𝑴𝑬𝑹𝑪𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑺

let's pay attention only where we are. there's enough beauty in being here and not somewhere else. VERONIKA MIKHAILOVNA GLASKOVA. five and twenty. artista. Незнакомец.

[veronikas]

⧼ matilda de angelis, demiwoman, she/they, twenty - five ⧽  — ♔ announcing VERONIKA GLASKOVA, the MAID OF HONOR from RUSSIA  ! it is a miracle that SHE/THEY survived the last five years, considering they are VIGILANT, ERUDITE, and FERVENT. i hope the plague has not changed them. they are FOR working together with the other kingdoms.

statistics

biography ( read below the cut for td;lr please ! )

as lowborn as they come, veronika is the younger sister to the tsarina. truly, she’s evgeniya’s first baby, and no one can take this from her <3

sad girl turned sad confused teen. fully just wanted to read and doodle but had to work alongside her parents instead

until! sis marries up and that gives her time to do the things she wants aka become a mega nerd. think of a nerd activity, she would do it! is good with languages, is interested in sciences and loves to read, but her real talent lies on art: she can draw, paint, sculpt, you name it and she will try to do it

has not received a title nor has any intention on doing it. is happy trailing after her sister helping her in whatever she can - - atm they are ‘maid of honor’ aka a lady in waiting, but also moonlights ( or daylights? they don’t stop working or thinking or doing things, if u haven’t noticed ) as one of their nephew and niece’s tutors and overall caretaker, so it’s very likely they will at times pop around holding two pretty weans hands and ranting about the walls’ murals in russian to them

despite almost ten years as a quasi-royal, hasn’t mastered the whole royal thing yet. still feels a bit uncomfortable at it - - is way too nice with the staff, and doesn’t care much for titles and reverence tho she will behave with manners...i guess...if they have to...

overall nice overexcited arts baby who can’t stay still and loves her family way too much. will bark if people look at their own in the wrong way, may also bite if prompted

when not on obligatory politically protective sister ™ mode will definitely be seen exploring and sketching everything and everyone she comes across. if you see her staring at you and then at her notebook, no you don’t <3

[cldgods]

@1642hqs-starters​​

Making a face at the food in front of her Atossa tried to find something she could stomach. Where many of the others here seemed to enjoy the feasts they were being given she couldn’t help but turn her nose up at it, as she had many things she found herself interacting with in France. “I don’t know if I truly don’t like it or if I simply hate it because it’s a reminder I’m not home.” Even the celebrations they were planning couldn’t put her in better spirits. She looked around them and felt a stranger, she was a stranger. Her place was in Africa, in Persia, not in France. 

-

[veronikas]

although veronika had never been very enthusiastic about the social gatherings of royalty — as they only evidenced how unfitting she was to them — if she was to enjoy one of their sort, it would be the feasts; true, sometimes she would end up having her meals in her private quarters, but she was often curious about new kitchens and their cuisines and, so far, the french's had not disappointed her, even if it was so very different from what she was familiar with. the disappointment in another's voice is noted, albeit not entirely understandable — she had never starved, but for the first part of her life, she would wait and hope the good bits of their lord's dinner would still be available ( thankfully, dmitri became good enough in putting aside some meat and sweets for his sisters ). 

"your majesty," for the woman was certainly a sovereign of one of the many visiting countries. "the french cooks seem to be competent, so i believe your longing for home plays its part well in your distaste. may i suggest some ... creativity ?" they pause, almost a bit concerned they may be out of place, but it is but a short halt before they are pointing to the plate of crêpes on the right of the offered table. "these crêpes, for example. apparently they are very popular in this land, but they remind me of my homeland's blini. ours are better, less sweet, but they are one of my favorite desserts, so not to disturb valisy, one of the cooks who have travelled with us, i've started to eat these crêpes. fill them with some fruit, look past the sweetness, and they are similar enough to enjoy." it is certainly a very optimistic view, almost sickenly so, they are aware, but it felt like a waste not to enjoy such rich foods. if it was all so unfamiliar to the queen, it only made veronika's interest about the other grow, and, so, they looked at the other woman curiously, expectantly gesturing to the many tables of food offered. "is there anything you see that resembles one of your favorite foods?"

[lustfulresentment]

closed starter for @veronikas​

He spotted Veronika on his way to shift out some of his guards. He had a few moments to spare so he changed course and made his way to her, Talaya right by his side. The two of them were very close in age so Cristo felt comfortable talking to her throughout the years since her sister married Nikolai. She has quite the brain, though she seems quite shy to admit it or take pride in it. “Hello, Veronika. I hope this country is treating you well?” Although she wasn’t at the top priority of his list of people to protect, her sister was and so it was his duty to make sure she was also taken care of when he could. “How many pages have you filled with drawings since our arrival?”

