EmiliainWonderland

Rhaenyra blinked at the fact her diary excerpts had been posted. "Uh, well. . . ya know. He IS my best friend."

Rhaenyra seemed rather pleased for her half-sister, beaming as she saw that she was to be wed. "I should write to her my congratulations. I am sure she must be overjoyed." At last came the day that a mother had hoped for. For all her failures in raising the woman to who she was today, she could not help but be proud that she had gotten to this point. She prayed desperately that the marriage would endure and that even if her own marriage with the woman's father did not go so well, that her daughter would not suffer from her own poor luck.

The former Lady's Maid heard the news when she'd returned to Agrenost, watching the Vourkehardts convalescing with one another, as they usually did. "You were too young, Charlotte. You made mistakes, as surely we all do, for we are only human... but you didn't even get to see that day you longed for so much. I wonder if I had stayed as your Lady's Maid, if I had been there for you more... would anything have changed?"

Rhaenyra, a palace servant balked at the latest edition of Lady Truthful. "Oh, this is. . . vicious."

CONGRATS! BEEN ROOTING FOR THIS MOMENT FOR A LONG WHILE NOW!!!

[!] Plastered around the human nations, there is a sign that reads very poorly. "Seeking work, please contact Rhaenyra. Willing to help out wherever! Just need mina!" Notably, most of the sign in written in lackluster handwriting, but the effort is clearly there!

A woman pondered the thought of Sybille gone. She'd been around Edrica enough to hear about it. Alexandria once upon a time felt a sort of disdain for Sybille. The woman, after all, had been enough to turn her husband away from her. Yet she had learned quickly that there was so much more to the story than she'd thought. No, whether it was Sybille or another woman. That relationship had always been doomed from the very start. It took her years to realize it. "You did what I couldn't, you kept my family safe. You made him happy. I think in some way, you must be quite lucky. To have truly died. You don't have to live like a ghost, lingering in the halls, pretending to be someone you aren't. Even moreso, you have the chance to be a ghost. Wherever you went after you passed Sybille. Thank you, I never hated you. I was angry with the world, with the situation, but you? You didn't deserve my anger. We love who we love, after all."

I stand with Spoopy and Squakhawk!!! BONELESS WINGS ARE BETTER. I DONT WANNA HOLD MY CHICKEN WHEN I EAT IT. LET ME USE A FORK. MY HANDS SHOULD NOT BE STICKY!!!!

There was a woman who remembered him. A woman who once wanted nothing but to fix the broken family she’d grown up with. She remembered meeting him and his initial disgust at the surname she had been born with. Yet despite the initial impression they’d made upon one another, her stubbornness proved fruitful. Ledicort was more than someone she would’ve considered family. He’d actually shown her genuine care. When her husband cheated on her, Alexandria was able to seek comfort with him and Edith. When Francesca got married, she was invited to attend, and even when the war came. He’d offered all he could offer her to make sure her family was safe. She had become closer to them than she’d ever thought possible after hearing of the awful split between the Vuillers and the de Sennas. Yet he’d given her hope. Maybe if she’d have been around longer, it could’ve really been the family she’d always hoped for. She would mourn for the life and the years she’d lost, and the fact she’d never get to thank him for all he’d done to involve her in the lives of their family. Another carried the torch for her, to watch over the ones she loved when she could not. “I tried. You know. I tried to tell him to make amends, hell, I tried to make amends. I gave up too soon, didn’t I? If only there had been more time, if only things had gone differently. Perhaps I would’ve known you from the beginning. You were a good man, Ledicort, and a wonderful uncle.”

A woman sat, still mourning the loss of her husband. That was the way of things, wasn’t it? To be a Teufel was to lose the things you loved constantly. First it was her mother who’d passed when she was 8, then it was her father who’d disappeared. Then her sisters who she’d seen a few times but never really got the chance to know. Then it was all of the friends she’d made in Salvo which was the only place that had ever really felt like home. No loss hit quite as hard as Mark, but even moreso, the loss of her son Percy. Percy wasn’t dead, but… he was so much like her, so much like his father, that she worried. She was still lamenting, lamenting everything she’d heard about his plans for the future. “You were never supposed to turn out this way, Percy. I was supposed to keep it from you. Keep you safe. I know we brought you here, but you had the choice to go live your own life. Why didn’t you take it? Why come back for us? You can’t die too, please, don’t die like he did because you’re fighting the cause we lived for. Please.” She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she spoke it into the winds anyways. Diana would do anything to keep him from meeting the same fate.

