serpentinheels

Minerva couldn't help but smirk and laugh a bit as she fanned herself.

She wasn't at all scandalized by the prospect of a woman standing or in this case sitting on her own and being independent, but she'd be more pleased if it were any other woman and not Sienna.

Minerva. A woman that reflected her own sharp tongued wit, one who cared less what the entirety of the ton thought of herself. The only difference between the two was that she was forced to hide in shame for months while her former husband acted out on every single one of his desires. Sienna refused to cower any longer.

"Small men need to know their place," she said without a whisper. She would not hold her tongue for the benefit of others, "I am sure he will get over it once his mother eases that wounded heart of his."

as he searched for andromeda, oliver was shaken by his thoughts by the sound of a woman putting a man in his place — and if he hadn’t of known better, he would have assumed it was juliet. turning his head, he noticed lady in crimson that had bested her opponent with such effortless precision that brought an amused smile to oliver’s lips — and a hush to the crowd around her. she sat graceful and unbothered as if she hadn’t just chewed a gentleman up and spat him back out. oliver approached her and bowed, his eyes dancing with delight. “i fear that man might die of humiliation,” he chuckled, “do you perhaps offer lessons?”

Sienna looked over at him, the man had no pretension about him. Someone not of money or status and otherwise unencumbered by the opinions of others, not unlike herself. Raising a brow, "lessons?" Smirking, "I only give lessons to those who can stomach the truth, which not many can handle." Sienna had her fair share of glares and whispers and she would have never shown her face back in this town. However, she refused to allow the sentiments of those lesser than her bother her.

"And what brings you out to the races? By the looks of all others you seem to be draped in scandal and not many could handle that pressure?"

Sienna allowed the corner of her mouth to upturn, a small smile, but if anyone questioned it, she would deny it vehemently. “Flattery disguised as wit,” she said, glancing at the stranger with the tilt of her chin that suggested amusement, “a dangerous combination.” Her fan flicked open with a snap, the delicate lace casting a patterned shadow across her face. “You’d do well to place your coin wisely, should you decide to wager. These creatures,” she gestured toward the track, where the horses lined up in restless anticipation, “demand more respect than most men I’ve met this morning.” Did Sienna identify more with the horses on the field than the people in the stands

busy  flutter  of  hardly  changed  streets  should  have  brought  her  well  sought  after  comfort.  as  the  world  continued  to  move  on  …  this  place  had  remained  the  same.  buildings  ,  untouched.  corners  ,  a  painted  replica  of  what  had  always  been.  down  to  the  very  same  weathered  brick  and  ivy  covered  walls  of  each  passing  shop.  and  yet—  isadora  could  not  shake  the  unfamiliar  feeling  that  settled  deep  within  her  chest.  as  if  she  had  never  truly  walked  these  streets  a  day  in  her  life.  each  face  that  passed  by  seemed  new  ,  unknown  to  her.  their  echoing  laughter  a  stranger  among  the  countless  people  she  had  locked  into  her  subconscious  memory  ,  drawing  out  names  and  factual  knowledge  to  keep  her  polite.  

Sienna paused, her lips curling into a smile that could only be described as wickedly amused. The air was thick with the scent of pastries, but she was hardly distracted by the scent. Instead, her eyes gleamed as she took in the scene: the earnest apology, the self-conscious shuffle of Isadora’s feet, the delicate, almost tragic attempt at politeness. It was all too precious.

"Do not apologize, Isa," Sienna scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "they were in your way, not the other way around." Isadora was too soft for her own good, even after all these years of their friendship. Sienna had not felt an ounce of guilt keeping her best friend hidden away from the rest of the ton at the cottage they had resided at. Not when Arden lurked, waiting for her return.

She had refused to divulge anything about Isadora to him during their reunion, rather keeping him on the edge of his seat hungry for more information that only she could provide to him. It was clear that her former husband was only desperate for her best friend because she was just another beautiful pristine thing he could ruin and corrupt. Arden had a way of destroying perfect things.

The front that she had to put on when she was around Sienna had almost been the worst part about her marriage. Having to be as friendly as she possibly could whilst they were in public had almost drove her crazy. She had thought that might be different now. Apparently she was wrong. Millicent was about to ask what had happened but as Sienna turned it back on her, the penny dropped. "He was with someone else?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Another thing that Millicent had always hated to think about - Sienna was supposed to marry Benedict. The simple idea of which made her skin crawl. She could not imagine someone like him with the she devil herself. "Did you come to your senses or did your parents decide for you?" She countered. "Do not pretend that we are the same, Sienna." Millicent was all too aware that she did not have the higher ground here. If anything , she and Sienna were probably on the same level. She just didn't want to admit it. "I do not want freedom. I want my husband and that is what I am here to get."

