TO SOAR

[Ivoreyy 2303]

TO SOAR

“We shall learn, Mariya, through nothing short of blood and tears. For we are crows, and that is what we do.”

 

***

Mariya’s eyes narrowed upon the faded parchment, her feathered quill in hand, hovering above the blurring array of words. She stared, watching as the letters and lines swam before her eyes. The hours had droned on, and yet, she felt she had done not a single thing. Even given the growing stack of letters upon the Mezarin’s table- she had not made the smallest of indents on her workload to come.

 

Her gaze grew vacant, no longer attentively looking to the papers- instead, she looked toward nothing at all. With a small noise, the ink upon her quill simply rolled off, soiling the page with a blackened blotch. Such an occurrence caught her attention once more, bringing the idle soul back to the land of the living. 

 

“****” She muttered under her breath, raising the page toward the firelight, assessing its damage. With a huff, it was carelessly tossed aside- joining its comrades in the growing pile of errors. She extended her hand, reaching to hastily retrieve a new sheet of parchment. Her hand however fell upon an empty desk, for the papers were long ago used, leaving none to be found.

 

With a depleted sigh, she wearily moved to stand, retreating to the outskirts of the palace, papers left within. Helena’s people continued to mill about, even as the sun began to fade once more into the abyss of nightfall. Such a city was always vibrant, lively. It was something that Mariya had come to both adore, and despise. She gripped tightly upon the wall’s edge, her bitten raw nails digging into the stone’s surface. The constant spirit chipped away at an already fragile countenance- weighing heavily upon her mind. Each day and night now seemed to blend into the next, allowing for the cyclical aridity that she’d grown all too used to. Tonight, she decided, she had not the strength to brave the city, instead returning to the warm seclusion of her bedroom’s fireplace.

 

---

She was in the heart of the Alimar manor, nothing but a child running rampant- hair left in unkempt tangles, clothes in disrepair. With a flurry of anger, she reached upward for the ceramic pots by their bedside, smashing them to the floor. The pieces scattered around her, dust coming to settle in a thin layer. 

 

The princess grinned towards the pair, and for once, they did not show the too familiar stain of disappointment. As she reached for a second, a small glass crow- he extended a hand, the youth placing it down as she flung herself into his arms.

---

 

She looks upon that same small crow, its place still sitting neatly beside her own bed. The passing years showed nothing, its surface still as pristinely smooth as it had been all that time ago. It mocked her.

 

It mocked her in the fleeting shadows of faces past, of people and time lost. She ached for the bliss of her youth, the ignorance that came along with childhood. She ached for the embrace of her aunt, the quips of her uncle. Not much was capable of making such a stoic woman smile- yet always, they could. 

 

She traversed the length of her room. Back and forth, her paces grew ever more intent- ever more anxious. When she halted, an eerie silence filled the expanses of the room. It was near dark, par a small panel of the dimming moonlight casting patterns upon the colours of the floor. She seated herself by the fireplace, eyes settling upon the ever crackling embers of a flame long passed. 

 

The words of her prior written letter lingered mercilessly in her mind. Taunting her, as a predator would its prey.

 

 

---

“Are you scared, Mariya?” He quipped, peering down toward her from the stone stairs. Though a year or so younger, the boy stood almost a foot taller than the teenage princess. Intimidating to some, perhaps- yet never to her.

 

“Never.” She narrowed her eyes in deep contemplation of her next move. It was a game, afterall, and she had not even the slightest of intent to lose. Thereafter within her silence, she simply took a single step backward- offering nothing more than the shadow of a grin, watching his countenance flicker with fear.

 

Without leaving a moment to retaliate, she quickly moved to skid her weight underneath his arm, landing carefully behind him- now atop the stairs. His mouth fell agape, so clearly caught in surprise. With a defeated sigh, he could only whisper.

 

“Please do not push me down the stairs”

 

And she didn’t.

---

 

Her hand shook violently. Not a matter of cold, no- it was the shaking of fear, of panic, of regret. Within the privacy of her room and seclusion she allowed herself to break. Not a soul would hear the stifled scream.

 

She sent her golden tiara flying haphazardly through the air, striking the opposing wall. Papers and ceramic figures in the same received no mercy, leaving an array of broken pieces. Nothing was spared, not until the dust settled upon her bedroom floor. And when it did, when she saw the horrors of her own doing- shards of the rubies from her Mother’s crown, she wept.

