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where: venice palace, at the scala d'oro.
the light spilled down the scala d’oro like molten honey, gilding every step she took. mihrimah ascended slowly, the hem of her gown trailing behind her like the last breath of dusk. the palace was a marvel, yes. gold leaf so polished it seemed to breathe, frescoes that glowed even in the hush of morning. but to her, beauty had always been an unreliable witness. too often it was built atop bones. she moved through the procession of envoys with the serenity of someone both present and elsewhere, her gaze lingering on the frescoes of divine coronations and victories that masked what she already knew: every empire wrote its wars in plaster and paint.
someone nearby murmured, awed, “how beautiful it all is.” mihrimah’s lips curved, a sliver of wickedness stretching at the corners. she leaned slightly toward someone else that stood at her right-- only one step behind--, without bothering to glance at their face first before jesting: “well,” she murmured, “try astral projecting in here. bet it won’t be so pretty, then. ha!” her tone was light and biting, though her words held a somber meaning-- of ghosts and unresolved anger. the chatter continued on, though the air around her stilled for an instant, as if even the gold itself remembered blood. then she straightened, gloved fingers brushing the banister, and continued upward. “they do have formidable stairways, though,” she mused aloud. fingers crossed my brother will slip on the steps. she smiled, wide and warm, “one could get lost in here!”
"An interesting theory," Yozora said, his gaze not on Mihrimah, but critically assessing the ceiling as if calculating its weight. "Though the ugliness you'd find would be less spectral and more... structural. Beneath this gilt lies the memory of the quarry, the strain of the laborers, the sheer, vulgar effort required to force a mountain to become a staircase."
He ascended one step, his movement silent and unnervingly precise. "We call it beauty because it is more palatable than the truth. It is not art but a statement of dominance. Every victory painted here is merely a pretty way to hide the price that was paid."
Finally, his eyes shifted to her. There was no smile, only a flicker of cold recognition for someone who also saw the scaffolding beneath the paint.
"As for getting lost," his voice dropped to a tone that was for her alone. "It is often the most effective way to learn a place's true design. An intended path rarely leads to anything of substance."
location: la sala del mare velato ; evening.
open to everyone.
one of the less entertaining things about the sudden deluge of foreign dignitaries and their entourage, was definitely the fact they were now, quite literally, everywhere. like the grains of blasted sand they seeped into the every pore, crack and crevice of palazzo strozzi. she did not exaggerate. they truly were everywhere. she had hoped she would find some respite in the veiled sea, but imagine her distaste when she'd found it already occupied. it had still been early in evening and she was not going to allow the guests to imprison her to her chambers in her own blasted castle! instead, she fashioned her expression into something less outwardly menacing and more... welcoming.
though it had been a herculanean feat.
while she was, technically, the hostess, it did not mean she had to make small talk if she did not deem it necessary. those who ventured to mare velato usually sought out tranquility and solitude. contemplation. the plinking-plonking of the water droplets paired up with the soothing tone of the violins and harps. sometimes, she liked to believe the musicians were commissioned to play to the waters, rather than the people flocking in and out of the chambers. it wouldn't surprise her -- it could have been something far worse, anyway.
still, the tranquility did not last long as the silence that stretched between her and the unwanted companion took an uncomfortable turn, further accentuated by the lull of the music. as the hostess, she had her duties -- unfortunately.
"I trust you are settling in nicely. are you in want of something? perhaps refreshments?" caterina asked, just now turning to look at the occupant of mare velato.
He did not turn immediately, a silhouette of dark hair against the pale marble, his attention seemingly fixed on the rippling surface.
"Your hospitality is acknowledged," Yozora said, the words precise and layered with a formality that felt both impeccable and deeply isolating. "Though it is unnecessary. I require nothing."
Yozora let the silence between them linger, thicker and more profound than the quiet that had existed before. It was punctuated not by the plinking of water, but by its absence in the spaces between, a heavy stillness that seemed to swallow the distant music. He was in no hurry to fill it, his presence itself a statement of self-contained sovereignty. After a measured pause, he finally turned his head just enough to regard her. There was no curiosity in his gaze, only a flat, observational quality, as if she were another feature of the room. Elegant, perhaps, but ultimately part of the scenery he was forced to tolerate.
