Pandamainia

Music : https://youtu.be/39Qdzx_Ge-g?si=dY4lm4xr1BJ6r80x THE IMPERIAL WEDDING OF 641 A.A “For I love you so much, truly That one could sooner dry up The deep sea And hold back its waves Than I could constrain myself From Loving you.“ ~ Guillaume de Machaut Issued by the Office of the Lady of Summerhold. On the date of 9th of Horen’s Folly, 641 A.A With the gracious blessing of His Imperial Majesty, it is formally proclaimed that Lady Vera Fitzwilliam of Summerhold and His Imperial Highness Prince Johannes Horen, whose bond has been forged through many years of steadfast courtship and honored by a solemn engagement, shall soon be joined in holy matrimony. Their union stands as a testament of patience, devotion, and mutual esteem, nurtured quietly within the courts and now brought forth into celebration. As their paths are woven together, this forthcoming nuptial marks not only the joining of two hearts, but the beginning of a shared legacy, upheld by affection and imperial tradition. EVENT The sacred ceremony shall be held within the hallowed halls of the Imperial Palace, beneath the watchful presence of God and court alike, and shall be solemnly officiated by the Pontiff himself. There, before altar and crown, Lady Vera Fitzwilliam of Summerhold and His Imperial Highness Prince Johannes Horen will exchange their vows in accordance with holy and imperial tradition. This rite, conducted with reverence and dignity, shall bind their union not only in marriage, but in faith, duty, and service to the Empire. EVENT The next portion of the wedding festivities shall take the form of a ceremonial joust, held in honor of the newlywed couple and conducted in the spirit of chivalry and noble competition. Throughout the course of the joust, courtiers may present their gifts to the newlywed Prince and Princess. Those who wish to take part in the lists are expected to observe all customs of jousting and chivalric conduct, and ladies of the court are graciously encouraged to prepare favors to bestow upon the competing jousters. In recognition of skill and valor, a monetary prize of 1000 mina shall be awarded to the victor of the tourney. EVENT Following the joust, the celebrations shall conclude with a private soiree at an undisclosed location. Invitation to such will be at the discretion of the newly married couple, who wish to keep the revelry intimate as the night draws to a close, and given to guests throughout the evening. Guests who arrive without such, will be strictly denied entrance. Imperial Majesty, HADRIAN I, Emperor of Man, and His Imperial Retinue His Princely Highness, MARTIUS VAN AERT, Prince of Blackvale and His Noble Pedigree His Princely Highness, CASSIUS MARENO, Prince of Myrine and His Noble Pedigree His Royal Highness, EDWARD ALSTION, Archduke of Alba and His Royal Pedigree His Princely Highness, ERWIN BARCLAY, Prince of Reinmar and His Noble Pedigree His Grace, DUNCAN BARUCH, Duke of Valwyck and His Noble Pedigree The Most Honorable, KONSTANTIN AUGUSTEN, Margrave of Schwyz and His Noble Pedigree The Right Honorable, EZRA DE SENNA, Count of Edessa and His Noble Pedigree The Right Honorable, SIR LOTHAR D’AMAURY, Count of Metz and His Noble Pedigree The Right Honorable, NUVILTA WHITEWOOD, Countess of Silasia and Her Noble Pedigree His Lordship, IOHANNIS BASILEUS, Baron of Cascanova and His Noble Pedigree Her Ladyship, DAME LORELEI ALSTION-ENSWERP, Baroness of Rethel and Her Noble Pedigree THE PRINCELY HOUSE OF ASTURIAS DAME MANON YVAINE VON VOLKRICH And all those others that seem themselves friends and supporters. . . His Imperial Highness, JOHANNES MARIUS of House Horen, Prince of the Empire and of Burgundy, Duke of Hollyhold, Prince-Justiciar of Middelan, and Bearer of the Argentate Star. Her Ladyship, VERA FITZWILLIAM, Lady of Summerhold.

[ Creative Writing/Storyline RP/Documentation of Devotion ] “Thank you, Doctor” Those words bristled into the space, in their reverent and righteous tone, punctuated thereafter with the quiet closing of the door. ∘ ∘ ∘ One foot at a time sank into the scalding bath water. Leaning against the tin, the lady’s cold and trembling skin did find little refuge. The steam circling her eyelashes and pulling her hair. S u b m e r g e. Sound muffled. Breath held. There it was okay, for not any soul could tell the difference between the scented searing waters and the cold salted droplets that joined them. The wooden beams on the ceiling - simple and mundane. Upon those did her eyes glaze up to for the hour in which she lay lifeless in that water, in the steam. Despondent… as sentimental thoughts seemed to dance with those curves of steam and rise up to those beams, unable to escape. For a moment all restrictions and rules did wash away, yet then they swam in the lily-soaked waters below, the rising mist that taunted her eyes serving as a reminder of their presence ever more. The very steam itself did seem to begrudge the weight of the sullen atmosphere, the most heavy weight. The lady's head curled into the tin - and in it's reflection her icy eyes stared back deformed in it's warp. Then, and only then, would she allow herself a moment of care, a moment of heart. { X } L O S I N G M Y M I N D A bitter snarl slithered hastily upon the lady’s lips as she rose from the bath, exhaling a guttural cry. Too long. Too long spent on this soppy, self-indulgent and needless sensibility. Off with you. Off. Go away. Droplets fell upon the floor below - lavender and bergamot oiling and seeping into the wood works with each pacing step. This wouldn’t do. This lack of control. Everything she stood for. No. The lavender on the lady’s face had substituted with despair, the bergamot replaced with ire. That’s the splendid thing about Control : It can be taken back. That's the splendid thing about Control : It can be taken back. That's the splendid thing about Control : It can be T A K E N B A C K The robed lady did move across to the desk- fingers slashing across a pile of letters, their tension only finally released once the flames of the spitting fire did fan with pages. The hearth consuming. The heart resheathing. " No. " “This is my life” [ This is not to be metagamed ]

[ 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]

" Louanne- " " Bring'eth me my wine, girl. " " And prepare the dresses for viewing. "

Someone. . . Somewhere. . . Slept very soundly.