Waving Millicent's concern away, Sienna brushed it off, "of course he was, the man could never be satiated but I never did mind," she sighed. Had Millicent not known about the understanding the paid had? Shrugging, "my problem with all of this was that it was never disclosed to me or that I was even invited to the festivities," she smirked, sure that the other woman would be clutching her pearls at this point, "the insolent little redhead had the audacity to assume that he would devote his life to her when he could never be faithful to one woman. I was forced to be his martyr," there was venom laced in her voice.

Laughing, "my parents thought it best that I marry a man in good standing," she muttered, "I did not fight them on the matter and only offered suggestions for the alternative." Rolling her eyes, she enjoyed the way Millicent thought she was any better than her. At least for Sienna, there had been no dishonesty between her and her husband. For her, who laid in her bed had been about pleasure and not of emotions. Millicent on the other hand searched for companionship and love in another. Sienna could not help but feel bad for her: settling for something substandard because of some feeling of duty. "We both know that you only want your husband because of some responsibility to society."

Her presence unsettled him, not with discomfort, but with a sense of immediacy he seldom allowed. There was something in the way she carried herself—defiant and radiant and weary all at once—that made him want to capture her in every medium he knew. Paint her in oil and rage and light. Carve her from marble until she was mythic. Ink her into paper until she was immortal. She was not simply beautiful. She was composed of stories and bruises and fire, and he wanted to honour it all. “I had not meant for you to see it,” he admitted quietly, fingers threading together in front of him in a rare show of uncertainty. “Art is…” he hesitated, searching for a word that might encompass what it felt like to be seen through his own work. “It is private. Not because it is shameful—but because it is honest. Too honest, sometimes.” He gave her a soft, almost boyish smile, the corners of his lips trembling with the effort of it. “Still… I am glad you find it good.” He watched her then, a little breathless, studying how she held the sketchbook—like it was hers, somehow. Like she belonged to the page already. It was unfamiliar, this feeling of being caught and not judged, admired and not mocked. And though he felt unsteady on his feet, he was quietly grateful. To be seen. To be drawn out, if only for a moment.

“Je ne voulais pas être impoli…” → “I did not mean to be rude…”

Sienna could often make even the bravest of men quiver where they stood. Her presence had always been a force and was never one to shy away from the attention. She could not blame this man for his pauses and stutters, "you need not worry when the art is this wonderful," she mused. Sienna felt his words ring true. She had been too honey, too forthcoming and that was why Arden decided it was enough. The courts shamed her, sent her off to the countryside to hide, to repent for the sins but they were not only her sins. Her former husband had his owns sins to confront and atone for. That was why she was here: for his remorse, one way or another. "I find that I am too honest," she admitted to him, "it is why people turn away from me, but not you. I believe you see what is truly inside of me.

My favorite Tudor costumes (33/37):

Selfishly he wonders if she has been waiting for this moment— plotting, seething, turning sour like fruit to wine. How lovely she had found him and how bittersweet. Underneath it all, of course, Arden can taste the decay of what he had learned to love. They were not drawn by desire, but convenience of parties outside of themselves. Under the exhaustion of abiding by ever rule did they decree they would waste their fortune on one generation alone. They were full of greed and never satiated, evident in the Sienna's last request. The pedestal in which she stood fractured and they were left in ruin, left to fall apart and be forgotten.

But his breath betrays him, intrigued and on the very edge of finding satisfaction even if only for a night. "We were made to rot, were we not? It is over and done, love, unless you seek to be just a cruel mistress now."

He holds his face in her hands, jaw cut into the palm of his hand so delicately like she made for him so touch and admire.

"Speaking of whores, how is that sweet little redhead of yours?" Her eyes shot daggers at him, "it's been so long since I have seen her and I do yearn for a toothache." Little Miss Beatrice Bennett. An meek girl who Arden searched for salvation in, trying to rid himself of the sins that they committed together, but just as he did with her, he ruined her too. Took the poor girl's honor, left her the way he left herself. Despite his attempt, he could not hide anything from her and it was just the first of many

He was late — again. It was nothing new for Avi, he was disorganized and terrible with time management. He’d been told time after time, but an old dog certainly couldn’t learn new tricks — at least, that was what he told himself. On top of it all, running from one noble house to the other wasn’t exactly the easiest feat.

With cobblestones beneath his shoes, Avi darted through the crowd at Grosvenor Street — nearly running into everyone. But he’d done this enough times to learn when to duck and when to turn. Suddenly, his foot caught in a loose cobblestone and he tripped just slightly, his books and papers falling onto the ground below him — at the feet of another. “I’m terribly sorry, I was I’m a rush…,” he explained, leaning down to pick his belongings up. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked with concern, looking up at who'd been subjected to his clumsiness. He was met with a familiar face and his heart nearly stopped beating in his chest. A shy smile tugged on his lips, “Oh...Miss Olivier. It’s a delight to see you.”

