Fallen From Grace

She is notified only the night before. much less time to prepare than the last time. This time, there’s a physical invitation, and not just the words from his mouth. It’s more official this way, she won’t have to deal with the guards. Offhandedly, she hopes he did not hear of what had transpired between them and her. She wouldn’t want them to have been punished for it. So little time means no hand-making an entire outfit. She takes an older one and improves upon it for the occasion. It is one very out of style, left by the previous owners of the estate. It’s not dark, like the colors she likes to wear. It’s a pale cream color, drapey and made of lace. She rustles around in the attic and finds some old jewelry too. She breaks the necklaces in her hands, and sews the black pearls into the dress. When on, the pattern is clear: lots of cobwebs draped all over.

In the night, the deliverer comes. He helps her into a carriage. She recognizes the horse. It’s Pierre. The one who misbehaves. He wasn’t happy the last time she’d walked there. Much too dangerous for a lady, she guessed...not that she was of any particular social standing. What a fright a robber would have when she pulled back her cloak. Every time since, he’d sent carriages to bring her to his home. He was always there, to help her out of the carriage and avoid any wing tangles. Always with his cold claws, outstretched.

The travel time is much quicker in carriage. She’s grateful to save her shoes. The streets were wet from yesterday’s rain, and she didn’t want to ruin his most-likely-irreplaceable carpets. 

She’s led into the courtyard, which is, yet again, swarming with people she doesn’t recognize. But, unlike last time, he isn’t here to greet her. It’s strange. Out of character. The footman doesn’t know what to do with her wings, when she tries to dip them under the overhang of the carriage. She only gets stuck temporarily, and she flushes in distress. Is he sick? Why throw a party if he’s ill? She reaches back into the carriage for a black box, tied with a violet ribbon. On her last visit, he’d mentioned wanting to try something new, something he hadn’t had before from her bakery. So she’d tried he hand at a new recipe she’d gathered from mortals. Something called a Cheesecake. She got a few wayward glances as she walked through the crowd, carrying the box in her hands. Yet again, they were obscured with gloves...ivory, to match her gown. Eyes scan all over. She doesn’t see his shock of white hair or crimson eyes anywhere. She does notice, however, that a good number of his servants seem to be missing. There is a very scant number of people holding platters compared to his last soiree. She eyes a servant placing an empty tray on a table, and slipping out of the side of the courtyard. Abandoning his post? Also strange.

Morgana bustles past the people, keeping her wings pressed tight to her back to avoid knocking anyone over. This party is no less intimate than the last...in fact is seems even busier. Must be the season. She sees people in the crowd she recognizes: Lady LeBlanc. Lady Zaavan. Generals she knows by face, but not by name. She ignores them, and continues on her way, not wanting to answer any questions.

Like last time, the gardens are quieter. Nearly devoid of any guests. The entrance to the hedge maze is decorated with candles inside of carved pumpkins. There are no jack-o-lanterns here...only excellently carved pieces of art. Her eyes catch the servant walking quickly away from her. He hadn’t noticed her, but still had a clipping gait. She followed suit, and soon saw that most servants seemed to be buzzing around one of the gazebos. Some coming, some going, like a hive of bees.

You’ve Opened Your Harrowing Surprise Box! You Recieve….

You’ve Opened Your Harrowing Surprise Box! You Recieve….

You’ve Opened Your Harrowing Surprise Box! You Recieve....

// Morgana is completely incapable of flight. Her ability to fly was stripped when Kayle decimated her wings with a blast of holy magic. It did more than remove her feathers though, it worked as a sort of “curse” of sorts, to remove the glory of her race. This curse also ensured her feathers would never grow back.

She desperately misses flying. With all of her soul, she wishes she could do it one last time. 

Harrowing Surprise Boxes you say? :eyes:

The way she seems comfortable enough to spread her wings convinces Vladimir that they shall remain outside for a while longer. It was too crowded inside, she deserved the chance to stretch. To feel comfortable. That was what he wanted, most of all. He could hardly impress her if she was on edge.

