Eryane

Desperately, Elizaveta attempts to read the letter that her father was sent. Although she was quite young, barely able to read much, the Ruthern tried her hardest to comprehend what fancy words lie before her. She understood nothing. @Demavend

Arabella of Carolustadt, although not involved in Haeseni politics, takes the news from a courier on the road with some joy for the progressive move for Haeseni society and the continuation of the unique tradition started some decades ago. She wished the best for Queen Amadea's successes as the King's equal, albeit quietly and to herself, whilst traveling through the wintery lands of the dual monarchy. "Long live Queen Amadea of Susa," she'd repeat.

mad cause I wanted all the siblings to equally fight for the throne trying to get the peoples support >:(

which part of our reign did you enjoy the most & the least? also do you still put jelly in your eggs for breakfast?

https://youtu.be/SqDjQPoJxiw CONTEMPORARY FEAR A Collection of Poetry written by Arabella of Carolustadt One day, I pray that I shall see the wheatfields of a land free from the grips of tyranny, and my mind will be at liberty with it. I have imprisoned myself to the whims of my paranoia and distrust, furthermore to the forces that are outside of my will that cannot be controlled by my voice alone. A voice in the contemporary era holds more weight than it once did, yet it still drowns amidst the millions. The opinions brought to life by language are often stomped out like a beginning flame by inter-subjective thoughts that control our lives without having any life to them but imagination. I find these writings for all of humanity who has suffered greatly in these past decades. The Stranger Who Shapes Me In our dreams were cities of gold We saw a future for us both, brighter Than anything in that land foretold. Winter sang tales of new beginnings, Yet to occur but soon to come, And with it our unexpected endings. I hear it still, the glass that shattered The screams, the painful shouts, And anger as nothing else mattered. Our wounds, hearts, would heal, But what we had written together wouldn't. All the unmade memories were his to steal. Who is he? I'd like to ask that too For the man who stole my future Is someone I never knew. I have seen his face, it is engraved in my mind. He enjoys being there, to torture me so Blissfully unaware, of the life he defined. Gently I will not go into the darkness As alike to the sanguinary anomalies Who are void of love, remnant to starkness. Steadfast I will be in your presence, For no matter the lack of humanity in your eyes, Nothing shall break hope's essence The Wall There is no wall between these lands And yet when I close my eyes, I see his hands Reaching for a line drawn in the sands, Declared impassable by a stranger's commands. Whose hands do I see, that reach so far? It is that of two brothers with cities of char Blockaded by the collective imagination That creates our understanding of the nation. When I ask of his pains, for him to free himself of his woes His eyes are only what tell me the most Never shall he dare to open the box, to expose The hardships of forced distance despite being so close. Unfathomable is the strength of a brotherly bond Which shall not, by this vitality, despond. The Grey Palace Daybreak, and with it the morning sun Into the oranges hues we go, with the rolling hills Grey scars the land, in buildings one by one The air is crisp here, with the sweetness of nature Do you know who lives here, amidst the castle before my eyes? Children are laughing, and the cornfields sway, Yet to say the joy there is unquestioned with happiness is full of lies Oh, we are all so far from our home, and they are here to stay. A stranger's embrace becomes one of longing When that of a mother and father's are beyond their small reach They crave for a sense of belonging, And a normalcy they may never know. His Name Will Remain Untold Power seeps from the words unspoken And the names I refuse to give life to — For they deserve none of it from the pieces left broken. Only when consciousness meets fringe do I hear them. When the others ask for recollection, It is of my mindful duty to sweep such questions away Without desire for more speech, through subtle objection. These names deserve nothing save for oblivion. Like a liquor I drank them amidst casual routine, In settings most unlike to mention them within. An obsession of the mind and all such things inbetween Of the jarring cruelties struck upon me. Words, names, be them as they may — Mean nothing without breath and gifted light of day. Mother Flinches at the clashes of metal And tears from the sound of silence - For it soothes your trembling soul, Which coils in recollection of those terrors As your hearing bursted into a singular piercing noise. Home you stay, as the world caves in around you. Close to your sons, whilst bloodshed surrounds you. Physical existence becomes the nightmare, Rather than the torments that fill your rest. Only glimpses show this awakened sobriety. Never shall they see these inner trials, Nor the questions that consume you without words. Tonight, I pray that you find a few hours of dreams in your rest.

