Anne

[frankdh 2418]

Opening credits:

 

Spoiler

I wanted to say thank you first, as that’s what’s most important to me about this whole thing.
thank you to the ISA, especially Erik, Jay, and Frederick-- you guys really kept me goin'.
thank yous to chancellery, who dealt with me as I learned-- especially Ark
thank you to Parion and GrandpaBlue, who both dealt with my crazed, frustrated rants about politics, and confusion over the wrath of egirls
a special thank you to esterlen, who was my crash-course tutor. I learned the most from him, and through his tireless efforts to keep the empire afloat, I learned what Orenian pride truly was.

above all, I want to say thank you to dibley, who kept my head above water when I needed him most. Thank you for being there.

 

 

 

Anne Augusta was never meant to rule. From the day of her birth, her existence denied her of that inheritance. The ruler of Oren, the Emperor, could not be a woman.

 

This was a universal truth, and one Anne Augusta had always known. Even as a small child, she never could wrap her head around the public’s intrigue in her title-- Princess Imperial, heir-presumptive. After all, it was only temporary: her mother would soon have a son, and her little brother would grow up to be a great emperor like their father.

 

 Anne Augusta was a very shy girl, and she often clung to her mother. Her warm hands, her raven hair, always reminded Anne that despite the war against the Alliance of Independent States, despite the people who would surround her to stare, that Anne Augusta was safe. She would always be safe as long as her mother was there, and as long as they were in the Novellen, and in Helena. And always, Anne Augusta loved her city-- Simon Basrid had taught her that Helena was the Ruby of Man, and throughout all her life, the girl would wear no other color but red.

 

It took only a few years' time for her mother to grow more and more distant, illness claiming her practically overnight. Little Anne Augusta was left all alone, sleep lost to late night restlessness. She’d often sneak into her mother’s empty room, and wrap herself in the blankets of the late Empress’ bed, the smell of her mother’s perfume still lingering. Watching the sun rise, Anne Augusta would see the Silver City of Haelun’or glittering just beyond the Lake Helena, and she’d drift off to sleep, imagining what life must be like there.

 

But Anne Augusta soon came to realize something frightful. With her mother’s death, there would be no little brother. There would be no emperor, but an empress. Anne Augusta’s title as heir-presumptive came rushing at her, and like a rowboat lost at sea, the tidal wave of her future came crashing down.

 

Through the years to come, cryptic dreams of her ancestors plagued her-- statues in the halls turning to stare at the little girl, the marble face of Aurelius laughing and mocking her, chattering skulls whispering of her bloodline, as her ancestors tried to drag her down into the flames of a hellish landscape- with their mistakes, their failures, their anguish.

 

Such nightmares led to her seclusion, often hiding in the Novellen. As such, her friends were few and far between, but her favourite was Valentina Ruthern. Raven hair and red lips, Anne Augusta often confided in her, and simply holding Valentina’s hands in her own meant everything to her. In another life, Anne Augusta would’ve married her.

 

And as Anne Augusta grew into a young woman, a thought came to possess her, like a cancer in her body. If only she had been a boy. There would be no need for amendments in laws of inheritance, no worries over marriage. She could’ve held a beautiful woman in her hands, had a flurry of tutors and instructors at her disposal. Her sister wouldn’t loathe her for something she couldn’t control. Her father wouldn’t look at her like that, as if he were leaving behind a horrible accident. If only Anne had been Andrew. Or August, or another Peter, or John-- anyone else. … Anyone else.

 

She took this thought with her-- through her marriage to Joseph Clement, through every child born-- Elizabeth, John, Philip, Juliette, Peter, Joseph. 

 

But she could not blame any of them for how she felt. Joseph Clement was always kind to her, and she did love him, even if it wasn’t in a romantic sense. They shared a mutual respect, and a trust, that Anne Augusta had in no one else. He’d tolerate her late night, restless pacing, and she’d deal with his bouts of woe-- both gripped by what their future held, in their own way.