At her question, he chuckles. “I planned this whole party. I counted the costs and paid the fees and wages of everything and everyone here, from the decorations and food and wine to the acrobats and musicians. As satisfying as it is to see it all in motion, there’s hardly a thrill or surprise in it for me. Aside from what the guests may wear, of course. My servants always take the time to prepare something for me, something unexpected. Something to make the night worthwhile.” He smirks at some inner joke, but his eyes look a little sad for a moment.

He watches the way she eases forward, and smiles to hear the wonder in her voice. Yes, this was a good decision. “They’re intelligent. And, like I said, shy.” He clucks his tongue again, then coos softly in Old Noxian, that romantic, purring language of yesteryear’s poets. “But I am sure they will like you, mademoiselle. Just give them time to introduce themselves, and get our measure.”

The cream-coloured horse steps forward first, head down as it approaches, moving straight for Vlad. The hemomancer smiles and continues to coax the animal forward, unmoving but speaking soft and warm and comforting. When the beast draws up in front of Vladimir, head turned to one side so that man and beast can be eye-to-eye, he stands at least a head taller than the hemomancer.

“Pierre,” Vladimir smiles. “My boldest–”

The horse lunges forward, and sinks its teeth into the briars and roses of Vladimir’s cape, tearing away a significant section of foliage before munching demurely. Petals fall from a silken muzzle and the crunches are very loud.

“Mince! What is this, Pierre? Why?” Vladimir sighs, in irritation that isn’t entirely put on. “As I was saying, my boldest steed. Half mountain horse, which is why he is completely unphased by the idea of eating briars.” The horse leans in again, prompting Vlad to raise an arm defensively, swatting his claws lightly at the air. “Allez, non, away with you, greedy fellow! You will make the fine lady here think I don’t feed you.” The horse tried again, and Vlad put his palm against the horse’s muzzle and gave a small shove. Not enough to push the horse away, but enough to give him a little space. It grumbled, and shook itself, but did not seem offended. It bent down to lip the spilled rose petals from the grass.

With Morgana’s hands both on the fence, Vladmir is free to twist, to reach into the tangled mess of his cape, and pluck a rose from the thorns. 

“Ignore that boor and his terrible manners.” With a flourish, he presented the rose to Morgana. A smile curled his lips. “The best way to attract a lady is with the proper gifts.” He bows to her, then nods to where the other horses were cautiously approaching. “Why don’t you see if you can tempt one of those sweet girls closer? Palm flat…” He demonstrated, displaying the rose and its stem on the palm of his hand, bending his claws out of the way. From here, it can be seen that the silver claws - sheaths - are far too large for his fingers. They are not connected to his palm in any way, no chain or strap visible at all, yet somehow they do not slip, and his hands move like he has no fear of them sliding from his fingers.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, once Morgana takes the rose from him. He slides an arm around her waist, keeping far enough from the fence that his wardrobe is no longer in danger of Pierre’s abrupt snacking habits. “They are intelligent creatures. Marvel at them, relax and enjoy their beauty. If they sense you being tense or frightened, then they, too, shall be tense and frightened.”

Morgana’s hand rose to her mouth in shock. For a moment, she believed the horse had bitten him and not his cape. It put her in fear of the four-legged animals. It fluttered uselessly toward him, as if she were even capable of assisting him, only for him to brush it off. He seemed preoccupied with making ‘Pierre’ leave him be. Perhaps, then, in the dim light, he wouldn’t have seen her bare finger poking through the hole in her glove as she’d reached out. She was much too nervous to be completely put together. Her other gloved hand brushed his as he handed her the treat. For a fleeting moment, she believed he was presenting her with the flower. How foolish. She ignored the excited tingling of her skin beneath the black satin at the brush of his silver claw. Electricity, even in its most innocent form, wasn’t allowed for her. She held her hand nervously over the railing, her hand quivering lightly. True, the foliage on her outfit was all beads and lace, but it didn’t make her any less nervous. She’d known deer and elk in the wilds outside of Noxus to be rather forthcoming in their aggression, and she did not want a repeat of that instance. It would not impress her host to melt one of his horses alive out of pure reaction.

Ya’ll know what that means? 

It means 3 things.

1. The return of the SINFUL SUCCULENCE MORGANA AU

2. The return of Morgana’s HARROWING SURPRISE BOXES.