[veronikas]

improving their french was fine, but veronika was ever eager to return to the russian quarters to be among their own — or well, the tolerable ones, which comprised most of the staff, and definitely cristo. however brooding he may be, his heart was in the right place, and his sword was always ready to guard their family from whoever ill wished them, and, in that, they worked quite well together. “oh well enough,” it isn’t as if they would tell him otherwise, as they did not wish for anyone to feel his blunt on their sake, but this time, they did not lie. “have you been far from the castle yet or have you only been shadowing kolya? france is not too shabby, cristo, you must see it. it is so different from moscow but —” at his remark, they lets out a little excitable gaps, reminded of the small notebook in their gown’s inner pockets.

swiftly they take the notebook out and begins flipping through pages and pages of mindless sketches, until they finds the one they want to show. “the palace has amazing sculptures, but i’ve found a master whom i’ve employed and, you may frown upon it, but it is in a bit of distance from here, so i’ve had enough time to browse around the city, and look!” they approach him so he may see sketch of the tower of the fountains, an outstanding thing in the middle of all the common and the dead — the area around the cemetery had been apparently cleaned up for the foreign dignitaries if they were ever to visit the streets of paris, and, so, veronika had hopes the fountain would not be ground for infestation. moscow had no fountains, as they didn’t seem to fit in the old fashioned rus decour ( nor was it a very common mindset amongst muscovite nobility that the lowborn were deserving of it ), but veronika knew she would be a thorn on their brother - in - law’s side when the economy of their homeland recovered enough so this would change. 

“this country is so hot i can not bear to be much far from fresh water, so i found this thing a few days ago and, as they say, et voilà. is it not very pretty? it is name the fountain of the nymphs, because of the roman water deities on the stone, but truth to the matter it doesn’t give out that much water. well, enough to catch it in a bowl anyways which guarantees me miss talaya would very much enjoy it.” they glance at cristo’s steady companion with their best impression of a friendly smile, though the joy that had poured through their speech thus far seems to deflate a little as they gaze in worry to the beast. they did not understand very much about animals, and could only wonder how taxing the trip must have been for this one to be pulled away from everything she knew. “how has she been faring? and you, no swooning around the halls yet?”

[kronsela]

@1642hqs-starters​

cecilia sipped the brandy in her glass, sat upon a lovely settee in some parlour room belong to some duke or count or someone important in the grand scheme of things. it all felt the same to her, but she couldn’t deny that it made for some interesting times once everyone was suitably drunk.

“do you ever think about how besides a political free for all, this summit is more of a cattle auction?” she swirls her glass. “every available steer looking for a pretty cow. hm. it is awfully convenient, though.”

[veronikas]

.

nine years had not prepared them well enough for this, and, as veronika stood alongside the royals with their glittering silks, even whilst they wore some of their own, they felt they would much rather be even further in the back, with the help. cupping a glass of wine that remained untouched, their attention was stolen by the sharp wit of a blonde who may or not have already had more alcohol than she should have — veronika does not judge her harshly, for this was common enough ; they may not have been allowed to partake as much as others ( by insistent sheltering of their siblings alone ), but they could understand the appeal of intoxication in an event like this. "very well," talk of arranged marriages, quite frankly, bored them, but, then, it wasn't as if their fate was going to be decided by a ring on their finger ( or, at the very least, they would not be able or willing to find no matches in this country ). "would that make you the cow or the steer?”

[veronikas]

the summer shower falling on the past days had done its job in alleviating the scorching feeling of the european weather, but there was only so much it could do to a russian, born and bred with their furs and merciless low temperatures. whenever the opportunity presented itself, she would find way to either rest by the ponds in the gardens, or to hurry into her chambers to press herself against cold water cloths, lest she was to become a faint hearted thing ( something she was fortunate not to be, robust as a farmer, good for handiwork, as her mother would say ), convalescing in the halls. once the heavens have cleared, she was enthusiastic to return to the outdoors, and, at her arrival by the fountains, it seems she was hardly the only one: the many birds of the palace also found haven in the cool stoney surfaces, chippering, quacking and wandering around the place as if they owned it, careless about the human presence in their surroundings. 