Diana heard the news. The man she’d loved for a lifetime, gone. All for the cause he’d convinced her to believe in. Did she ever truly believe in it? Was it ever hers? Perhaps not, but he was. She could’ve chosen another path, another life. Gone a dozen different ways, but she chose Mark at the end of it. Was he ever a good man? No, but neither was she. That must’ve run in the family, she supposed. She’d always heard terrible things about her mother, her grandmother too. Good things too, but… When did she forget her purpose? When did she stop caring about finding the rest of the Teufels? When she met Mark. Everything stopped mattering except that. Even if it meant becoming something her mother never would’ve approved of. She always knew she’d outlive him, that was the price of not just their lives, but of being a half-elf. Her son would live just as long as she would. It didn’t make it any easier, to lose her husband. She wasn’t alone though. She’d never been alone. “I was never much of a mother to you, was I? You’re all I’ve got left now.”

Amusement twinkled when she read the “penance”. Especially at the mention of oathbreaking. “Letters, was it? Oh yes, because that’s what he mentioned and only that. Letters. Not the fact you’d been meeting with her for a year prior to our divorce and not the fact you lied to my face. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” After all, Alexandria Vuiller was gone, wasn’t she?

Alex TOO has been mentioned here!

The Mori Deleter's wife muses at the missive, seeking out her spouse. Aged as she was, she recalled the Mori and their crimes against the descendants. "This is good news. I was just saying at that tourney that I saw a Mori and thought my age was truly progressing on me. Yet they are real and we have not forgotten their crimes against us. Nor should we." The Auvergnat said in visible disgust.

T

In another life, another time. The woman recalled her youth, the days where happiness was not so far out of reach. The missive reached her with amusement, though fleeting as it could never quite breach the deep and profound sadness now. “Nothing was ever meant to stay the same, I suppose. Long gone are the days I pretended to care about these human politics. Doesn’t mean I don’t derive some amount of humor from the turn of events. Good, I hope to see Peter felled. He deserves it. That’s my life no longer, but it’s still good to know justice is served. May our paths never cross again, Peter Rovare. Nor your disgraced kin. Goodbye and good riddance. A chapter of my life, finally at a close.”

A woman in blue read over the happenings in the Empire during her free time, shaking her head. Then to a Bishop of another church @PolarLoLs she handed over the missives in order. "I suppose I left at a very opportune time, didn't I? For once, it seems I need to tell some people thank you. How odd a feeling."

Could she have ever done anything differently? That mother who had left it all behind. If things had been different when they were young. If the world hadn't take such a turn, would her own blood be so capable of violence as this? Sometimes she wondered still if it was her fault that Aedric died. Was it her fault she had been friendly with Peter when perhaps she ought not to be? She was trying to stay neutral, trying to remove herself from the politics of it all and just be happy for once. Misfortune followed her at every step, she couldn't shake it. How fitting her own children should become so. . . numb to their own safety. Perhaps it was better this way. That they would never know the truth of her fate. She could not harm them anymore from so far away.

Disgraced former mod here. Xarkly and Spoopy were two of the best mods on that team, period. Gg Josh, gg.

A half-elf stared at the signature. "Joseph's back?! Well I'll be damned, that's how you know it's gettin' good!" Then she turned to her husband, waving the missive at him. @Javert "Joseph's back, m'love. Startin' to feel like Salvo 'gain."

Alexandria is confused as to why exactly Cesia is allowed to use the Grisblood name when writing missives. She shows the missive to Ser Rhaegar the Dauntless @Javert, quirking a brow in his direction. "You know, because Cesia is my friend I wanted to be supportive, but that is not how titles work or how they have ever worked. It does not go to the wife if the husband passes. Are they aware of that? Should I go talk to them?"

“An exceptional writer as always Simon.” Noted Alexandria Vuiller as she tossed the missive into the firepit of the Aeltarys encampment. She felt deeply for Cesia, who had lost her husband throughout all of this. “I suppose neither of us can keep a grasp on all of our children, can we?” The politics of Beleth were lost on her, she couldn’t be less interested, but Cesia? God she just hoped Cesia would be alright.

Alexandria is tearing her hair out right now! If she gets any more stressed, she's going to have a heart attack! A boy is left without his father. The father he remembered laughing with in the past. Mourning? They weren't mourning. It was his mother who was mourning. It was his family who was mourning while they made a mockery of his death.