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May the Bouquet Rest In Peace [PK]

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May the Bouquet Rest in Peace


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”I’m going to pick a bundle of flowers for you, I’ll be back shortly!”

21st of The Grand Harvest, 1716


 

O’ the hour ‘pon the morn was early, the birds sung rhythmic songs to one another in festivity and delight, for summer had dawned upon the realm; crops were ripe, the grass was greener than the emeralds mined, and the flowers bloomed. “Farewell, sister!” Chimed a youthful Staunton, happy as happy can be, and with that, did the young eagle flock for the fields of flowers yore, yonder the looming, rigid walls of Helena. Her feet drifted upon the roads of dirt alike a bear dragging its paws with it, and she took in the scenery before her. Pallets of gold, emerald, black, and blue. An artist could have had his due with the myriad of sweet colours in which the Grand Harvest had brought this fateful year, on seventeen sixteen.

 

Alas, all would not be well, for the one such girl dubbed Eleanore Louise Staunton. For she was as right as the heavens above ‘till the sounds of thunder came bustling through the fields of glory. Men atop steads of mountainous creatures, horses clad in torn materials- their colours, unidentifiable. A raiding party, or bandits, or even marauders for sure. Poor Eleanore, for her dainty legs could not carry her far, and as she ran as fast she could, did her heart beat as fast as a thousand drums. Before the youth knew it, she was struck asunder, and her body toppled to the floor; the poor girl was unconscious, at the mercy of these brigands.

 

As rats do come the heavens split, when the rays of sunshine beams down upon the earth below is when the bandits fled. As soon as they captured the girl they rode elsewhere before the men of Helena could notice their patrol, leaving naught but the harrowing laughter of wickedness in their swift escape. To their leader, they went, and within seconds upon hitting the earth did the young Eleanore awaken; reflexes came to, and she sobbed horrifically. Her scalp, beating fiercely, she looked skyward for the man whose drapes were more noble-like now- clearly, this was meant to be. Evidently, these were no bandits at all, and this was the price to pay for war with Empires and Kingdoms. She pleaded as best she could, enticing the leaders’ heart to ache in pain for the young ones story. Offering her a truce, a newfound family, perhaps even one better than the Staunton King could ever provide with his undue absence from their lives. The man wanted more Staunton’s, more death, and more decay; in all of Eleanore’s heart, she would not betray her dearest sister, Victoria Alexandria.


 

As death comes for us all, it came for Eleanore more shortly than she deserved. For her neck was met with the mans’ rigid blade, and severing her head from torso. Her last, fleeting breaths were in prayer to her dearly beloved sister, and alas.. Eleanore was no more. A Staunton was taken from the world; a price to pay, for war waged.


 

Soon after was Eleanore’s two parts left at the gates of Helena, not only as carrion for the crows, but to serve as a reminder to the poor folk; that there was no honour in warfare, and there was no pleasantry in banditry.

 

May she rest in peace, Eleanore Louise Staunton, dated back to The Grand Harvest, 1716.

 

A child whose life was taken.

 

 

 

Credits to @Violino for writing this ❤️

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Mosley Staunton wouldve heard the news about his cousin, with great grief he would hold the hand of his cousin and would go to say “Rest in the seven skies Young one.”

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Victoria Alexandria gazed out into a field that once bore a bounty of flowers. It now burned with the hate and scorn of man concluding the battle at Helena. Tori’s oceanic eyes no longer held childlike innocence or wonder, just a blank gaze begging for closure. The pair came into the world together, and Eleanor was taken from her- leaving her alone. That little eagle ventures out over the horizon each day, until the flowers, penetrate the Earth’s surface once again. In her hair would be a crown of flowers, as a memoir to her beloved sister, Eleanor Louise Staunton. 

 

 

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Posted (edited)

Agnes clutched at the parchment with stiff fingers. Being away from home had taken its toll. The woman clawed at her heaving chest as a grieving wail escaped her. Her precious child; her beloved daughter; a corpse. Collapsing into a chair, she curled herself into the comfort of her own warmth. Bile coated her throat as nausea struck her trembling frame. She pressed the back of her hand against her pain-contorted mouth, muffling the cries of a regretful mother. She rose when the sobbing had subsided, swaying. She called for someone to ready the horses in preparation for her return. Now she needed to salvage whatever bonds she could with her remaining daughter. “Fly free, my little bird, fly proud.” She whispered, gazing to the window with sodden cheeks. “May you rest in the seven skies.”

Edited by VintageMystic

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Percival Staunton smashes his room to pieces as a large piece of him dies.

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“Rest in peace.” Alexander would sadly say

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“How cruel.” Some elf comments at such a horror, frowning deeply.

 

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