 

---

She was a difficult child, as Marius had told her. Too often she slept restlessly, leaving poor Valera to tend to her from the break of dawn to the setting of the sun. She played for her- melodic tunes coaxing a screaming child to slumber. 

 

The chords of the piano rang out across the palace’s walls, heard even within the confines of her nursery. Barely a child- she remembered little of the image, simply the sounds. To this day, a barely used piano sat within her chambers, longing evermore for the warm touch of a mother lost.

---

 

She read and re-read the contents of his letter, hours spent pouring over the mere page of words that had struck her. Truly, she knew why he’d not have told her- for Adrian was a man born of pride, of a warrior’s honour. His thoughts, as she imagined, were of wishes not to taint years of memory in a single of sickness and pain.

 

In their last words spoken, she’d argued- snapped and huffed in frustration. He’d asked her of one simple thing. To wait.

 

And wait for him she did. She waited whilst the armies marched, the soldiers left. She waited in the months of silence- so dutifully continuing each day.

 

And finally, she’d waited for his return. 

 

Yet return he never did. 

 

 

---

The elongated skirts of her wedding gown trailed behind her, smothering more than simply the chair she sat perched upon. Behind her, her ladies- the two women whomst prepared her so skillfully on this day. Milena tended to her hair, the woman’s careful fingers delicately creating a most spectacular onyx braid. Sofiya stood beside her, incessantly fiddling with the angle of her crown.

 

“Oh, Mariya!” Her sister cooed, a grin set across her features as she took a step back to examine her handiwork. Milena moved in a similar fashion, however leaning forth, lowering her tone to barely a whisper.

 

“The Duchess to be, Princess of Haense. Long may you reign, Mariya Blackwing”

 

Peering forward into the mirror, it was a sight to behold. Three women of entirely different demeanour- yet together, they stood. A triumvirate of crows, bound by more than just blood.

 

Today, she told herself, she’d seal an alliance for Haense. For the first time in the girl’s life- she would make her Kingdom proud.

---

 

She strode to the floor below her room, eyes peering upon the bedrooms of her four children. Joseph, Anna, Philippa and George. Each of them bore such a striking resemblance to him, yet barely of her. Her eldest- six, youngest, two. 

 

She stepped into the nursery of her youngest two- each cradle facing outward from the adjacent wall. They slept soundly, peacefully. She leant forth toward little Philippa’s frame, running her fingertips gently atop the child’s head. The infant stirred, and Mariya retracted her hand instantaneously. 

 

“Until Morn” She whispered, her hand lingering upon the cradle’s edge. “Perhaps we shall take a stroll together, little one. I’ve yet to take you far from the palace.” 

 

With that, she carefully closed the nursery door once more.

 

Wandering through the now darkened hallway, Mariya’s eyes fell upon a portrait she’d so recently hung on the wall. She smiles at the memory of the nightmare it was, coercing the children still for hours on end. 

 

Her own figure was placed near the middle of the frame, the only one of five to be seated. Beside her, Adrian- donning his military formals, a hand upon her shoulder. George sat upon her knee, Philippa held closely by. Joseph between them, attaching himself to each sibling’s arm. 

 

It was Anna, in fact, who stood the furthest away- hugging the opposing side of the Lord Protector. She was barely separable from her Father, ever since birth. 

 

The very thought made her avert her gaze once more, continuing intently upon her path out of the Mezarin.

 

 

---

“Lady Duchess!” Cried the nursemaid, her face alight in a jovial grin. The aged maid rushed forth, moving to pass the enervated woman what she’d so prized. A birth that bore difficulty, too much difficulty. There was too much blood, too much pain- yet even still, she prevailed where her mother had not. 

 

“A boy, my lady.” 

 

She peered down toward the restless infant- the child’s eyes casting an all too familiar pale green. Her pride swelled, a rare moment in which she could prove only pure love toward the boy.

 

Yet he cried, relentlessly so. She could not quiet him, not calm him. In the coming days the governesses all too often ushered Mariya off, knowing that the young Sarkozic would not sleep peacefully in her presence. Everything had been made perfect by her hand- his room, his clothes, his very name. It pained her that the only thing not perfect, was her. 

 

For when she’d held Joseph in her arms, he felt as much a stranger as the milling courtiers.

---

 

The endless hills blended into one, a simple blur in passing. Though she walked slowly, time seemed to leave her with no conscious say. Each step, one closer to the place in which she’d always felt a home.

