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A FALL FROM GRACE [PK]


Juli
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Father Ferdinand of Ponce names his steed Isabel of Valwyck in honor of the deceased Queen Mother, who's looks he always associated with a horse.

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A small girl, no older than four years of age, stood within her father’s trembling grasp. Whilst Heinrik cried, Petra Emma wailed. Tears stained the little girl’s typically happy countenance as she clutched the tiara her grandmother had gifted her, her tiny hands violently shaking around it. Vy said vy would niet leave me yet, hauchmamej she croaked out, inconsolable. This would surely leave a mark on the little girl’s life for good, who had already just lost her mother- but now her grandmother, too.

 

Still - she knew life would continue, without her grandmother just as it had her mother. Even so, she was determined to solidify her grandmother's memory, and began gathering all the sunflower seeds she could for her upcoming project - a memorial garden. 

 

 

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Ludwig prepares his dancing shoes, scouting for the deceased Queen’s soon to be grave.

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32 minutes ago, Juli said:

“You are free. Your purpose, your meanings, it was always derived from Josef. You were his Queen.” Spoke Franz, Isabel in tow. “Wha’ am I to do now tha’ my one purpose, the purpose tha’ had been drilled into my head for years, is nie’ here anymore.” Silence took over the pair, but Franz eventually spoke again. His words resonated forevermore. “You will suffer like the rest of us do in our quest for purpose. You will have to find your own meaning, not one given to you by someone else.”

 

In, out, in, out. Every exhale clouded the mirror in cold mist on this winter's night, the windows to his chambers left open to allow the breeze to stroll throughout the room. Nevertheless, it was that same scenario he had been in so many times before, staring at himself in the mirror. He didn't look as tired as he did a few years ago, in fact, he had started to forget. But then it came back, like a shattering glass ceiling it fell upon him, the suffering that every generation of humanity was cursed to go through. Franz had promised Isabel she would live to see three monarchs, and so she had, Sigismund II, Josef, and Henrik II. His father, his brother, his nephew. Yet, in truth, he had always hoped that his promise was wrong, that she would live longer than that. 

 

But there she was, crashing against the floor in the middle of court to all to see. It was not what Isabel had deserved, she had deserved a far better passing. A quiet one, at an old age, surrounded by her children and grandchildren, perhaps even great grandchildren. But fate was a cruel mistress, and would always be so. Humanity and suffering were intertwined, and would always be so until their very last days.

 

He was going to miss her, more than anyone else he had lost so far.

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A shrouded figure lingered upon the Haenseni boarders, hues peering amidst the riled city and greeted by the clanging of bells. It was not long before the news of the Queen-Mother's passing met  the stranger's ears,  yet somehow, they found a sorrow. "You were good to me, lass. Yet, the crown called for your end. As I warned you. Rest at ease, Isa."

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Mirabella's head shook when she heard. She felt only a small bit of relief that she hadn't attended court. The rest of her felt a mix sadness with a hint of fear. "Too much... it is too much." Her hand reached for a paper that laid upon her desk, ink scrawled upon it. The parchment crumpled within the elf's hand, and she tossed it aside.

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"Thank ... you ..." the words were strained and scarce, produced by a tongue not meant for speech.

" ... for ... helping my ... brother ..."

 

Those had been the words Ser Aleksandr Hieromar whispered to the body of Isabel. There was precious few the Whisper Knight had loved, and Isabel of Valwyck was not one of them. On the contrary, a part of him blamed her for producing the monster that was King Henrik, and he had come to loathe her for her part in his madness, even if it was just acceptance.

 

But she had eased the burdens of his brother. For as much as he had dedicated himself to a reign, no matter the cost to his person, Isabel had been the one part of Josef's life that might have been joyous.

 

He was grateful for that.

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Mr Rat sat in contemplation, thinking of those Baruch children of long ago that he had helped raise. He had hoped Isabel along with those others would grow up to be a good, distinguished people. How disappointed he was in the end, though there was still hope for Petyr.

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A small twelve year old with wispy brown hair and mud on her skirts stood next to the queen mother. She had spent most of her childhood under the former queen, even watching over the women once she was dead. Her creaking voice whispered "It was not your fault." as if that will make everything done in Isabel's life better.

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Ruslan Baruch sighed deeply upon hearing the news delivered by his cousin Andrik Jan BaruchHe had been delivered similar news three times before, all three being people he loved dearly. As he did for his father, Ruslan waited until night fall before riding out the gates of Lichtestadt towards a nearby hill that overlooked the lake near his home. "Until we meet again, Aedymamej." Reaching down, he lifted up his set of bagpipes before blowing in to the mouthpiece for a few seconds. With his goodbyes said, the Duke of Valwyck mounted his steed and rode back home.

 

Ser Aleksandr Vyronov sat under a tree near the empty tournament grounds of Karosgrad, his reddened eyes signaling he didn't take the news well. He slowly rose to his feet, looking over to a boy of four years. He ruffled his hair as he walked past him, motioning for him to follow along.

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The Princess Imperial's typical afternoon tea was interrupted by the arrival of a courtier - offering news of yet another murder of a prominent woman within the Kingdom of Haense. Elizabeth frowned deeply, peering toward her husband beside her.

 

"These Queens and Princesses seemed damned - I have watched so many face a gruesome death. I must wonder, is the very position of Haense's consort cursed? Or is it an issue arising from the nature of those in power?" She pondered aloud to the Count of Susa. "Irrespective of cause, I grieve the loss of so many gifted women. May the Seven Skies greet them well."

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