"Do not let my presence disturb your custom. I sought to reprieve from the... congestion. It seems we were drawn to the same fleeting resource. An unfortunate coincidence for us both."
( mackenyu arata, cis man, he/him, 30 ) Hark! The trumpets are now announcing the arrival of DOMYOJI YOZORA, the PRINCE of JAPAN. It has been said that they are known to be CALCULATIVE and RESOURCEFUL. When asked to describe themselves they said “ THE TOOLS OF A GOD, THE HEART OF A BOY, AND THE MIND OF A MONSTER ” However their RESERVED and ALOOF nature can make for difficult times. Time will tell what their intentions are in attending the Grand Summit.
THE BASICS ;
name: domyoji yozora
aliases: the anointed prince
age: 30
occupation: prince of japan, anointed
sexual orientation: pansexual
abilities: telekinesis
character inspirations: geto suguru (jujutsu kaisen), sasuke uchiha (naruto), levi ackerman (aot), giyu tomioka (demon slayer)
THE STORY SO FAR ;
tw: death
you're not sure why you were chosen, but you do know that you weren't born to be a son. you were born a solution, bred to be a weapon. your earliest memories are not of play, but of precision. you were taught that your telekinesis was not a gift, but a tool. the weight of every future casualty was yours to bear.
you learned to hold a telekinetic thread finer than a razor, to slice a falling cherry blossom in half. a misplaced object, a flicker of emotion, a sloppy movement... all were failures. all were punished. you were honed to a lethal edge.
your mother was your only refuge. in secret, she showed you a different world. reminded you that your power didn't have to only be a weapon, but a force to nurture life. she taught you the beauty of a calm rock garden, the art of calligraphy, the peace of a silent dawn. but your father saw her love as a poison, a weakness to be excised. after bearing your youngest sibling, you never see her again.
the breaking point came during a training session. distracted by your grief, your control slipped. the massive stone slab you were holding didn't fall on you, but your lapse triggered a chain reaction. when the dust settled, the bodies of loyal guards lay broken. innocent men killed by your lack of control.
the guilt twisted inside you. you believed your father. you decided he was right, emotion was a fatal flaw.
now, you are a caged bird. your demeanor is ice, you maintain a fastidious order around you, a desperate attempt to control the chaos within. your gift is a terrifying spectacle of force: barriers that shatter projectiles, blades that slice through stone. but it can only destroy and restrain. it can never truly heal the land, and you refuse to let it.
and now, a new chain has been forced for you: an arranged marriage for the means of a strategic alliance to secure the resources and technology your nation is too exhausted to build alone.
you finally accept your ugly truth: your power, your body, your future, your very existence... none of it belonged to you. it belonged to the throne.
you look at the courtiers bowing as you pass. you hear their murmured prayers. they see a prince, a savior. but you see the very mechanism of the system that grinds people into dust. they are the beneficiaries of this sacrifice, this cycle of using and discarding human beings for the "greater good." and you are its ultimate product.
a cold, clear thought has been pestering you lately, cutting through the noise in your mind: why should you save them? you have been bred to protect a society whose very structure demanded the destruction of everything gentle and good in your life. they applaud the weapon, ignorant of the blood used to forge it. they do not deserve the stability they so desperately beg for.
you are at your breaking point, but you refuse to acknowledge it. not yet. but you do know that when a weapon like you breaks, it doesn't just fall apart. it explodes.
TL;DR: born to be a weapon rather than a person. didn't get a good childhood. believes he doesn't deserve to be happy or feel any positive emotions after he caused an accident with his abilities. traumatized & angry boi!
HEADCANONS ;
tends to stay just outside of arm's reach, angling his body away in crowds. mostly out of fear of unintentionally hurting someone.
may deliberately break insignificant objects with his bare hands during moments of extreme stress, as he sees it as a physical act to vent the urge to destroy, proving he is still the one in command. allowing his telekinesis to do this instead would indicate he lost control, which he refuses to let happen.
has a komadori (japanese robin) named hikari that he raised after it fell from its nest as a fledgling. hikari seems to be utterly unimpressed by his power. they hop around in his chambers, pecking at crumbs. they are the only being he doesn't fear he will hurt.
rarely raises his voice. instead, has a habit of going completely silent and still when giving an order, his eyes doing all the talking.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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