Sienna spotted the face who had fallen in front of her and laughed, "Mister Lakhani? Is that your sweet face?" She chuckled, a sickly sweetness coating her voice. It had been ages since she had seen Avi, a man who would kiss the ground she walked, even when he had become the butt of all her and Arden's jokes. "It seems you have not changed one bit," she smirked widely. Sienna knew the fates were shining upon her when they decided to bring him back into her life.

Millicent might have been one of the oldest people who hadn't heard that Sienna was back in town - but she certainly noticed the stares that the other woman got as she made her way over to them. A snapshot into her own future, perhaps. She had never thought that there would be a time when she and Sienna had something in comment.

A deep sigh fell from Millicents lips as she listened to the other. "Oh, dear, i'm so sorry. The pen works both ways, you know." She spoke, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Perhaps this was the only silver lining of she and Benedict not being together anymore - she no longer had to deal with Sienna.

Sighing, "you are right about that but I blame the despair from the," she lowered her voice for the dramatics, "divorce. You see, I took it very hard when Arden betrayed me." It was not a lie, she had been upset but that sadness quickly turned into anger and she vowed she would ruin his life. "I'm sure you understand with what happened with Lord Benedict," pausing, "or was it the other way around? I could not keep up with the gossip I'm sorry."

Sienna pouted, "well I'm sorry to hear about that. I thought you had just come to your senses about Lord Benedict as I did all those years ago." It had once been her fate to marry Benedict, until her parents came to their senses and recognized he was not worth another glance from her. Unfortunately, another woman had to take on that burden instead. "It's not so bad over here," she flashed a sardonic grin, "you will have the freedom I know you have desired, what you tried to achieve." Millicent was exactly like her, just dressed up in a fancy bow. At least Sienna was honest with herself.

The afternoon light in London was especially kind that day—diffused through a gentle haze, turning the city’s grime into something almost golden. Bastien walked with no real destination, hands tucked neatly behind his back, the edges of his coat fluttering as if stirred by thought. It was one of his better days—quiet inside, not too burdened by the weight of family or failures or the gnawing sense that he did not quite belong. There were moments like this, fleeting though they were, when he could pretend he was simply an artist in a city that welcomed him. And then he saw her.

It was not the sort of beauty that begged for notice—it was the kind that halted time, slipping into his senses like a half-remembered melody. Her features were refined, like something carved gently by the sea: high cheekbones, soft mouth, the elegance of her neck turned slightly as she glanced at something across the street. There was an old-world grace to her that seemed untouched by the chaos of London. Her hair gleamed like polished chestnut, her posture calm and self-assured, the set of her shoulders suggesting she had nothing to prove. She wore a gown of pale dove-gray that caught the light in subtle ways, accentuating not just her form, but the quiet command she held over the space around her. To Bastien, she looked like someone who ought to be painted in oils and gold leaf, someone worthy of reverence, of preservation.

He fumbled for his sketchbook with the desperation of a man who’d spotted divinity in motion, flipping through pages and cursing under his breath in French until he found a blank space. His pencil trembled as he started to trace her silhouette, trying to memorize the line of her brow, the tilt of her chin. And then—her eyes met his. Not by accident. She looked at him. Directly. Fully. Bastien froze, still holding the pencil to paper, mouth parted slightly as if words might tumble out and save him from his own awe. What came instead, barely above a whisper, was, “Mon Dieu… you’re beautiful.”

Sienna's return to Mayfair meant the whispers began again. Once more the distinguished ladies of the ton would mumble all about the fall from grace that the former Lady Olivier had and the nerve she had to even return to this town. It was Sienna's job to remind them who out of them could truly ruin another person's life. She would speak candidly to anyone who attempted to throw a snide remark in her direction. It was not her fault that their husbands had mistresses, or problems with liquor or even a gambling problem that was surely to put their entire estate in massive amounts of debt. Sienna was only there to inform the rest of the ton of their indiscretions, with a smile upon her face of course.

Staring was quite common whenever she walked towards the market. How anyone could fathom such a shameful woman escorting herself around was beyond her comprehension, but she would allow the lowly people to watch and learn. Her eyes drifted towards the pair of eyes who seemed to burn holes into her and a sardonic grin appeared upon her face, "mon dieu? Parles-tu français?" It wasn't often she heard a voice call out for her in her native tongue. Arden had been the only one to ever keep a conversation with her in French and now the only words she wanted to spew in their love language was filled with hatred. The young man seemed to be taken by Sienna and she could only bask in the admiration of him, "beautiful, you say?" She leaned towards him, "Je suis plus que belle. Je suis parfaite" she returned a small wink. Sienna would be content with any man who fed her compliments and fawned at the altar of her feet.