in awe, they observed the little creatures swimming around the pond. a duck of green and maroon head was one of the braver ones, coming near where they sat with some curiosity ; it was a beautiful, odd thing, and, for the love of god, veronika could not remember its name at all. “duckie,” they calls out, reaching in the hidden pockets of their gown for a few seeds of raw grain so they could usher it closer, but although curious, the duck seemed a stubborn thing. “are you not coming because i do not know your name? but i know it! it is...um...a color. greenie! Чірок.” eurasian teal, a sarcelle d'hiver, but greenie is the closest thing they can recall, and, even with their best intentions and mindless blabber, it seems to refuse the offered food.

with 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐞 @ofdevotiions​

[aleksandranikiforovasource]

Aleksandra Nikiforova as Sofya in S02 of Godunov

[glcriousbeavty]

closed starter for veronika glaskova. ( @veronikas ) 

evgeniya remember vividly the day veronika was born. she had anticipated it since their mother shared the news — it seemed that daughter was happier than mother, but she tried to not focus on that. as much as dmitri was her twin, the one whom she shared the womb with, he was a boy, and boys sometimes didn’t understand ladies. evgeniya had hoped and prayed for a little sister, even if it break her heart to know they would share the same fate, doomed to a life of service, without knowing the wonders the world could offer to them. but she wanted someone who could understand her — her dreams, her hopes, everything. geniya couldn’t confide in her mother her deepest thoughts, because she knew her mother would scoff at her words and find everything childish, as she had heard before. she didn’t care if her sibling couldn’t comprehend her words. just to have someone to talk to the things she was too embarrassed to say to her twin was enough. 

and then veronika was born, and evgeniya’s world changed. she didn’t care if she had more chorus to do because of her baby sister — geniya took the responsibility to take care of her upon her shoulders, and everything was worthy it when she was able to see nika’s smile. her sister was her first child, and it made her prepared for when aleksander and yuliya were born. evgeniya knew how to be a mother because of veronika, and she was forever grateful because of that. and now, looking down at her daughter — who reminded the tsarina so much of her sister when they were the same age — she was even more grateful that veronika had prepared her for the tantrums of a five-year-old. “ yuliya, my sunshine. ” evgeniya started, putting a gentle hand on her daughter’s cheek. she couldn’t blame yuliya. she was in a foreign place, with people that didn’t speak her language, and missed her father — her tantrum was inevitable. “ you know your father need to work, don’t you ? he will be soon with you, but meanwhile, we need to wait for your aunt, alright ? ” the tsarina smiled at her daughter’s nod, pressing a motherly kiss on her forehead. 

footsteps broke the mother and daughter moment, but it was welcome. evgeniya’s smiled widen when she stopped her sister’s figure, motioning for yuliya to go greet her. a chuckle escaped the tsarina’s lips when yuliya sat up from her seat and went to meet her aunt in the middle of her path, hugging her legs. evgeniya soon followed her daughter, but not running — she almost did it, though. veronika’s company was always a cherished one, especially in a place where geniya didn’t know anyone besides hers and her husband’s family. “ sometimes i wonder if she does not like you more than me. ” evgeniya teased her younger sister, a fond smile on her face. “ she was almost crying because of her father before you arrived. ” the tsarina gave her daughter and knowing wink. “ how have you been, nika ? did you already explore any of the wonders at our reach here ? ”

[veronikas]

veronika was growing hopeful of her internship with master garnier — after a few days, she tried to organize her schedule so that she would spend every other morning on his shop, being one of the first apprentice to show up on the scene to gather the materials from the night before and to organize the place. instead of seeing it as demeaning, she took the opportunity to learn what she would need to buy when it came her own time to properly venture with sculptures, and to study the designs and to learn the true basics the work demanded, rather than what she was doing home for the past two years, just working with moldable things to try and make something without the help of unnecessary, strange tutors ( regardless of the compliments dmitri had uttered when she presented him a rough dinner set made out of earthenware — she had painted it prettily, and it had been one of her best attempts, but even so, it was only simple things, like the ones they would have had at home, and there was a sparkle of ambition prickling at her that wanted her pieces to belong to somewhere better than a servant’s quarters ).

it was, however well - intended, daring of her to venture so far from the palace, by herself, so, after running with a royal the other day, she decided to pay better attention to the hours, and always make sure she returned when the sun was still high in the sky. her fortune continues good enough for her not to encounter any of the romanov around the corridors of the russian quarters in the chateau, and she sends a pray for the almighty she does not to need to explain herself about the rough wool of the servants’ clothing she had decided to don when away from the palace. until her arrival receives an unexpected welcome — not entirely unpleasant, however. “my lamb!” the youngest glaskova’s rough voice is like honey as she returns the greet of her niece with enthusiasm, dropping to the floor so she may hug the child back, before swooping the toddler in her arms. “were you waiting for auntie to put you down for a nap? or would you like a bath to refresh you? it’s so warm, isn’t it? we can do it quickly!” the hot european summer had been one of her worst plights while in france, and she could only wonder how much worse it must feel to children, increasing the little ones’ tendency to crabbiness.

