it may not be enough.

"My dear," she croaks, smiling brightly through her tears, "it's beyond lovely. I didn't expect it, but...I believe you've shown me something very important. Something I've been holding myself back from seeing. I'm very grateful."