Jump to content

What Was [PK]


shay
 Share

Recommended Posts

Spoiler

 

 

The wind whistled overhead, and the flapping of a bird’s wings woke him. Groggily, he opened his eyes, and the bright, harsh sunlight blinded him nearly immediately. He could barely make out the silhouette of the crow that flew by, to him, it looked golden. He reached his hand up hopelessly, trying to catch that bird within his grasp, but to no avail.

 

He only now noticed the smell of salt and grass that surrounded him, gently blades of the grass ocean that he were wrapped in did too weave back and forth with every gust of wind. Where… Am I? He raised his head only briefly from the grass, barely able to make out the silhouettes of distant trees around him, and the ocean that laid down at the bottom of the hill. Apart from that, there was nothing, not a single city, castle, or building within sight.

 

What day was it? He wondered, he could scarcely tell anymore. He rose from the grass, barely able to push himself to stand properly. He had lost his strength recently, it was as if it had gone with her, and he barely staggered down to the beach, the sand crumbled around his feet, capturing it. He knelt down by the log that rested on the beach, just outside of the range of the waves, which would otherwise have washed it away. Nine days, he noted, being able to tell by every notch he had made on it. There were eight, but he assumed he had slept through yet another night. They were much more peaceful in these plains.

 

It was his way of repressing it, total dissociation. He would not have to remember, he would not have to mourn, if the world were not there to remind him of it. In these plains, there was nothing, there was only him. Him, the grass, the sea, the wind… That crow. He frowned deeply at the thought of the crow, it reminded him much too much of his dreams and nightmares. It reminded him too much of her, the crow that had always been there to save him at his lowest.

 

You ought to honour her better than this, Eirik. His mind prodded, and the vivid images of what occurred nine days ago passed through his mind. The cake which he refused to eat, the life draining from Ana's face, the her cup shattering against the floor, the ensuing panic. The images were too much, and he collapsed into the sand, unable to stop himself from emptying his tears. He were lucky today that no tide came to swallow him into the ocean.

 

Instead, it were a traveller that discovered the Duke on the beach. With a kind smile, he offered him some bread and helped him to stand. It was night-time now, and how the traveller had discovered him was beyond him, but he nevertheless extended his thanks to him. Before the traveller took his leave, he offered a mere inquiry to him: “Aren’t you supposed to be heading somewhere?”

 

To the traveller, perhaps, that was a meaningless remark. A mere friendly gesture to make before one’s departure. For Eirik, however, that question was everything. He hadn’t just abandoned Valwyck without a goal in mind, he and Anastasya had made a promise to one another, they would retire to Nevaehlen and spend the rest of their days there. Even without her, this was a promise he had sought to honour.

 

Somewhere along the way, he had lost himself on the way to Nevaehlen, and drowned himself in only wallowing and sorrow. He had spent nine days and nine nights in these plains, in a location he could not even name, and for what? Was it some desperate plea to allow himself to starve to death or be washed away by the waves, just so he could be with his Ana once again?

 

Alas, while the only thing he desired was to be with her again, he knew that the world had taken them separately without purpose, the world was not so cruel as to split them apart for no reason. It had not been so cruel as to take Alexander from them without purpose. It had not been so cruel as to have them only bear daughters without purpose. Everything, he concluded, had a purpose, even his despair.

 

With that in mind, he began trodding down the path to Nevaehlen.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Eileen Baruch felt cold. So terribly cold as she walked through the gates of Valwyck. She scarcely seemed to breath properly since the death of her mother. . .

And so, she shuffled her way through the halls of her home, slowly but surely making her way to her bed chamber.

The Baruch sat atop her bed, rarely blinking as she stared off with a blank expression. Though her features remained stoic, her mind was reeling with every single memory she had of the late Anastasya. Only after the thoughts of her mother flooded her mind, would she begin to sob.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Spoiler

 

 

Isabel sat within her chambers at Valwyck, quietening as the cries of her siblings resounded through those halls that felt far bigger than they once did. No longer would she hear the gawking of her mother in the early mornings for not getting enough sleep, nor would she listen to the bickering of her mother and father alike in the evenings.