“well, of course she likes me better.” veronika declares, as a matter - of - fact tone. “don’t you see how i spoil my little mistress?” she teases, poking at yuliya’s sides, much to the amusement of the toddler, who only holds onto her neck tighter. dramatically stepping towards her sister to continue making her niece smile at the gentle jostling, veronika hums at the question posed by the tsarina. “maybe a little out of reach as well, but you know i can not be still for long.” as she takes a pause, the mischief in her voice softens into solicitude. "my absence wasn’t too sorely missed, right? i checked with madame perekuskhina before leaving and she informed me of some of your schedule — i guess it makes sense you’d want some rest after a busy day, ‘hadn’t noticed that. anything fun on your end, though? other than dealing with my princess’ tempers?” the gaiety resumes to her speech on the last bit, as she gently sways her body and yuliya with her.

[gxdlyprxde]

open starter: @1642hqs-starters​ location: halls of the french palace

If there was one thing Hanna learned growing up, it was how to be sneaky. Her knowledge of foreign affairs did not come because she was readily taught. Yes, she did have some education about that, but it wasn’t exactly what a lady was taught. Especially a lady who was barely in line for the throne. There was a new fire lit inside her for knowledge on the workings of the world once her father had died. She had forced herself to keep it at bay long enough to play the part she needed to, but now she needed information. 

Hanna wasn’t exactly sure of the specific information she needed, but she knew any detail would help. Which led her to moving through the palace, eavesdropping on doors and conversations she wasn’t a part of. The palace was filled with diplomatic families from all over, surely there would be something of interest to her. 

Her current position was leaned against a grand set of doors, straining her ears to hear any conversation inside. It was useless, she couldn’t make out any specific words. However, she could hear the sound of the giant doors creaking open. Leaving her no time to retreat, she simply put on her best smile, dusting off her dress like nothing had happened. “Good Afternoon.” she spoke in a polite voice. “It appears that I’m a bit lost.” She even gave a small laugh for good measure, “Would you mind telling me where we are?” The princess hoped this was enough to take the attention off of her, and the fact that she was definitely trying to listen to whatever conversation was happening inside. 

[veronikas]

.

historians would note that the first commonborn tsarina's parents were not exactly lovable — such unflattering reality would not stain deep, for evgeniya had taken an entirely different approach at childrearing than her parents, one that would show not only on the future heirs of the kingdom of russia, but also on her younger sister. though all but in name evgeniya’s first born, veronika was, still, her sister, and, instead, it fell to them to take care of the actual eldest child of their beloved sister, and all the rest; two from each of their siblings, veronika often had their hands full with nephews and nieces, and, although that was heart - warming, distractive and even flattering that they were trusted so much to be an active part in their education, they would lie if they didn’t say it was daunting. 

with the children away from home, their schedules should be maintained, if adjusted, and to attempt to maintain normality in such foreign lands was a task on itself — even for adults, so, for the small ones, it was even more of a challenge. it was as such that veronika felt herself gravitating towards the staff circles more than usual whilst in france, particularly that of the nursemaids entasked with the care of the few children who accompanied their parents to france. enrolled in a discussion about napping and bedtimes, with herself serving as a translator to those who could not speak a common language, the meeting is cut short as one of the maids of the group exit the room hurriedly to attend to her little lord, and as veronika accompanies her to the door, she faces the austrian newcomer. 

“good day,” the russian promptly greets, eyeing the woman with some curiosity. had she been trying to listen to the meeting? a silly scandalous story of this pretty lady hiding a child suddenly comes to her mind, and nika smiles, but shakes it off. “‘tis but the meeting of a few nursemaids discussing their brood, my lady. would you care to add your own childcare tip?”

[veronikas]

scotlandprincess​:

“Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae… On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond…” Geillis continued to sing softly to herself, her Scottish accent softening the r’s, and blurring the vowels. She trailed her fingertips across the flower’s heads, paying no mind to the darkening sky, but then she heard a harsh Russian accent, and she opened her eyes, and turned to the handmaiden beside her. She was instantly recognisable as a handmaiden – her demeanour, for one thing, and, though her manner of dress was foreign, it was still quite easy to tell. Geillis stopped walking, and looked up at the sky, watching the grey and white clouds stir together.

