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On the Whereabouts of Rhea d'Arkent


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On the Whereabouts of

Rhea Alexandria d’Arkent

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Rhea of Carrington c. 1814
 

 

 

It is with a heavy heart and tear-filled eyes that we announce the passing of the youngest Carrington-d’Arkent born to Baron Charles Augustus of Carrington and Baroness-Consort Anna Henrietta of Provins. The death of our dearest Rhea has come with shock, of course, and the entire Carrington Household will don black clothes to mourn their relative. A funeral is in order, and will be held in one month at the Providence Cathedral. Please bear with the Carrington Household in this tough time as most will probably take a step back from their public duties.


 

Signed,

 

His Lordship, The Baron of Carrington

 

Her Excellency, Mary Casimira of Carrington

 

 

 

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Wilhelm mourned the loss of his youngest sister, readying his mourning attire.

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Maisie d'Arkent would be in the middle of inspecting Claude's mouth for sickness as courtiers ran out of the palace gates, one fat one handing her this tragic missive. 

 

Her cerulean eyes read over it, and the kind smile once across her face, broke into a solemn thin line. "Rhea is dead." she simply muttered as her gaze shifted to the sky, narrowing her eyes. How could her youngest cousin die so soon? If anything Mary or Charlotte should be the ones dead. Not little Rhea. Sweet pure Rhea. She couldn't believe why GOD would take such a soul from her.

 

She wouldn't be able to spiral for long as Claude continued to speak, shoving such ideas to the back of her mind.

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Ludovica trembled, weary sunken eyes waltzing about the missive held tight within her shakey grasp. The woman read the paper over on end, a loop playing within her mind.

 

Another woman, tucked away in a small farm house, too read the missive at hand. Dread overtook.

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Woeful and filled with heavy regret, the eldest scion of Kaphro held the letter with a low head. Her thumb brushed against the paper, gazing at the girl's face before falling into a brooding and reflecting state.

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Olivier would crumble the missive up quickly and throw it into the trash, quickly drafting one of his own. 

 

"Carringtons, 

  You have my deepest condolences for the passing of your beloved. I never met her, though I feel deeply for you during these turbulent times. Though not family by blood, but by marriage, we are still here for you.

On behalf of the House of Halcourt,

THE RT. HONORABLE BARON HALCOURT Olivier Alexandre JD SSE SCJ"

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Diana d'Azor would gasp with a hand over her mouth as she heard the news.. She held her baby boy in her arms as she let a few tears fall from her cheeks.. "One of my old friends... I know we haven't talked to much since we were little- yet I remember you well.. My brothers and I were in the palace as we fought with your mother on whether green or red was best... And you were playing the piano from afar. You joined my small club for kids.. I hope you are well in the Seven Skies, my old friend." She would rock her baby slowly as she sang a quiet song for him, her voice breaking a little..

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Joseph d'Azor frowns "Rhea was a good child....I know not what I would do if this fate befell one of my own sisters. May she rest easy...."  

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Margaux ponders over this new reality she found herself in while drying her hollowed eyes; she didn't quite expect the sound of a nose breaking to be like that.  Nothing was witnessed. 

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Beryl Carrington appears distraught at the news, there was no official statement for it or announcement of his deep depression that the loss of Rhea had caused him, all that was known was that he would be seen sitting at an empty table in the Carrington Estate with a chess board, staring coldly at it for hours on end. "You deserve love, Rhea." was one of the last things he said to her, he could recall. 

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One missing friend, one missing d'Arkent, now 1 dead, and a copycat killer in Oren. "Perhaps it's time for a little investigating..." Natalie Julia would comment to herself as she replaced the locks on her doors, seeming to be unbothered by the news of the death.

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Caspian read over the missive, sighing lightly as he set it down on a table in his private study. "How unfortunate.. it seems that karma has finally decided to come for the Carrington's and their house." He'd mumble, then continuing to work.

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Spoiler

 

 

      2019_16_rembrandt_1.jpg?itok=yk7fW_9d

__________________________________________________________________________

 

THRASHING 'gainst ostentatious tapestries and textiles, wreathing the walls of that sombre keep from the naves to the chops, a slur of shrill and petrified, yet humoured cackles trill –– beguiling wavelengths lacerating the rented corridors, cutting 'twixt the finest cracks and chasms, that all else word would fall lacklustre, comparably; drowned about in a sequence of hearty crescendoes. Harkening the upturned lips of Lord Vladislav of Woldzmir, that lord merely surveyed the missive with a dole pair of eyes; coeval cataracts waxing with a macabre delight: what a thrill, indeed –– to know what other Men do not.

 

"All the better…" INTONATED Vladislav, though discerning dimly, to none in his particular but the languid solace of his bedchambers.

 

BORNE of a hearth's cinders and brimstone, nigh tapering shreds of brilliance drew across the thane's left cheek; his lethargic countenance, a fish-skin pulled taut, haunted by an arctic cold, ringstraked by a dissipating warmth. And, the grating chord of laughter he struck, desiccating entirely, 'ere a torrent of embers manifold displaced of the eggshell-white parchment, lobbed into the fireside fro in a single, consummate toss.

 

"And, what chance and fortune, that the cadaver has come to myself, for the betterment of the alchemical."

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

Spoiler

Teehee…

 

 

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Fyodor Ostrovich licked his lips as he read over the missive before casting it into the flames of his hearth.

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