 

Though the city stood no longer. Instead, greeted with barren plains and mismatched ruins. She quints, surveying the land with a thin scowl. All that remained was the distant Prikaz, its walls standing despite surrounds of buildings gone. She stepped forth into the palace- a world of memory overcoming her fragile mind. Despite the silence, she could almost hear the voices of her youth echo throughout the halls. 

 

“There is nothing left for us but death and disappointment, Mariya” Chimes a familiar voice

 

---

“Now. Walk around the room for me, princess" Muttered the man, gently placing an older history tome upon the ten year old’s head. “Be careful, you mustn't let it fall.”

 

Mariyas eyes craned upward, narrowing in determination. Though she so loathed her etiquette lessons, there was not a chance that the girl would allow herself to fail. She was stubborn, yes- yet her determination to succeed greatly outweighed any resent she could possibly hold.

 

Prancing around the room in a practiced fashion, she barely allowed the book to move. Not even a single inch. Each step was careful, calculated. A smile of pride began to creep across her features, smugly displaying her inherent skill.

 

"Her posture is remarkable for her young age." Commented Joseph Marna, rubbing his chin.

 

At that, she paused in stride- taking a hand to extract the book from her head. She extends her arm forward, carelessly releasing the book, allowing it to fall to the floor. The youth tilted her head to one side, meeting his gaze.

 

“Done.”

 

The man released a short sigh "Acting brash and stubborn might seem wise and truthful to you, but others will someday use such knowledge against you, Mariya. Once you grow older, you shall be more involved in court life as is natural.” He moved to pick up the book, holding it tightly within his hands.

 

“And in court, the greatest strategy is to hide your hand from others. Never for them to know what you think, yet to always know exactly what they think."

---

 

Mariya had long ago asked if it would hurt, to die. Merely a child in her curiosity, one that’d feed into her later years. Though never fearing death- it fascinated her all the same.

 

“We are warriors.” She’d told her niece, Karina, in the days prior. “Not because we’re born strong, no- but because we fight each day as if it were to be our only.” It was a lasting regret that she had lied to the child. For she did not fight.

 

As she found, it did not hurt. 

 

The assailant struck her crudely; without hesitance. The two never broke glance as the instrument became wedged into the Duchess’ middle. Her red gown stained redder, the scent of blood creeping through the ruins of her familiar home. 

 

In her final moments, she thought not of the pain, not of the suffering she had so long endured.

 

She thought of her sisters, brothers. Though time and place had led them apart- Sofiya, Andrik, Matyas, Aleksandr and Adryana all held a piece of her soul as their own. Milena, though not a sister of blood, crossed her mind also.

 

She thought of her children: how they’d grow older, how they’d marry someday, how they’d have children and grandchildren of their own. She prayed to whichever god would listen that in later years they’d come to know the rise and fall of their parents. A fleeting hope that perhaps, they’d not despise her for leaving them too early.

 

The single other figure caught her as she fell toward the ground, holding the dying woman close. She ran her hands through the duchess’s hair, her own tears falling to mix with the pooling blood. 

 

“For we are crows, are we not? Ones who were born to soar.” Mariya repeats a statement spoken years prior, her fading voice barely that of a whisper. 

 

“Soar then, my crow.” Responded the woman, looking upon the Duchess’ ghastly silent frame. “Be amongst your exalted kin”

 

“And say privej to that Valera for me.”

 

---

 

MARIYA ANGELIKA BARBANOV

PRINCESS OF HAENSE | DUCHESS OF ADRIA

 

 

==

15th of the Deep Cold, 1705 – 6th of the Grand Harvest, 1738

==

 

Spoiler

 

A character I’ve really adored playing since the moment I started, when she was five. It’s been some incredible roleplay, full of great moments and memories. But, as any good narrative- there’s always an end. 

 

Cheers for a good time :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Icarnus 1669]

 

Adrian returned to his lodge on the outskirts of the Crownlands and at once set at making himself comfortable.

He removed his overcoat and spread it over the back of his arm-chair, casting his boots into a dusty corner. He had always reckoned life to be at its best when he was so busy with the life of a regimented soldier and a father that there were not enough hours left in a day to be overcome with boredom. From birth this credo followed him, the man acting as a soldier from the age he could hold a sword. But in his recent years, somehow, he was beginning to find the days oh so long. Too long, even. His tightly-strung propensity for labor and literature began to grow sick and tiresome.