“Aye, it is likely to rain soon,” she agreed, calmly. “But t’is nay bother, I’m not so weak-bodied that a little French rain will make me unwell.” She tore her gaze away from the sky, and looked at the other woman. She had read of Russia, of their long and bleak winters, and she wondered if that was the cause of this distress. “Where I come from,” she said, “We are used to far worse weather than this. I’m quite sure you are the same?” She raised her voice at the end of the sentence, in a question, and looked at the other woman curiously.

veronika’s english was truly horrid, and add a heavy accent ( much like her own ) and gaelic, they were lost. still, the glaskova tried their best to understand the young royal, their forehead creasing gently as the other spoke — she was a stubborn thing, much like every other blue blooded they had met, but, somehow, her manner of speech was amusing to veronika. “is rain much different where you’re from?” it almost felt silly to wonder such thing, considering the weather in russia would demolish any constitution, even an allegedly strong one like this lady’s, but veronika was also ignorant about other countries, including france, seeing as a short trip to siberia had been the furthest they had gone from the borders of the empire. 

“is my foreign-ness so transparent, my lady?” that was a state she was familiar with, being the strange, outlander in the russian court, but she had hoped that, if not by accent, then by acclimating herself to the appearance of european courtiers, she may fit in better. a small noise of self - mocking escapes her lips, and she concedes a nod. “winters are brutal, even for those familiar with the russian climate, but there is plenty of sunshine during summers. nothing like this —,” most times, she felt like she was going to burn up, the strange weather causing her to retire to her quarters more often than she’d like to change her undergarments if she was required to remain proper. glancing at the scottish, she bites back on her pride ( and on her bottom lip ), before speaking again. “...maybe your joy in the rain would be with good reason, even if a summer shower can also carry maladies, and we’ve had enough of these for a lifetime.”

[veronikas]

whenever possible, veronika would take advantage of any open slots in her schedule; that, combined with a freedom not easily granted to those above her, guided her to the center of the city, in some distance to the palace and all the areas well - advised by the king’s ambassadors. perhaps it was a foolish endeavour, but there was only so much she could do within the walls of fontainebleau, and word of a master working on a commission had gotten to her ears a few days back, and, so, her quest had begun. she had left the castle at the crack of dawn, arriving to the workshop almost on the same moment from the other works; she had pestered the master to allow her to observe and take part of the crew for the good portion of an hour, until the threatening of violence — when begging failed, she resorted to planting a few golden coins on his hand so she would be able to work ( almost as if a ghost’s, her father’s voice berated her as she did so, but that was all the old patriarch was by now: a ghost ).

as the sky began to turn a soft shade of purple, veronika knew they were going to run late. kindness comes easy when it is bought, and the master offers them the company of one of his protegees, but promptly they refuse, not wishing to relinquish their independence nor give away their true whereabouts to a boy who may as well be as greedy as his employee. “i have a good sense of direction,” and they did, even in a different city, but even their reliable senses could betray them when they had spent the entire day walking around the borough, in and out of the workshop, while trying their best to serve as their position of the newest worker and also attempting to keep shadowing the master so they would learn his plastering technique.

she has reached one of the parisian squares when she sees the mop of curly hair that seemed all too familiar to her. “dima!” it is dark enough for the confusion, but once she is close enough to place her arm within his, it is clear this boy is not her brother. first, he is that: a boy; his eyes are also much too dark for dmitri’s, but, still, she recognizes him faintly — he’s with the iberian comitive back at the palace, but which one? and how high? furrowing her brows as she tries to guess, she remembers to give their bodies a respectful distance, thankful the poor light of the streets hid the glow of her cheeks. “deep apologies, sir,” she remembers her manners, bringing her arms close to her own body. “i thought you as my brother...the hair,” it is a poor explanation, but it seems she is full of those these days. “this is a long way from the palace.” that was also a hypocritical remark, but at least she had no land nor title to her name to worry about being alive to inherit.

with 𝐩𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐚 @glcriousbeavty​

[veronikas]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐎𝐕 — @encaseds & @glcriousbeavty + julian sands as mikhail & assumpta serna as ekaterina.

[friqhtfest]

@1642hqs-starters​ // open!

