bumblefina

Requiem for the Lily
On a life spent pursuing matters of the heart.

Blanche Thérèse of Helena
1770 - 1814

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1784

       It was a cold morning in the ruby city when bells rang out across Helena, announcing the death of her father, Peter III,  and the swift departure of her mother, Renée Antoinette, Maîtresse-en-titre. As her mother’s carriage clattered away on the cobbled streets of the capital, Blanche wrapped her arms around herself. Her twin sister, Héloïse, and elder brother, Leopold, both stood in silence at her sides. In one swift motion, the trio had lost both parents. Each child would suffer in their own way from this unreasonable grief.

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1786

       Blanche stood in the gardens of the Novellen, tears welling in her eyes. Her face was drained of color, lips parted in shock. Wilhelmina, the Duchess of Helena, the woman who had been instructed to care for the girl and who ultimately was her greatest ally in the courts of Oren, spoke to her. Her words sounded distant, like those spoken on the other side of a window, or above the waters of a pool one laid in. Their meaning struck the girl of 16 though. As the scent of lemons drifted through the air around them, Blanche became keenly aware that she had been arranged to wed the Duke of Cathalon, a man 36 years her senior.

Six months later.

       Madame Red chattered endlessly as she led Blanche up the steps of the tavern to the second floor, the favored space they enjoyed on many an afternoon. Red kept talking and talking, insisting that Blanche would adore her daughter. Ever the polite young lady, she only nodded along, half expecting a carbon copy of the extravagant woman. Instead, they approached the table where a young Seyami girl sat, her hair like a halo of black coils around a perfectly browned face. Her golden eyes shifted towards Blanche, who found herself stopped in her tracks. Mustering some courage, she managed out a polite greeting, and the two were introduced. She could not keep her eyes off Aidevo Keita for the rest of the afternoon.

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1788

       Outside the doors to the great cathedral in Helena, Wilhelmina wiped the tears budding from Blanche’s eyes, banishing them before they could mar the 18 year old’s makeup. Quiet words of assurance steeled her nerves, and the pair turned to enter the church, a gentle score starting up as the young bride entered the near empty church. It was with great difficulty that Blanche did not stare at the Seyami in the pews for the entirety of her own wedding. The stoic Henry Frederick  slid a plain, golden ring onto her finger, and with that she was the Duchess of Cathalon.

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1789

       In a small, secluded park deep within the Ruby city, Blanche and Aidevo sat together on a bench. Words spilled from the Duchess’ mouth, confessions and truths, heartfelt and longing. The response from the Seyami was that of tears, of confessions of her own. Words of longing, but also of rejection. A stillness passed over the pair. A widening of a gap, a tight grip on both hearts. Tears now, from both parties, as the Duchess rose with flushed cheeks. Heartache and embarrassment overcame her as she fled the park, with only a loveless marriage to keep her company.

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1790 to 1795

        The next few years would pass in a blur. Blanche’s heart was hollow, and she lived out her days moving between the Varoche Palace and their humble home within Helena. In 1790, she bore Henry their first child, a girl they called Margaux. Three years later, they welcomed their second child and heir, Thomas. Blanche managed to foster a warm friendship with Aidevo, and the Seyami never truly left her sights. The Duchess moved from social event to social event, ever the polite and smiling young lady, all the while a deep longing grew in her heart. It was at a rather mundane picnic in the Helenan countryside where she reclined upon a blanket, watching Aidevo and a Norlandic ex-king spar. A lady of the court had leaned over, making some coy comment about Blanche taking on a lover, implying the flirtatious Norlander had an interest in her. The young woman’s cheeks flushed, and she silenced the woman with a wave of her hand. In her mind, and in her heart, however, she imagined just that, only not with the Norlander, but his opponent.

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1796

        Blanche had, until now, lived a life of relative comfort and peace. It was on an ill fated day that she, and everyone else on Arcas, would experience that which has been the fate of so many over the centuries: ruination of their homeland. For all, the end of times had come. Meteors rained from the sky, the very earth below their feet opened up and spilled forth fire and brimstone. From their humble home in Helena, Henry whisked his young wife and two children from the city to the relative peace of the Kaedreni countryside. There they remained with a few other members of court until ultimately all of Oren was forced into the Fort of Man at the edge of their borders. It was a blur for many, and the fair people of Arcas boarded their ships and fled the burning continent, leaving their beloved homeland behind.

        Settling onto Almaris with the rest of the courts, Blanche and her family moved into the Augustine, taking up apartments along with the rest of the nobility. A far cry from the tamed countryside of Kaedrin, palace life became increasingly stifling for many. Blanche found herself often unwilling to attend court events, many times only lured into the sumptuous parties by the presence of a certain Seyami. 
 