 

Seldom now did Adrian wake up early and read over old law manuscripts until the quiet light of early dawn

as he had so often found himself occupied with in the past. Sometimes, he would just lie there, the blankets pulled up to his chest, and the idea of perhaps giving in and not leaving his bed for the day seeping into the dark crevices of his aging mind. Lying in his late-mornings, oft into the mid-afternoon, he began to feel a terrifying lack of spirit in his surroundings and achievements. It seemed his body felt this too, his heart, still filled with the vigor of a man standing in the prime of his years, taking the most abortive of murmurs to give out – the organ stopped dead, taking Adrian with it.

 

He clasped dearly the last vestiges of his livelihood: his wife, his children, his Empire.

 

This isn’t the end, surely – for the skies await us my dearest.

 

Spoiler

 

[Axelu 4333]

Milena Ekaterina went through the daily proceedings of her day, mirthful and content. Satisfied with the evening’s end, she’d resign to join her daughter and son in their chambers. Suddenly, a rap upon the door could be heard. Dutifully, she went to check on it. There stood her husband, downtrodden and with a note coiled in his hand. 
 

Ushering him away from the children, she urged him to make her privy to his sentiments. He merely handed her the envelope, resting a hand against her cheek as she glossed over its contents. 
 

Then there was silence. 
 

The young queen fell to her knees, relying heavily on her husband’s frame for stability.  

She did not speak again that evening, having lost her truest friend and confidant.

 

((sorry for the formatting! On my phone. I’ll fix it later ))

 

[Blanchables 528]

Pierce would be read the news aloud from his bedside, his form unmoving as his dull eyes drifted around. Not a whimper or expression would be seen, yet a lone tear would drift down the man’s cheek, as his thoughts continued to wander.

[PrincessSnowie 539]

Julietta would hear the news of her cousins passing, as she sits herself at her desk, writing in her diary, pausing to think of a dramatic Illatian quote in her memory..

 

“Alas... Another to fall... What a world we live in, left darker by your passing..”

 

She’d pause reading her quote as she clutched her pearls before sighing as she closes the book....

[libertyybelle 6187]

Karina’s small hands grasped into fists, her knuckles turning white. The news had come, and for a moment the girl remained quietly still. The youthful spirit began to sob, drenched in the tears she released when the words were spoken. She remembered the time by the river where she had spent with Mariya, when the duchess had soothed her coughing fit with strokes upon her hair and kind words escaping her lips. 

 

The princess vowed never to let the memory of her aunt die. Though she did not understand death. Karina understood she had lost her inspiration. 

She understood she had lost another crow.

[Eryane 3698]

Valera welcomed her daughter into the seven skies with a warming, motherly embrace- having only imagined what it would be like to see her after all the years that they had been separated. From above as time passed, she had watched and seen her daughter grow without the abilities to comfort her or to be the maternal figure she yearned for.

 

She left her eldest at too young of an age -Mariya being only three at the time- with hopes and dreams that she would be able to see her daughter flourish into something wonderful. Those dreams were certainly fulfilled. ”I’m so proud of you, dear,” were her first words to her daughter as they were at last reunited. 

[Emenzi 1069]

Andrik after comforting his wife the best the man could would retire into his study, moving over the to pour himself a cup of Carrion Black he’d shake his head as he glanced out over the bustling Haeseni capital from the castle of Ektarineburg, he’d let out a soft sigh before taking a swig from the cup “Ye were always a shite sister but ye were of me’ blood.. I will truely miss ye, kno’ tha” he’d glance to the sky, lifting the cup a bit towards it before going to down the remainder of its content before going to sleep in his office chair pretending to be busy with work.

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

Anastasya Barbanov would welcome her niece into the Seven Skies, regretting her quips about the girl’s mother when she was among the living. She hoped now they might make amends.

[helldiving 5793]

Otto Tuvyic uncorks a dozen bottles; their favorite beverage – one of crows, the Knyaz simply continued to drink, bottle after bottle, thoughts of his niece filling him with sorrow and pain “The young perish and we, the old, live...“

[MongolKhan 255]

The Black Prince all so stoic to all, say within the confines of his study. Filled with the papers and reports. His son by his side, teaching him the ways of governance. As he came upon the news, he ushered his son away, with a simple flick of his balled fist. His tired countenance simply fell to a single letter, he read it, cherishing the very words that were written upon it, many memories came flooding back to the Prince. Shorty after, his rage became apparent and the servants and courtiers of his court would only hear the screams of rage from the Prince that they were all so used to- though this time it was not anger, merely pain.