Most everything down to the carved columns of the French Palace was much different than Violet was accustomed to in her homeland. She took in the décor with wide eyes, making sure to keep her original reason for wandering the halls in mind despite her fascination with her surroundings; The garden. No matter where Violet traveled, she could always find comfort amongst the flowers and her nervousness called for a breath of fresh air. “Gabh mo leisgeul,” The brunette blurted out an excuse me in her own language to the person nearest, but quickly corrected herself, “My apologies, but can you point me in the direction of the garden? I seemed to have gotten a bit turned around.” Words were tinged with a strong Scottish accent as she made eye contact with the other, hoping that they would be the help she needed to reach her destination.

[veronikas]

seeking to complete the study they could not the other day, veronika marched down the halls of the chateau. the short storm had cleared, and the skies were transparent, allowing the sun to shine in a way that they were still attempting to familiarize themselves with — and that the birds of the premise certainly must enjoy as well. a familiar language takes their attention, causing their body to stop as they digest the tongue they now knew as scottish, even if they didn't understand any of it; the realization of that is enough to increase her solidarity towards the other, as they was well aware their sister sought to form a bond between scotland and russia, now that evgeniya had finally been able to meet her queenly friend, the scottish consort. 

"it is a surprise not more of us foreigners are completely lost within these walls, my lady — it is as if we need a guide, at times." of course, veronika would prefer not to after her first experience with one of the french ambassadors; instead, she was working on a mental map of her own at each corridor she went, trying to memorize the halls by the symbolism on its walls. "are you searching for your mistress, the princess?" the stuart only had the one daughter, and veronika could only hope she was speaking to a noble of lesser name who served under the princess, or, at the very least, the queen. to speak like this to the king's concubine would not end so well. hoping for the best, the russian opens a warm smile, and takes a step to the side, signaling for the other to accompany them."i have seen her a few days past on the gardens as well, it seems to be a mutual interest of you? i can walk you there without a problem, i was actually heading down myself."

[prophcsy]

               The French gardens were much warmer than those of the Russian Empire, the pale skin of the Grand Princess welcomed the unfamiliar warmth with pleasure, the kiss of the sun felt ravishing on her skin. The vivid colors of the gardens reflect nicely on her clear of her icy gaze, and there is a glow to the young royal that seems almost dreamy. Tatiana is full of excitement as she is no longer confined in the Russian palace, coming to France was one way to end her lockdown. She was allowing herself to enjoy for a few days before she began unraveling her own plans, all of which she first needed to confide in her older sister, as soon as she could manage an audience with the now Queen Consort of England.

Tatiana turns the corner thinking perhaps she might find some solace there, for the gardens seem to be beaming with royals from far and near, it is clearly one of the most popular places to be. Alas she turned into another part of the garden with more people coming and going, even then the glowing woman cannot help but smile. “Well, it seems there is no escaping the masses. I suppose after five years of being kept behind locked doors one much rather be in company of others.” She speaks, to no one in particular but she assumes more than person is to hear her. 

@1642hqs-starters​

[veronikas]

the gardens were grand and exquisite, and veronika was growing fonder of the observation opportunities brought by the place — while in russia, she had to be creative to get subjects of study while within the walls of the glaskov apartments in the kremlin, in here, she was not bound by precautions for plague contamination, nor the cold that often drove small animals away. as such, today, she sought out the less populated areas of the garden, in some distance of the cacophony of festivities, so she may observe and sketch any life forms different to what she knew. the one she finds, however, is not an unfamiliar one : a Обыкновенная кукушка, or a cuckoo bird, a nasty little thing that used to infest other birds’ nests. 

she has barely managed to form its dorso when a new group of people come in the area with their talking and laughing and wine, spooking away the damned thing and promptly killing her mood. helpless but to find a way around the society — either to join them or to take her leave — the glaskova shuts her notebook but keeps it in her hand as she tries to leave. that is when a familiar voice makes her halt her steps and, if veronika had any sense, she would have continued on her path, but there is a servant who stops close to them, blocking the way for her to escape her not so fellow russian. 

with their body growing stiff, they holds their notebook behind their hands, held in front of their frame, an attempt of a smile in their mouth.  "right," they had heard all about it, tatiana's stubbornness to leave the palace. veronika had felt just like her, desperate for a way out, but they prized their life and their beloved ones' too much to behave recklessly, even if their entire body itched for it. "the western cut suits you, tatiana." the youngest comments in their mother tongue, and they were right — even with the animosity between them, veronika was not blind not to notice the grand duchess had grown beautifully, and held tremendous grace in the manner she held herself, even in the odd manner of dress they had to adopt in this foreign country. "at least it is warm out here — these gowns are bound to uselessness once we return home."