 

She cared for all her children, except for one. Her second, John Charles, with his near-identical features to his mother. She never thought she could hate a child- her own son, for merely existing, yet she loathed him. The envy Anne Augusta felt would sometimes be suffocating-- her son was what she always wanted to be, mocking her with her own face. He was a boy, who would grow up into a young man, as the heir-apparent, and future emperor of Oren. 

 

The war against the Inferi raged, and Anne Augusta would soon face that future she feared, as her father’s health fell into rapid decline. Pacing the rooftops of the Novellen, she spent many nights trying to convince herself he would recover-- he’d lasted forty-seven years, thus far, and had been perfectly healthy just a few months before. ...at the same time, the Novellen only grew more suffocating, the longer he lived. Regardless of what happened, there was seemingly no way out.

 

The seat of the emperor can never be empty. On the 14th of the Sun’s Smile, 1784, Peter III’s reign came to an end, and Oren had their first empress-regnant. 

 

Like a ship setting sail for the first time, Anne learned much of the strife of leadership on her own. Through trial and error, nights spent scolded by her advisors, she would sometimes have to release her hold of the helm, lost in a sea of uncertainty. Her father had once asked her, what her vision for the future of the empire even was-- and truthfully, there were nights Anne did not know, herself. Had she been an emperor, and not an empress, maybe she would’ve been stronger.

 

But she did learn to navigate, and as Joseph Clement’s illness plagued him, Anne sailed alone. Her father had left a large shadow, and in her hopes to be rid of it, she spoke of acting morally, fairly, and with kindness, treating foriegn dignitaries equally, and with respect. Even through the expulsion of Haense, Anne wished them well. In truth, she was inspired by her own soldiers-- the ISA, who worked tirelessly, fought relentlessly, and carried with them the heart of the Empire. Through her first decade as Empress, Anne fought alongside them through the Inferi conflict, seeing it to the end-- in the camp of Korvassa, and the destruction of her beloved ruby, Helena.

 

The loss of Helena nearly ended her. To see what she feared most, as her city was consumed by a warped tear, left Anne consumed by the loss. Had her son Peter not dragged her out of the city, her reign would have ended there.

 

The Empire moved on. The determination of her people rekindled the spark she’d lost, and inspired by them, Anne abandoned her grief. Despite her years struggling to overcome her fears, Anne discovered what it took to lead. She learned that a monarch cannot act in self interest, but must surrender their individualism. They had to be the reflection of their empire, and be a servant to their people. And through it all, that is what she strived to do most, even in her darkest hours.

 

One morning, Anne, now in her sixties, was locked in her chambers with her physicians, who had discovered an anomaly. A cancer of the breast, that was rapidly spreading. What a cruel trick that was; for Anne to die, to something only a woman could succumb to... Ah, had only she been a man. She told none of them to speak of it, and, knowing that there was nothing to be done, refused any treatments, and dismissed them. 

 

The saint’s year’s winter brought snow, and Providence seemed to sparkle. As the empress walked the streets, she watched her grandchildren play, throwing snowballs, building forts, and with rosey cheeks they’d smile brightly at one another. In them, she saw herself. How wonderful it would have been, to be a little girl again with them, like the winter holiday in Helena.

 

Her final nights were left in bed, and knowing the curtain was soon to close, she wrote to her empire one last time.

 

20th of Horen's Calling, 1800.

“It is my hope that the people of the empire do not blame themselves for the matter of my death. My silent killer was not caused by the stress of ruling, or the fear of the future, but the hatred of myself; the hatred of who I was, and who I could never be. Over the course of my life, I’ve come to love Oren more deeply than anything else, and… simply, I only wished to say goodbye.”

 

 

---

 

 

Spoiler

my alt is herathus. my name is frank. please leave me alone.

 

[shay 2582]

Elizabeth the murderous servant sheds a single tear over the sudden news, her hopes and dreams of Empress slaying shut down by a single pair of boobs. “The humanity of it all” she cries out before heading off to find a new life-purpose

---

 

 

You mean to tell me my good friend Dream and my good friend Herathus are the same person? I’m sooooo shocked by this information. Not sure what I’m going to stress over in vc’s now that I don’t have to worry about calling you by the wrong name, but I salute you my good sir.

