A Dream is a Wish, your Heart Aches.

[Pandamainia 86]

 

 

 

[ X ]

 

                                

 

 

 

Dream Walker             ●                   Fear Monger                 ●                 Earth Painter

 

 

 

Heels slashed into the wooden floor below as the swift shutting of a door did brush a gust of wind into the bitterly cold bedchamber. A singular candle did shudder - its looming shadow dancing within the mirror it sat before.

Quiet sickened itself over the chamber once a crimson ballgown descended into the chair. Shimmering silk glistened in the warmth meagrely offered by the flame, opulent jewels luminous in their repose.

There upon the wooden table did a gloved hand unfurl, revealing its captive. .  . a long singular strand of blackened hair.

Icy eyes did rise and glare into the mirror ahead.

The lady’s chin tilted as though raised by an invisible finger, an invisible maestro. 

With a drawling hum did the lady indulge in vanity. Why wouldn’t she - for the image so curated, so perfect in its decadence and sophistication. The Ideal. A singular word found dissolute flight to the mirror.

 

“ V e r a  ”

 

It was necessary. Thought she. Exercising this power, this right, she had been bestowed. 

 

The call

The call to influence.

 

Who better to influence others than one who had dedicated her life and her soul to the pursuit of comfort. Or well- pursuit. 

Life was about getting what she wanted. Influencing this mundane girl’s life in order to maintain the influence held in Society’s Courts. Well, of course, the decision was easy.

 

 

{ Rules. What was life without them. They must be upheld at all costs. Society depends on it. Nobility crumbles without it. }

 

Vindicated . . . those icy eyes in the mirror began to crack to a golden hue. Connecting. From beneath her crimson silks, as though manifesting from her pale porcelain skin, thousands of chains did seep into view; their thin gold links, akin to that of fine jewellery, did sing in the flicker of the flame. And iris’, glistening like sapphires, rubies, emeralds, jewels of all kinds, did spawn around the lady’s image. Blinking this way and that. Observing all in their bedazzling glory.

A red mist did seep around the chair on which Vera sat, curling into the air with the faint smell of magnificent red wine…

 

Then focus was placed upon the hair of Andromeda. 

 

 

 

 

That evening Andromeda’s sleep would be one of intense dreaming.

 

Tossing and turning, sweat upon her brows. Flashes of scenes bestowed themself to her mind's eye. Whilst Andromeda lived out these scenes directly - in the corner of the vision, stood still a figure simmering of freezing mist , harrowing weight and glistening eyes. Silent.

 

First came the scene before an altar, and a crowd of hundreds of spectators stood watchfully within a tremendously vast cathedral.

Standing before each other, hands held upon eachother’s… looking into each other's eyes- were Andromeda and the Prince Caecilius Mareno.

Andromeda lived through her own eyes within the dream - and there, as heavy as she had ever felt it in her life, was the suffocating feeling of all those eyes upon this girl… upon her.

The pang of loneliness never felt so apparent when met with hundreds of soulless faces. Careless faces. Judging faces. And looking back upon the Prince, Andromeda would be slashed in the heart with a lack-lustre smile from the boy. The figure before her serving to bubble within her a feeling of inadequacy… of misunderstanding. And the face of the Mareno did bare the signs- he knew it too. Laced upon a plastered smile staring back at Andromeda was regret, and disappointment. 

 

The dream did churn like rotten buttermilk… Rancid and unforgiving in its journey. 

 

There then rested Andromeda upon a sofa within a lounge. Trident’s Peak - a cold castle, away from any hint of the sun, any hint of her Badawi tribe and its fireside meals. In fact - the fire that rested before her bore the drips of water from the stoney leaks above… damp and ill-equipped to light a match let alone warm a room. Cold, it was unbearably cold.

And there Andromeda sat. 

Behind her seat, within the vast cavernous great hall, was the entire Mareno family squabbling and fighting - the brothers tearing at each other's honour with insults and swears, the Mother slashing a palm across the Father’s face - only for it to be returned with harsher brutality. A scene of intense degeneracy and dissonance - loud and reckless, uncaring and violent. Out came the words from the weak lips of Andromeda, barely able to hold herself upright upon the sofa. “P-Lease. Some Fire. . Wood - ?”.

The Mareno’s fought on. Andromeda unacknowledged, unheard, unseen. 

 

Like the falling of a pit within a stomach- the scene did plunge to another. 

 

A ball. 

A grand one.

Music played from a string quartet and glistening figures brushed past Andromeda’s sights as though turning the page of a book. Behind the Mareno family did she trudge, corseted tight and constrained with a learned smile. Every hold of a finger fake and distant. Stifled did the air suffocate all around, everywhere they walked as a family clump. Her frail forearm held by the eldest Prince, as though forbidding the girl to move without first being told to. 

And there he was, across the room… 

Their eyes met and immediately Andromeda would see the woe within that familiar set, and strangely with the feeling as though she might not have seen these eyes in decades. 

Those Enswerp eyes. 

They found Andromeda’s with a destroyed air. As though even meeting hers would slash his heart to a thousand pieces. But that he did. Desolate and without a chance to ever be happy where they both were consigned to be. And this feeling weighed down upon the tiny shoulders of Andromeda with all the heaviness of the entire ocean. Unable to move to him, constrained to be near this family. Unable to speak to him. Unable to give him what he wanted - as he resigned to offering his hand to another young lady in the room and out poured a devastated “May I offer such a beautiful lady as thee. .  a dance?”

And there she stood like a statue of carved ice - brittle and frozen, and longing for the sun of the Qualsheen to melt her away from here…

 

The girl woke up.

 

@TheIchorDruid

 

 

 

 [ This info is not to be meta’gamed,]

[ Let interesting rp happen so help me god]