A GRACEFUL GESTURE signalled for a female attendant to open the door leading into the consorts rooms, revealing beyond them a sight as welcome as the rays of the sun were during those cold days in a florentine palazzo. “ please, leave us. ” nehir instructed the women within her rooms as she rose from her seat, extending her hands with open arms and a welcoming smile of warmth. in days of political turmoil and worry in regards to the health of her son, zuleyha had been the silver lining of nehir’s dullest days and the stars brightening the darkest of nights. she was a gift from allah himself, nehir was CERTAIN of it, and she was not shy to express such sentiment to her daughter either.
“ the light of my life, come and sit with me! tell me of your day thus far. dare i assure my heart that florence has not yet seduced you so that you have forgotten your own mother? ”
Her spirits rose at the mere sight of her mother, whom was dearest of all to her. With a tender smile to the passing woman of her mother’s company she didn’t hesitate to enter her mothers arms in fond embrace. “Anne, there isn’t any one place or person who could beget me to forget you!” She replied with a soft laugh as she shook her head at her mothers usual exaggerations. She held her hand in hers as she lead them to sit alongside the open windows, for the refuge of the cool breeze.
“My day has been...long. I find myself missing our home more and more so as of late. Perhaps it’s the lull of melancholy that has fallen upon Florence, reminding me of the peace and comfort it seems we are so far from.” She admitted steadily. Her initial excitement of their new surroundings was slowly fading as tensions grew within their host castle. What troubled her the most was the discomfort and trauma experienced by her own family. Aware of the current state of Branimira Sultan, Melek, and her Hala. And the anger in which her father was likely roiling.
With several weeks having passed since their arrival in Florence, Zuleyha was feeling the nausea of homesickness bleeding into the excitement and wonder of her new surroundings. It was to be expected as Florence was nothing like Istanbul, the differences were so plan and clear, the difference in cultures even more drastic than the land and architecture. Seeking out her mother’s company was the perfect remedy for her current ailments, though whether or not she missed home or not she couldn’t go long without checking in with the older woman.
After confirming with her ladies that she was indeed in the Ottoman palazzo, in her rooms Leya stood at her door promptly after, knocking lightly on the heavy wooden door.
In the the wake of devastation wrought the city in weeks past, the earlier air of excitement and festivity had dissolved with the tensions nearly palpable. Given the lose of lives, and period of mourning it was just as well for everyone to be allowed the time to settle. However, Zuleyha found herself whispering the same prayers at dawn and dusk. The hope that situations didn’t worsen, and that everyone healed well and painlessly.
Having grown restless that afternoon alone in her quarters, she’d decided to take a stroll, finding herself in unfamiliar corridors in the hopes of exploring more of the art the place had to offer. However any thoughts of her earlier lans fell away when she caught sight of Princess Aularia seated beside one of the many windows that lined the long corridor. A soft smile touched the woman's lips as she approached her.
“I hope I’m not intruding, Your Highness. I was just wanting to find out how you are doing now. I heard you were hurt in riots.” She began as she came to stand alongside the window.
❝ ⤚⟶ FLORENCE, 1456. thanks is given by the SULTANA OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE, ZULEYHA OSMAN, from THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE. they are at best SCRUPULOUS, and at their worst OBDURATE. whilst sojourning in florence, their ambition is to SUPPORT HER FATHERS POLITICAL AGENDA. ❞ penned by A; CST, SHE/HER, 23.
FULL NAME : Zuleyha Irem Osman
TITLES :
Sultana of the Ottoman Empire
BIRTHPLACE : Istanbul
AGE : 23 Years Old
LANGUAGES : Ottoman Turkish, Arabic, English (heavily accented / broken)
RECOGNIZABLE FEATURES : Plump lips, two dainty moles one to the right of her nose, and the other just below her bottom lip also on the right side of her face.
REPUTATION IN FLORENCE :
Leya doesn’t have much of a reputation in Florence as of yet, the most that would likely be known about her is she is the Sultans elder daughter by his second and currently favored wife. Truth be told there is little of actual substance known about her in Constantinople either as she’s always been someone who keep her cards pretty close. Her overarching personality is known by all, her compassion and strong will widely known but there are few that know her beyond the trivial.
WANTED CONNECTIONS :
Childhood companions
New friends made in Florence
Her guide to western culture
Royals outside of the O.E she’s had interaction with in the past, maybe someone she’s kept in touch with via letters?
Additional Information
Zuleyha from a young age was a girl that was quite self sufficient and content with her own company. As well learned and well mannered as they come though not without an opinion, which she shares should the opportunity present itself. Unfortunately in her world, in her family such opportunities are far and few between. When she was a girl she had all sorts of fanciful ideas about the world and what her life might turn out to be, however as she’s grown older she hasn’t become so much a cynic but a realist. She knows her place in the harem, and the reality of how her life takes shape is in the hands of her father, and eventually husband. She just hopes that she has endeared herself to him enough so that her father has some care when deciding her fate.
When she learned her family would be traveling to Florence, for the first time in a long time she felt genuine excitement, this is her first time traveling so far from home, and that to to a Christian nation. Her usual calm and composed demeanor gave way to how elated she truly was. Excited for all the foreign art and architecture, and food and culture they’d get to experience in Florence.
Some of Leya’s favorite pastimes through the years have been reading as well as writing. She writes poetry she never has any intention of showing anymore, written on hand drawn and painted pages of her finest calligraphy. She is deftly afraid of getting on the back of her horse and has adamantly refused to try since she was a little girl. The gardens are her least favorite place in the palace as she doesn’t like to be surrounded by the reminder of how fleeting time and beauty can be.
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