Gutz
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A certain Hanseti-Ruskian woman would read over the missive. She'd swirl her flask in silence, sitting at her desk in thought. "Niet surprised, she was..troubled, since the day we met," She'd speak aloud, accompanied by a dismissive wave. She'd take a sip from her flask with a hiss. "Hope she stays dead- 'specially after her fiasco at the noose"
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Somewhere near the grounds of the Ruthern keep, one of the very children of the missing woman played. Heinrika sat amongst the familiar wintery sheen sniffling whilst drawing in the snow with a gloved hand. Whether these snifflings were from the cold or her missing mamej were unclear; however, the woman's warm eyes were present in her mind nevertheless. "Yam sure mamej will come back soon-" She'd assure her companion: Matilda the hen. "Mari misses mamej very much! So does papej, so she'll come back to us. She has to!"
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Somewhere lost in a place with many names, which was similar to the woman who held many names, the news of the man's death would reach her. She'd give a slight chuckle, "my husband, dead at last!" Oh how 'Odette' cherished the news, whereupon she turned in her lost and unmarked grave. "May he rot in eternal suffering just as I have" the woman of many names spoke into emptiness, as sin had cradled her own eternal slumber. Conclusively, a murderer, a shape-shifter, and a wife whom spat at her husband's surname until the very end.
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Silence overtook the room as her hand lowered from her ginger locks- her reflection in the mirror before her peering in turn, meeting Nenica’s olive eyes as she looked up. Her usual rich-colored attire had been swiftly replaced with a ebony-black gown, having taken up such dressings shortly after being relayed the news of Vaeri’s passing. Yes, she’d come to hate Vaeri over the years, their fervent bickering only furthering such- but in the moment she’d come to long for the embrace of her “auntie”, her mother: Mariana Dubois. She’d recall all the times she’d hide behind the woman’s skirt from Lavinia’s tease, the times she’d sit in wonder at the dinner-table or parties at the sight of her wine-ridden auntie, or perhaps even the fuzzy memory of her being plucked from the orphanage by Mariana. She’d think of her disownment, her mother-less wedding, and now her children’s lives, who were no longer able to recognize this deceased woman as ‘grand-mama’. Her reflection would sadden at the recollection of these old events and realizations, maybe even some tears upon her cheek that she would never admit to. And thus she’d adorn skirts of ink, her ashen facade covered by a simple raven-hued lace- not for the passing of Vaeri, but for the final passing of her mother: Mariana Dubois.
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Leon would return to his small abode after hearing the news of his father's death, his face flushed from the run here. He would heave a few heavy breaths, trying to maintain a composed composure even in the privacy of his own room. He would recall the letter, apoun which he had been thankfully allowed to read before it was passed to the next member of his family- all to share the devastating news. Tears would prick the boy's eyes as he recalled the scrawled words, quickly brushing them away on the sleeve of his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye he would spot some parchment and his usual quill, biting his lip in thought. A letter shouldn't be left unresponsive. And so the man would sit at his desk- beginning to scribble out ink onto the praline white page, filling it with neat and practiced handwriting. A glance at his clock, it would read 12:00. He had been writing for about an hour, he wanted every word to perfect. He would give a satisfactory sigh, his face puffy from tears he would never admit to shedding. His drink, a small glass of Hightower wine which had been his father's assuming favorite, sat on the desk. Leon would reach out, picking up the cup in a gentle grasp- holding it up. "A toast! To my father's legacy and his ever lasting impact on our small world" and to that, he would drink.
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Fixed it- better?
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Fixed it- is it better?
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Even at a young age, Iris has always been surrounded by music- as a true heartlander, her father was a musician, his hands skilled with the smooth bow and strings of a violin. Her mother was an unemployed housewoman, but with a voice that could lay a baby into a deep sleep with only a single note. Iris had easily inherited these talents from her parents, quick to grow and nurture it- later along the way her mother had given birth to a pair of twins, both manifesting the same musical talents. But as the months slowly crept by, the family found themselves dwindling down into debt, as neither parents had a stable job. This caused her father to seek outside help for money, later leaving off for a musical job- promising to return within the next month. that month never came, her father never returned- leaving the family in tears and immense debt. The lively, beautiful mother Iris had once known disappeared- replaced instead with a blank slate, unresponsive and distant. With her mother in a depressed coma and her father gone, Iris was forced to become the adult to her younger siblings. She was forced to convert to begging, often found out on the streets of her village with one of her father’s old violins. This early force of maturity had transformed the young, bubbly child into a stubborn and tactical woman- giving her the necessary components to her personality to provide easily for herself, making her strong-minded and sure of her own goals. But due to her poor family, this had left her with serious trust issues, making her scared to lose the ones she loves most. Years later, Iris still had carried her talents and passion for music- still grasping onto her father’s old violin that had gotten her family through so many long nights. The young woman decided to leave her old, dreadful childhood behind- immigrating to Curon in Hope's of starting anew. Iris Lee Klein’s long journey would only begin, her new brighter life only beginning.