 

 

[yandeer 734]

There were three women then, that felt some immense loss in that moment- three separated by birth and circumstance, bound together by one woman- greater than all others.

_____________

‘He said that she was meant to survive,’ the Dame Vimmark mused, face ashen and pale as silent tears rolled down her cheeks- fat and heavy. ‘He had agreed: she was hardy, that anything that wished to take her would have a hard time of it.’ There was nothing but anguish there: the only woman she had ever wholeheartedly admired, the only one she felt had been an intellectual peer, her favored companion and adored mentor- that woman had been ripped from her by a malignant tumor, by undiagnosed pain. 

The boat that had carried her to Athera- by extension to greatness had been named after Anne Augusta, that glorious heir had presented her with the shield of the Blazing Bull, her first true reward. Everything tied back to her, everything came back to her. There was to be no more tea, no more candid conversation, no more walks through the palace grounds or trips to her estate. There was to be no more Anne. For that, Franziska Vimmark wept bitterly.

_____________

In a distant, secluded land there was a single, high pitched wail- the keening and horrible cry of a woman who had lost the greatest companion, perhaps the only person who could have afforded her true happiness. It continued through the night, low and terrible- a mourning keen to put to shame all others, only subsiding when the woman's voice grew strained and her tears dried up where they were meant to well. 

_____________

From another place, another realm, a dead daughter cast gaze to the soulstream- valiant Juliette Caroline on the deck of a Xannic warship, eyes agleam with cascading golden mists as the blurry form of one who resembled that woman, her Mother- when she walked the mortal realm. Just the glimpse of red dress, familiar pink-brown hair- evocative enough of her childhood to send her thoughts spiralling of her previous life.

Distant though they had been, separated by circumstance and a call for freedom- there was some pain in the Vessel’s heart, some wrenching sorrow that accompanies the loss of the one person whose praise she craved more than any other: her mother the Empress. It had all been for her, in the end: all of it. She had committed herself to the Holy Church because of Mother, she had nearly married the Duke’s son because of Mother, she had run away because of Mother. 

She had given herself up to die because of Mother. 

“Did I ever make you proud,” that Imperial Princess murmured low under her breath, gesturing her cohort onwards to buy the Zenith of Guardianship a precious few more seconds. Her words were unhearable- mother and daughter forever separated. “Did you ever feel pride when you gazed upon me?” 

Juliette had wept on that day when she returned to the Novellen- confided in Anne and Anne alone that she marched forward to her death so that the Bright Lord might walk the earth of Arcas, to see her mother admonish her as though she were still a schoolgirl for the greatest thing she had ever done. She had left then, disappointment in her heart at the lack of understanding, of being impressed. 

The Paladin would turn her gaze away from that scene, looking back to her duty behind her.

“I only wished to make you proud.”

 

[venclair 713]

Such news of her grandmother's passing came unexpectedly for the young Rhenyari, her face and hands stained from the slew of paint she worked with. Victoria Clementine stood still for a long while, silence looming the girl as she craned her neck back at the canvas. Dispirited, she felt robbed of the opportunity to paint her grandmother with her improving artistic capability. 

However, a much more dour realization had dawned to her — Her father. Lacking a mother was a concept she very well knew, and dreaded for her sire.

[Lhindir_ 3691]

Ostromir eagerly petitions to get his room back, humming a merry tune!

[Yaldabaoth 746]

A Courtier Adjusts his moustache

[Jachnun 566]

 

From the ctypts of selm, back in Arcas, lied down William Barrow also known as Branaford IV, his lifeless visage strewn about the muddy floor. A young boy stumbles across the body, pinching his nose from the stench, he would move away the lifeless goon. He would glare upon the statue, admiring its might he brings it with him to Almaris. The statue was placed on Selm street in an alley next to Chamberlain street. 