From her residency in Branhavn, Arabella of Carolustadt curiously listened to the chatter on the street as rumors spiral. She hesitated upon what she heard - could it be true? - the arrival of her cousin, who she had figured to be dead with the rest of the Novellen at the fall of the empire's successor state. If she closed her eyes for long enough, she could still see the ruins of Vienne's palace, and hear the crunch of glass beneath her feet in the dining hall where all the stone busts of the rulers of Oren lay broken. If she tried even harder to tug at her memories, the crackle of a fireplace in the Aster Palace and her mother, Victoria - muttering off about something she couldn't comprehend. After packing her things to go into the capital city of Karosgrad, Arabella traveled the gravel roads leading to Hanseti-Ruska's capital to hear more information on the arrival. It gave her some feeling of nostalgia from stories she heard as a child, although this was quite different. Peace had finally been made - or at least some sense of it, and the international order had been entirely shifted. Nevertheless, she set out to find her family. Curiosity took the best of her.

And then, the wandering traveler was back within the vast range of the Haeseni lands, as per request by the king to stay as the Petran Envoy for some time in the palace. Arabella of Carolustadt overlooked the unfamiliar architecture that stretched across the colorful Karosgrad from a balcony high above most of the city's buildings. Now having a solidified alliance for what she hoped to be a new home and new beginning in Petra, she felt some ease. There was still much more work to do. With that, she downed the Carrion Black she had been recently given!

Elisabeth of Hanover wishes her children could've been treated the same by Henry Cordayne.

Ithirae gasps as she takes the document into her hands, as such was given to her moments ago by a courier. Then, she grins. "This is perfect for my new stand-up comedy! VALYRIS! Look!" Without another word, she runs off to find her sister. @Cepheid

Arabella lets out a heavy sigh of relief, at the haste response of the Queen to attend to the issue at hand - especially in a formal, well-written manner. "That's a monarch," the youth exclaimed to herself under her breath, increasingly becoming proud of her decision to have moved to Haense.

Having left behind the dissolved state of Oren, Arabella had settled her bags in the Haeseni lands. She had been there for a few weeks or so now, adjusting to a lifestyle entirely unlike her own after the end of the kingdom. Seeing this missive made her grumble, her nose scrunching. "This seems like an attempt to capitalize on the high division in humanity, and to bring it to Haense. I hope the people here don't fall for these tricks. I hope they stay proudly as one together, especially when the state easily could be in its golden age."

"I fear for what this sort of dish might do to your stomach," quickly chimed in that of Ithirae, who then glanced over the missive with narrowed eyes. "If it, by any chance, has anything to do with human style of cooking, I'm afraid the royal janitor will quit his job. We do have a royal janitor... don't we?" @JuliusAakerlund@VoxyNoir

"Cowards will always choose themselves and their survival first," a young Arabella muttered under her breath as she heard the news. "Siding with those who would murder their brothers and sisters, and them too without remorse if they had the chance." She, despite her seemingly patriotic words, had kept a bag packed by the door. Having heard nothing from the incumbent regime, her fears had worsened and she was not naive to the truth - she simply refused to accept collaboration in what growingly felt like the inevitable. That is, for now.

Although amidst a series of travels abroad throughout the lands of Almaris, Ithirae of Celia'nor was able to collect a few bits of regarding the state of her homeland - among them, this. The publishing of the non-aggression pact made her smile, and she went into the depths of the small tent she stayed in to write Valyris and Illarion. So the board shifts and changes with the tides of history, and we must learn to read - to our utmost abilities - what the future holds ... And she continued, until she sent it off when she found a post down the road.

"Let's hope that these peoples and their king have the sense in them to be wise about their next moves," Ithirae said to Illarion, as she spun about a bit of honey with a teaspoon until it dissolved in her tea. @VoxyNoir

dont talk to my wife like that

even if I had an argument I wouldn't try b/c I'd get lawyered by @Xarklyand that scares me