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1798

        On a snowy winter’s day, silver bells tolled and merriment was at hand. Donned in a festively colored gown, Blanche had been cajoled into attending an overcrowded, noisy, and rather opulent Tuvsmas Day party. As the children of the court lined up to make their gift requests, Blanche lingered at the edges of the Trissingham ballroom. As her gaze drifted about, her eyes befell the one person she had hoped so very much to see. Aidevo, in a splendid gown of purple and golden silk, seemed to float across the room towards her. For the young Duchess, time slowed. That day suddenly became bearable, the noise and raucous guests fading into the background as all of her focus fell upon the woman. For the first time in years, Blanche had all of Aidevo’s attention, and by the end of the evening, the pair had stolen away into a corner of the Trissingham greenhouse. There, ten years since the ill-fated confession in the Helenan park, the pair finally admitted their love for one another. Finally, after ten years of longing, the pair shared a secret kiss.
       From then on, the Seyami and the Duchess would share a secret love affair.

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1800

       On a frigid morning, Blanche sat in her Augustine apartments in all black, a child at each of her sides. Henry had passed the day before, a stroke at the age of sixty-six. They had been married just twelve years, leaving the thirty year old a widow with two young children. She had inherited everything: their Kaedreni wealth, the vast shipping empire her husband had built, and the plans to an estate in the countryside. As nobles passed through her apartments, offering their condolences to the Duchess-Dowager, she offered up little nods and weak smiles, presenting herself as the stoic young widow she ought to be. Within her mind, her thoughts raced. She could think only of how she was now free.

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1805

        The bright summer sun washed the Orenian countryside in a bath of warmth and light on a resplendent afternoon. The Cathalon estate, named Cheval Hall for the enormous and mysterious horse statue that sat upon the hill beside it, had just been completed. The scent of fresh paint and new linens filled it’s halls, along with a jolly chorus of conversation and laughter. A ball was being held in honor of the young Margaux. Relatively small in nature, compared to the palatial debuts of some other girls of the court, the family was nonetheless pleased with the turnout. All throughout the afternoon and well into the evening, guests paraded through the ballroom of the estate, passing their well wishes onto the Duchess-Dowager. Beside her, Aidevo stood with a pleasant smile and a glass of fine wine in her hand. The pair were inseparable, and as happy as one could possibly be. This time would be the brightest for Blanche, the most beautiful.

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       The following nine years passed, not without qualm, but in relative peace. The Duchess-Dowager would pour her energy into attending to her children’s futures, and while she would most certainly encounter strife, she would always return home to the love of her life, the woman she’d asked in secret to be her wife. Their relationship would go unhindered for nearly 15 years. 

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1814

       Blanche paced in her townhouse, one hand at her mouth, nervously chewing a nail. There was a knock on the door, and she nearly ran to open it. The figure outside uttered a few words before departing into the night. ‘Dobrov,’ the woman thought to herself, ‘Aidevo has been seen in Dobrov.’ Half an hour later, a carriage arrived to take the woman to the small Raevir settlement. She hadn’t even changed into her traveling clothes, leaving without a hat or coat.

       Some time later, the woman found herself outside the gates to the castle that overlooked the small village. She had searched through the sleepy town before making her way across the bridge, and as she approached she called out for anyone inside. Frigid rain poured down around her, and from within the courtyard she spied the woman she had been searching for. The Seyami’s expression was hesitant, unnerved. Her demeanor was off, but she allowed the blonde entrance, and between strained words she ushered her off to a quieter part of the castle. As the pair emerged onto a secluded rampart, further words were exchanged. Aidevo’s tone grew angry, hateful. Her expression shifted, though briefly, as if she was fighting against the words she was saying. They struck Blanche like arrows to the heart, though. Tears began to fall, and as the name of another woman came from the Seyami’s lips, only to be coupled with vicious words and accusations that made no sense, and the woman’s heart seized in her chest. Pain gripped her, and she was struck with such sorrow that she knew not how to react.
    
       As the rain continued to pour down around them, the now soaked Duchess-dowager stumbled backwards, away from the woman she loved, the encounter overwhelming her. Her white gown, now clinging to her form, wrapped about her ankles. Another step backwards, and her heel struck the low stone ledge. Time seemed to slow, a second passing like an eternity as one hand reached out in a desperate attempt, fingers curling towards the woman. Her form fell backwards, over the wall, and a gentle fluttering of her soaked skirts marked her passing out of sight. Half a second later, the crashing sound of water was carried up the wall as her body struck a shallow lily pond below.

Blanche watched as the wall grew taller, the rain seeming to stop in place as her body raced past it. Her heart hurt, in a way she didn’t know it could. And then suddenly, the back of her head struck a low rock in the lily pond. She could not move, she could not breathe. The water around her head grew a red halo, loose blonde hairs floating lazily at the edges of her vision.

As the woman faded from consciousness, a memory crept into her mind. The pain she felt seemed to melt away, replaced with the feeling of a gentle breeze on her face. She sat in the high branches of a towering redwood in the lands of Elvenesse, Aidevo at her side. Twilight crept closer as the minutes passed, and the pair of lovers watched as the sun sank below the distant horizon, painting a colorful display upon the sky. Blanche leaned against Aidevo’s side, and the Seyami wrapped an arm around the blonde. As the sun slipped away with a final blip of light, so too did the Duchess-dowager of Cathalon leave the realm of the living.