[veronikas]

benevclentia​:​

 being  on  the  wooden  benches  of  a  curch  was  almost  being  at  home  for  inês.  she  had  spent  a  good  amount  of  her  life  inside  the  walls  of  chappels,  even  before  she  was  sent  to  the  convent.  but  being  inside  the  sainte  chapelle  was  something  else,  a  whole  new  experience  in  her  life.  it  was  almost  like  she  was  a  little  creature  in  an  immense  aquarium.  the  stained  glass  and  the  long  wall  made  her  feel  like  the  ceiling  could  touch  the  sky.  it  was  something  magical,  she  would  never  be  able  to  explain  this  feeling.

 she  accompanied  the  service  on  that  morning,  the  father  preaching  for  the  believers  while  they  prayed  the  rosary.  inês  could  hear  the  latin  words  of  the  prayers  out  loud.  a  unison  of  hopes  and  expectations  from  what  will  be  of  the  people  now  after  the  plague.  and  some  thanking  god  that  they  were  the  lucky  ones  still  alive,  or  with  no  losses  –  which  wasn’t  inês  case,  unfortunately.

 after  the  service,  she  waited  for  the  chappell  to  empty  a  little  before  standing  up  and  leave,  still  with  that  strange  feeling  inside  her.  the  simple  vail  was  on  her  hair,  covering  part  of  it.  the  voices  outside  the  chappell  were  loud,  groups  of  people  everywhere,  so  inês  didn’t  pay  attention  at  first.  only  when  the  other  was  by  her  side  that  she  looked  at  the  woman.  she  wasn’t  a  strange  face,  but  the  portuguese  woman  couldn’t  exactly  pinpoint  from  where  she  knew  the  brunette.  “  pardon?  ”  she  replies,  paying  attention  to  her  words  in  the  hope  to  understand  it  at  first.  but,  truth  be  told,  she  wasn’t  very  sure  she  understood  it.  “  modeled?  ”  inês  questioned,  still  trying  to  give  meaning  to  the  word.

had her accent been too rough for understanding? that constant worry, dampening her confidence from socialization within this foreign land, seemed better than the alternative, that was that she had been too flushed and appeared too much of a fool to make sense. after all, who bothered people like this? but they had already done so, and, despite the uncomfortable reddening underneath their freckles, veronika breathed in to gather themselves and try to explain. 

“what i mean is...” what did they mean? nothing very intelligent, for sure. “the saints' religious icons are often inspired by real people, beautiful people who sit and become the idolized flesh of our saviours. jesus christ, holy as he may be, did not have an imagery as memorable as some may think, at least not so much that a painter would know how to reproduce his physicality centuries after his passing.” if they had worried about being sacrilegious before, now they had definitely achieved that, but, again, it’s too late to go back now. “so, in this line, i was wondering if you had modeled before.” why is she still pressing on this? grimacing quietly, veronika almost wishes this lady would smack some sense into her.

[crowncds]

she had always found gardens peaceful- even as a child she had loved to walk the grounds of her father’s estate with the gardeners, listing the names of the plants in both english and latin, then as she grew, discussing where to place those newly acquired, how the weather was affecting the bloom, and what to expect of the plants that season. as queen, she found pride in overseeing the gardeners of the dutch palace, and aiding anyway she could to make their gardens some of the best in the continent. 

as lettice walked the grounds of the french palace, admiring the flowers in bloom and the shape of the shrubs, she was making quick notes in a small book. “they’re beautiful,” she remarked, nodding to some chrysanthemums. “i don’t believe i’ve come across this shade before.”

@1642hqs-starters​

[veronikas]

veronika’s interests seemed to be in a perpetual expansion ever since evgeniya’s marriage ; at times she wondered if her previous education — that, until ten years ago, had consisted of learning how to write and read under her siblings’ guide, based on whatever spare book they managed to get their hands on — had influenced her in her apparent boundless curiosity. ever inspired by the greats of the western renaissance, the subjects of many of the books she had first devoured ( and they were, perhaps, deemed unfitting or old fashioned, and, as such, maybe worthy to be discarded and given to the servants ), the youngest glaskov wished to assure she would be able to touch on everything, and so, made countless efforts to broaden her horizons each day more. 

their knowledge on botany, as an example, was...lacking, to say the least. for the past five years, the russian ground had struggled into blooming even the most necessary harvests, so anything else was seen as a frivolity that would not take root unless under close and — often deemed unnecessary — supervision, draining funds that could not be spared for it. as much as they understood it, observing now all the flora in the marvelous french gardens, veronika could not help but to be curious, and it seemed that the location was perfect to sate their wonders. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen one myself,” they admit, gaze wandering from the bush the other spoke of, to the notebook they kept. from a demure distance, veronika could tell that it was in a language they did not know, and that only made the flame of curiosity burn brighter. “do you grow them yourself, madame? mayhaps one of our gracious hosts would allow you to take some seeds of this particular breed. are they much difficult to cultivate?”

