FORTUNE OF AN ACOLYTE

[spicii 1131]

 

 

Spoiler

OOC DISCLAIMER; the writing of vivienne being in the field didn’t actually happen, it’s not real and it’s just her imagination. i’m not a lore breaker i pinky promise x

 

The bustling, yet dirtied path of the carnival donned dozens upon dozens of joyous citizens, each wearing an expression of utmost joy as they sauntered through the many attractions it had to offer. The crowd had a life of its own, the vibrancy of dissimilar garbs and wares shining luminously in the afternoon light as the people proceeded like enchanting shoals of fish through the carnival's many attractions.

 

“May I have my fortune told, dear sister?” The atramentous haired savoyard queried upon that of the acolyte, further pulling her body weight in the direction of Anna. A rapid nod emitted Vivienne’s sister-in-law at the request - extended arm reaching to grasp a clay bowl and focusing vigorous energy onto mysterious affairs and aura of the Queen.

 

“I see you stood in a field of utter beauty, decorated lavishly with an array of agriculture.”

The scene that laid before the savoyard was nothing short of a picturesque fever dream. The summer bloom cried so many petals onto the still warm field; the last vestiges of her beauty waiting for a precocious gust to carry them spinning to their rest. Each petal, papery and thin, lay on the newly golden grass, its veins glowing pink in the setting sun. Vivienne observed this, lost in the rhythmic percussion of the wind uniting with the fickle blades of viridescent grass. Her slate canvases were steady to the horizon, visage aglow with the last orange rays before twilight beckons the stars. With great ease did her lips bear the semblance of a smile, just enough to show that the Queen was within ignorant bliss. The ground seeped so rampant with nature, hues overlapping with a heady vibrancy that brought her hands swooping down on instinct. Vivienne gave permission for her fingers to graze the perfumed "scales," holding them up briefly to take in their aroma before letting them tumble from her hand back to the garden path. Every shade of rose petal was within her midst, so vast and scalloped that they had collected a slimy dew. Intermingled were the shocking oranges, purples and fuchsias of the asters, their petals long and thin.

“You struggle to stand, hankered by a root fashioned with thorns around the perimeter of your leg.” 

A cold shiver relentlessly weaved its way down the de Savoie’s spine as she ran her bony hands through the flowing florals of the field. A certain mass of serrated thorns began edging closer to the Queen by the second, its venomous grasp snaking deliriously around her foot. Never had a few moments deliberation seemed like an eternity as Vivienne felt her consciousness ebbing away, and her thoughts, as clear and concise as they were mere moments ago, were coming to a petrifying halt. The once familiar and comforting surroundings struck her as if forcing themselves against her weak body – throwing the calignuous haired woman backwards into the heap of pollen. Subsequently, Vivienne could feel the dysphoria, the consequence of stumbling into the thick field of stalks. Heart thumping as if it would bombard veins to bloody mess and lungs swollen up like an over-filled balloon. 

“This location. It will be in a field of war surrounded with sunflowers.”

The abundance of gaily dancing flowers of summertime vanished from the smoke veiling the room like it was never tangible in the first place. Such picturesque landscape the Queen had found herself situated in beforehand was since extinct, being replaced with a scene of a more horrified manner. The battlefield lay quiet, for it was now a graveyard of the unburied. Bloodied corpses lay in abundance among an extensive array of sunflowers that adorned the carmine hued dirt beneath her stained high heels of ivory. Horrifically did her gaze drop onto the state of her clothing, oozing blood sputtering upon her whole bodice and its surroundings. 

As Vivienne observed the bowl and Anna’s explanation, a potent wave of fear coursed through her veins, cranium perhaps wandering back in time to a parallel of severe trauma: Catherine of Sutica’s murder. The once innocuous Vivienne bearing witness to the brutal murder of her mother and how he violently skewered her neck, specs of blood landing upon that of Vivienne’s visage and bodice. 

Why had Anna unleashed such violent images from her astute imagination?

“This may be your kismet, if you cannot learn to love yourself - and your fate.”

Spoiler

thanks to @amyseliafor the roleplay at the carnival + proof reading my writing<3