 

Morning came and the young boy heard of the news of the death of empress Anne he came immediately to the statue of Steffan Himmel, his tears falling upon the stone eyelids of the famed crusader. The boy felt a warm touch instead of cold stone, and saw the famed crusader turned back to life. The crusader asked the boy, "Where are you from?" The boy reponded muttering, "Kralta."

[Mady 3771]

 Maeve Elibar'acal would hear the new's of the late empress. "If only she was better at snail racing, she would have made for a great llir." She commented. With a shrug, she got up and went for a walk.

 

You mean to tell me Dream and Herathus are the same?!?! BRB ya'll, I need a few days to recover from this news. 

 

 

[- Pastry 931]

Ikur Sullas, Maheral and second on the Ascended's "Do Not Bird" list, receives word of the Empress's death. He sighs a wistful, mourning sigh and laments alongside his wife, the Laurir Aiera Sullas. The two drink grieving tea. It is mint. It is not different from normal tea, only that context makes it grieving tea.

 

A few hours later, the "Fun Times with the Empress" scrapbook is complete, filled with transfigured images of the Imperial Princess -- and later Empress -- purchasing a stuffed Celiasil doll, losing in honorable Snail Racing, drooling in the library and laughing about assassination jokes in the way only a fellow leader-of-nations could. Ikur sighs again. He files "Fun Times with the Empress" in the Silver State's "Valah Who Were Cool" archive under "H".

 

 

also, 2 b Frank with u, Frank, ur a crackhead. IDK how u managed to do NL stuff while also being a functioning human while also helping me do my own NLing as Herathus. Boggling.

[audyush 747]

Annabelle Kelmenour lowers her head upon hearing the heartbreaking news. Not only was it a loss of a truly dedicated and resilient leader, but someone who served as who she could only hope her own daughter would look up to as she grew to be a strong leader herself. "She truly did serve with grace, her love for Oren, and the love of her People. She truly was a great leader", the elfess told her daughter, Mayilun. "May she rest in peace in the Seven Skies". 

 @minty_roses

-------

Spoiler

 

 

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

From the Seven Skies, the Princess of Pruvia would greet her childhood friend at the gilded gates of their afterlife.

"My dear Anne, finally. You've been missing all the fun!"

 

---

 

From across the sea, word would eventually reach the adult Lorena Helvets upon her shipping galley. She dismissed her crew members for the evening, caressing the Sash of Ophelia in her palms as she wept for the aunt who had been more like a mother to her.

[devvy 1348]

Lorilei shook her head, "Rest well, beloved Empress. I remember making her soup once - I wonder if they changed the locks on the Palace.." The young woman, speaking to noone in particular, scurried off then to frantically dig through her cabinetry. 

[doja_kitty 32]

Charlotte Augusta would toddle down the corridor of the Augustine Palace, singing a nursery rhyme to pass the time as she did most commonly. The rush of several retainers and servants alerted the young Novellen of something gone amiss, though her young mind couldn't have been able to comprehend the event that had only just transpired.

 

That evening, the child remained restless, her mind troubled by things one of her age should otherwise never be troubled by. Only a year before, she had questioned whether her grandmama had ever loved her, let alone acknowledged her at all. She hugged tightly to her chest the crimson Tuvmas hat she had been gifted by the late-Empress.

It troubled her to realize that she would never know the answer to her questions.

[DAENGIE 514]

Halvar Edvardsson would read over the missive, leaning back with a sigh as he read the last word, rubbing at his brow. "Damn. Teh onleh bearable imperial royal in recent historeh. Gone." He'd say quietly, deciding he'd had enough of the day and sat up, heading in the direction of his bedroom.

[garentoft 9265]

In Haense, the young Franz recollects the time the Orenian Empress had told him of a Krugsmas some fifty-two years ago. "While I may only have met her once, she seemed a kind soul. I hope that Godan keep her well in the Seven Skies, and that her countrymen mourn her well." He comments to a shadow on the wall, before blowing out the dim candle that kept his room lit.