 

She pulled the blanket around her shoulders closer to her trembling frame, though her expression bore no emotion. Only her flushed, freckled cheeks were tear-stained as she gazed upon Lake Voron's horizon intently, the same horizon her mother and she admired the day prior.

 

Isabel did not move an inch, despite the beckoning of her servants to do so.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Esmée Gabrielle Kortrevich watched the death unfold during the feast, now terrified of Queen Emma's baking skills...

Link to post
Share on other sites

Emma leant out over the edges of the Vidaus pavilion, placidly eyeing the dizzying drop below. Wind tustled through the open ballroom, yet still the slight woman perched, silks and scarves whipping about her face, unmoving. Sorina had sat beside her for a few hours until the light had faded and the air grew colder, before seeking refuge in the warm. 

 

Perhaps she was punishing herself. Emma had reached Ana, pulled her out of her bench, tried to resuscitate her - and yet, with another of God's bitter twists, all her medical training proved futile. Who could she protect, what sort of physician could she call herself, if she could not even save the ones she loved? 

 

So she remained outside long after any of the sunset's light had winked away, until her figure was a mere dark outline against the pillar, still staring out into the dark fabric of night. 

Link to post
Share on other sites

Sat upon a bench atop lush and grassy hill, the fiery-haired Queen Annika would look down across the land, though the mirage before her was just that, an illusion. It had been years since she has arrived into the Seven Skies, greeted by her youngest son, Marus. Soon she was met by her daughter, Petra. Then her husband, Heinrik. Annika had never anticipated for her children to join her so soon, though seeing the twins finally make their way into the Skies, the only feeling she could sense was that of tranquility. 

Link to post
Share on other sites

Bro finally dayum

Link to post
Share on other sites

Klara Elizaveta hadn't attended the feast, too long on her feet tired her these days. But when news did reach her, in the new manor she shared with her husband and his parents on Koenastriet, Klara wept for the sprightly young woman her aunt hadn't been in what seemed to be millenia.

Link to post
Share on other sites

A man bearing tangerine clothing suddenly appears with his family, though not in the seven skies, but rather in the overworld. The soul was, at first, confused, but soon quickly became emotional as he held his two lost children in his arms. Nikoleta, Anya, and Bran. All of the people he loved the most in this world were present. However, there was still a missing piece to this puzzle.

"Where is Kitty?"

Link to post
Share on other sites

Nikoleta longed for something familiar. 

 

And something about the snow felt like it. Her horse clambered up the icy hillside towards Ghastenwald. She had purposefully taken the long way, to avoid Karosgrad and Valwyck. Now she was late to a meeting with Eleanore. 

 

What she didn't know though, was there would be three surprises waiting at home. 

 

The first; the usually quiet house was filled with the giggles and chatter of newlyweds. Her niece, and her nephew, were now married. Klara was pregnant and Jakob happy. 

 

The second; Beatriz was off on an adventure, no longer tucked away in the tower of Ghastenwald with Nikoleta’s name on it. She was not a good mom, nor did she try to be. Beatriz was probably happy wherever else she was frlockling. 

 

The third; Anastasya and Andrik had died. The first she learned through word of mouth, Eleanore had told her. The second waited by her bedside. His body young and almost lifelike, yet blood leaked from her nose and she knew otherwise. 

 

Maybe there love had been real, and maybe he was innocent, yet he refused to leave. Staying by her side all night as she sobbed. 


Maya Ceciliya woke up bright and early, brushed her teeth, put on her nice priestess robes and went for a sunny walk. Nothing could bring the girl down after last saint days triumph. She was as gleeful as someone could of been.