[glassapples]

@1642hqs-starters​

she had managed to leave her chambers. it was best for the second born to meet the other countries, wouldn’t it? yet why did she stand there outside the throne room, shaking. it was too soon…. no… to many people. the princess felt the breath leave her. was her corset too tight? she didn’t know. but she felt the tears well up in her eyes, her breathing rigid. “no. no no.” she whispered, turning and trying to hide behind an elegant tapestry. but her quickened breath and shaken inhales would give her away. “i can’t do this. i can’t….”

[veronikas]

.

although they had often been allowed to partake in grand gatherings within the kremlin, social and political, as a companion to their sister, veronika found it more suitable the same would not happen in france, unless openly requested — truly, they did not mind it, for it was less of a bother to continuously worry about how many people they may offend, either by a slip of their manners or simply their very presence. so they stood almost as if on guard while waiting for the end of this particular meeting, trying their hardest to keep themselves occupied. when the distraction comes, they almost feel sorry for wishing for it — the princess of france ( if the blonde blurr was related to the golden crowned queen ) was a pitiful thing, and veronika could not blame her as the news of loss within the bosom of the royal family of france had arrived even in moscow.

unable to be a mere spectator to the scene, veronika swiftly moved towards the tapestry; her hands itched to rip the thing out of the way so she would be able to be face to face to the princess, but that would be pushing, not only the grounds of prosperity, but also the personal space that could worsen the condition of the blonde. “your highness,” the russian calls out. “may i be of assistance to you? are you feeling ill?” god forbid the girl was having a bout of whatever took her sisters — even thinking that felt wrong, so veronika bites her bottom lip, chastising herself for the pessimistic thought. “i could help you loosen your garment, should you like. it is a rather warm day out, and a tight corset, combined with staying behind this thick rug will do you no good.”

[scotlandprincess]

@1642hqs-starters​

Geillis missed her home so much, it was like a stone in her chest. She carried it with her everywhere. She missed the dimly-lit throne room where her father used to sit, the green, dreich, grounds of their old castle, where she and Alasdair used to run wild as bairns. Being in France was her God-given duty, and she would not dare question the will of the Lord, but that did not make it any easier to obey. She kept her home alive by speaking Gaelic to her Scottish-born ladies, and only eating the French food she found tolerable, and taking long walks in the grounds of the palace, which were usually full of pompous flowers and other visiting royalty and nobility.

The weather that afternoon was stormy – the sky was as grey as a whetstone, and most of the other folk were staying inside. They weren’t hardy enough to brave the imminent rain. But Geillis decided to go into the palace grounds, to feel the damp air, heavy with an incoming storm. She allowed her ladies leave of her, and wandered through the gardens of the palace, singing an old Scottish ballad herself, and letting her fingertips brush against the heads of the flowers. She knew the words from the clan leaders, who often sang it when they were deep in their cups. “By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes… Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond…” She closed her eyes, and breathed in the scent of petrichor, and could almost pretend she was home.

[veronikas]

the weather of russia was an unforgivable one — the times of summer rains, faint and almost sweet, could be counted in their hands, but storms of water and ice were often the doom of veronika’s homeland ( contrary to the belief of those who blamed it on their sister ), and they had learned how to avoid them from the time she was but a child, being told to run home before the weather took a turn for the worse. it is that memory of self - preservation that keeps the glaskova within corridors with safe roofs over her head, but the melody that comes from the uncovered path of the french gardens tells them a beautiful voiced someone did not have their sense to avoid more troubles when the countries here united are just done with plague — or simply, the nightingale had not taken notice of the gathering of the clouds. tightening her lips in a line, veronika dares to step into the grass, almost twisting her nose at the toxic scent of rain and holding onto her skirts so they would not get in her way as she tries to quickly accompany the scottish princess’ pace. “my lady,” they beckon the other, concern peeking through their voice. “i believe the weather may worsen soon, and your ladyship distances from safety at each step. you risk falling ill from the dampness if not the forthcoming precipitation...”