SPRING'S MORN

[venclair 713]

SPRING’S MORN

 

@Proddy

 

In this expanse of green there are more hues than anyone has ever named, yet here they are for any eye to see. The world beckoned. The fields were no longer swathes of rutted mud, each one was softly verdant, the new stems ruffled by the light breeze. The hills rolled like a casually laid eiderdown quilt, rising and falling in soft waves. A figure walked up a path in her boots, senses soaking in the changes since she had last walked this way. The air was more warm — it had more fragrance. The music to meet her ears was an auditory painting from the winged composers as they called, sung and raised their new families in the treetops. The pathway threads through the field. To hike here is to weave oneself into nature, to become part of the fabric of the place.

 

Between the rain-quenched earth and the spreading blue heavens, amid the evergreens the silhouette unfurled a blanket under an oak tree. From the tip of her quill flows the blackness that brings life to her thoughts, inking the parchment that told a story of time passing in its golden browns. Such letter would arrive to the Baron of Helvets, releasing a floral aroma when it was plucked into awaiting light.

 

Spoiler

Dear Robert,

 

It has been a few months since we spoke last. I imagine you must have become rather busy since the commencement of the season - or so I’ve heard. Nevertheless, I’m sure you can make time for your dear friend, Victoria.

 

The journey I have endured has been lengthy but it has made me content nonetheless for I have been given the opportunity to encounter a myriad of flora and fauna that is different to what we see in Providence. What I’ve heard of the court in my absence has been minimal and I’ve begun to think of you each time my hand brushes against the necklace you gifted me. 

 

I wonder what it is you have been doing back in the city. In contrast to the bustling noises of the streets, I find myself enraptured by the rhapsodies of Mother Nature. Perhaps one day I may take you along with me - you did mention you wished to do so before. 

 

I’ll have to hold you to that very promise. 

 

Yours dearly,

Victoria

 

_____________________________________________________________________

 

[Proddy 2415]

SPRING’S EVENTIDE

 

 

It had been a day much like any other in Providence - the bustle of merchants and soldiers that kept the streets alive had remained continuous, like a carousel with no end in sight. Politicians huddled and congregated for secret meetings in decrepit locations, plotting against their rivals and formulating their next bureaucratic movements like chess pieces. Life in the capital was much the same - the only marked difference being that of the first Imperial Season and the country-wide attention it had brought to the Jewel of Humanity. Despite its controversies, the festivities of the Season had re-invested Providence with a break from its dreary, monotonous as more and more newcomers had piled into the city by the day, from Imperial peers residing in the countryside bringing themselves and their families to the capital to partake in the celebration to exotic and foreign traders setting up shop to peddle their wares to the masses. It seemed a tradition that was here to stay.

 

And yet in a deeply unsurprising fashion, Robert Foltest Helvets had opted for solitude wherever he had chance all throughout the Season, preferring his own company above all else. Though he had attended the larger events of the Season - if only to support his cousins and spend some time with one lady in particular he had grown quite fond of - he had found the whole affair to be bothersome at best. It brought the worst aspects of courtly life and tradition - the big-nosed socialites, the ruthless gossipers, the godawful tabloids. It made him long for a countryside retreat even more as he sat at his desk, musing over his blueprints for a modest manor in the town of Redenford.

 

He is brought to life from his mullings however, when a sealed letter is delivered to him by way of telegram. Signing the courier off and unravelling the letters seal to indulge the contents within. He grows misty eyed and sentimental as he notes the sender and her writings, but pushes the letter to one side. He finds himself in a deep tangle on how to respond. How much did Victoria know of the Season? How fast does word travel? If she was here, would things be different? What would she think of him? 

 

His response becomes delayed by several days as he deals with matters on the forefront, the opened letter set to the corner of his desk. But yet on one stormy evening, as he finds himself particularly despairing and in need of a friend, he puts pen to paper - mailing a response to the return address published upon Victoria’s own letter.

 

Spoiler

Dearest Victoria,

 

It pains me so that you are not here. I think it was in your best interest to depart and explore the world, for this Season has been nothing short of a mess. But I long for the day that we might see eachother again, though I am trying to remain as patient as I can.

 

So much ill has come from this idea that you would not even begin to fathom it - just a few months ago, the Princess Imperial’s own daughter Helena was poisoned at a tea party. Fortunately she remains unscathed and is in relatively good health once more, but the dastardly culprit remains unseen and unfound. No doubt this foolish tradition will continue for many years to come - the Princess Imperial herself was tempted to declare the entire Season cancelled because of her daughters attempted poisoning, but at Helena’s behest as well as the encouragement of the Lady Majordomo she has decided to permit it’s continuation.

 

Perhaps I speak only for myself here, but she would have done us all a great service if she had declared the Season over then and there. To see some of these dramatic, serpentine ladies sent packing would fill me with the greatest relief imaginable.

 

Though I was not there in the gardens when Helena was poisoned, I cannot help but imagine an awful scenario since. What if you were here, and they tried to poison you in her place? Such a thought fills me with so much vice and ire. I would hunt the perpetrator to the very ends of this earth without reprieve or mercy.

 

You must tell me all about your travels when you return, but do not let tidings from home delay you. Tread the road with caution, but go forth with love - and remember what awaits you upon your return.

 

Yours in earnest,

Robert.