 

Once returning home, cheeks red from the cold, she couldn’t help but see everyone else sitting quietly or crying loudly. Asking Grigori what it was about, only to be told Anastasya had passed. Her heart leapt and then crashed. Almost violently, the girl began to scream and wail. Having to be restrained as her cries echoed throughout the city. 

 

She loved her aunt, and she never got to tell her about Dmitry. 

Link to post
Share on other sites

Spoiler

 

 

" ... Vyr Majesty?" 

 

Sigismund kept his back to the page that had come with the news. He stood at his balcony, hands on the balustrade for support, looking out across Karosgrad. Despite the warmthless winter sun that bathed the city in a pleasant, pale golden light, and despite the din of laughter and chatter that rang through the air, the colours felt dimmer, and the noise further away, than it had just a moment ago.

 

" ... Spasiba," he managed at last, and he was surprised at the steadiness of his own face. "Vy ... may go." 

 

He waited until he heard the door close, and the scuff of boots fade away, before he released a shaky breath. Only ... his breath felt steady, and his heart still. Though it felt like the world had been robbed of some of its colour, Sigismund did not let the tears leave his eyes. 

 

They're ... dead. Anastasya and Andrik. My ... my last siblings. The last relic of my life before I wore this crown, before ... why am I not more upset? 

 

Slowly, he looked down at his hand, wet with blood. He sighed, and closed his eyes as he gently closed his fingers on his bloodied palm. He was no stranger to loss; each mile he had walked in this life had been haunted with grief for those he had lost, from Edvard, to Sigmar, to Petra. Not so long ago, he might have spiralled into despair, but ... not any longer. He knew, now --- and he accepted. For any cursed moment he had endured, it had come with a blessing.

 

"Ana ... Andrik," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "I'll weep for you two, my little siblings, now that you're gone." He felt the warm trail of tears run down his cheeks, and over his lips, as he smiled softly. " ... but I'll smile for the time that we had ... Th-thank you both ... for waiting this long." 

 

When he opened his eyes again, the tears had stopped. He was resolute, now. 

 

The final act was upon them, and he was the last actor on stage.

Link to post
Share on other sites

The Elder-Hieromonk would shake his head at the new "Now my Hauch-Niece ascended into the seven skies, GODANI grant her peace" he'd note before praying for his late Hauch-Niece

Link to post
Share on other sites

Clamorous voices swelled to the curved, painted ceiling. Saoirse knew the ceiling well. She knew every paint stroke, every wisp of cloud against the blue. It was better for her mind to float around up there instead of wallowing down in the pews, holding in her scream. How could they sell Mags off like this? When would her parents do this to her?

 

The voices died. Everyone had left. They were alone the three of them, Saoirse, Mags, and their mother. Anastasya was as regal as ever, the pearls on her kokoshnik catching the sconce light. Anastasya. When had Saoirse begun thinking of her as Anastasya rather than Mamej? Likely when Isabel and Margrait's betrothals were announced; from that moment, the proud, sharptongued woman had been Prinzenas Anastasya. She was too authoritative and astute to be anything else. 

 

Anastasya held Mags close, stroking her hair over the veil. Despite her titles, her achievements, she was still their mother. She taught Saoirse to play the piano and how to cut a person to size with a few razor sharp words said in just the right tone. It was only yesterday Anastasya had done as much to Rosemary Vuiller, whittling the other woman down with such ferocity there was nothing to do but be impressed.

 

How could she be gone?

 

Saoirse sat at the piano, playing a listless tune with one hand. In the empty keep, each note echoed, forlorn. A woman like that, strong, fierce, and full of life, yanked from this world by a golden thread pulled not by war nor heroism nor even political poison, but a simple meal. How mundane. Saoirse's fingers went stiff and the notes curdled and turned discordant. How disrespectful for Godan to give her mother such a death.

 

Saoirse would not cry. She would not eat. She would only remember.

Link to post
Share on other sites

 Share

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.



×
×
  • Create New...