"And what is a gentleman like you watching a woman like me, doing?" She peered at the sketchbook in his hand and could see the outline that began to reflect her beauty, "monsieur! Is that supposed to be me?" She asked quickly before pulling the bound notebook from his hands, "I believe this is actually good." she mused.

There's a difference in between dangerous, and lethal games. Toying around with the Sinclair family -- his family, if he wants to be precise -- is partially lethal, partially dangerous, though mostly walking on thin ice. Staring at a married woman like she is heaven brought to earth, is lethal. Especially, when her husband is around. Especially, when the woman looks lethal herself. Elias tries to push his thoughts in other directions -- towards the red wine in his glass, which tastes exceptional, or towards the beautiful decorations spread all throughout the home.

When Sienna approaches him, Elias freezes partially. He does not get up from his chair, instead he looks up at her, and analyzes her features. Yeah. Gorgeous. Deadly. "Good Evening.", Elias greets her, "I am yet to see your husband to thank him for his invitation." He had accepted it -- in hopes of finding out more about Lady Whistledown, and had been greeted with... strange sights. "Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"

Instead, Sienna would enjoy the party, drink the liquors that her husband provided for every lowly person that stepped through the French doors and flatter any man or woman that would catch her previous husband's attention. Including the man who sat by himself, his eyes seeming to contemplate the life before him. A man who liked to watch.

"Sir Elias," she called out with a purr, hovering over him. Her teeth bit into her lips, listening to his quiet thanks and shook her head, "he doesn't need thanks, not when everything here was curated delicately by myself."

Smirking, she placed the fine crystal on the side table before sitting gently on his lap, "I've been having a wonderful time and I believe it will only get better from here," her hand ran through his chestnut locks, her blood red nails scratching against his head, "don't you think, Sir?"

How ever did she return— were the design of his rumors true after all, some fortune hidden offshore all those years ago for not a day of rain but a storm like him? Was there a chance she had still won after everything?

"All those years ago, of course not," He agrees, but it is hardly to give into her. "I built all of this around you, Sienna. I can never deny that. This was our stage to be a disgrace—"

He instills a crack for her to see what's come after, sickly sweet and dying. Though he knows better, because she has never truly been gone. All that is left in the wake of her exile is woven from the very same threads he snipped her free of. She bares only the frayed edges and he still curls them around his finger, inching closer brushing her dark ringlets against his palm. He traces the cut of bone along her collar, trailing up to her chin to tilt her face up to him. Had he forgotten how beautiful she was, or was it simply that time apart made taken away his immunity?

"—and we have moved on to the next act. Your role, my love, has already come to a close."

Sienna could see in his eyes that he never expected her to return, to come into his life and ruin all that he curated since her exile from society. She needed him to know that without her, he would have nothing. Just like an ouroboros, they would swallow each other whole over and over again just to feel something. There were no others who could give him what he desired most, even if his fickle desires would tell him that he needed something softer and sweeter.

A shudder ran through her as his had traced her collar bone, all of her had been all of his and it was as if nothing had changed between them. Arden needed to be reminded that she was his heaven and hell.

"Is that an invitation, my Lord?" She whispered wistfully against his lips, calling on him with his preferred name. The one that he could have had if he had not been too weak to take it. "Darling, you know the world loves an encore more than anything," she smirked, her hand pressing against the hardness against his breeches, "and it seems you want nothing more than that." It wouldn't take long for him to concede to her. Even after everything, she had an undeniable power over him.

Gunthers had become a little bit of an escape for Millicent since she had returned back to London. It was a moment of her day where she could have a moment to watch the entire world go by - without worrying where her place within the Ton was. It gave her a chance to catch up on her latest book or formulate a plan to get Benedict back. She had no limit to the amount of useful things that she could do over a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

This particular day, however, a blast from her past walked into the room. Millicent had always been struck by how beautiful Sienna was. But her beauty was only matched by how quick her mouth was. She was a sure fire way to sour Millicents mood.

Sienna heard the whispers of the other ladies of the ton and frankly, she did not give a single damn about them. How is she back? Doesn't she know that she is utterly disgraced? A woman of divorce, walking around without shame? Sienna would never cower from anyone. Especially a familiar face.

"Millicent!" She called out, high pitched, demanding everyone's attention, "look who has to decided to return to court, just as I have! I did not get a single letter from you when you were away," she smirked. As if either woman would have written to each other if it were not forced. There was so much Sienna could not stand about the woman that sat across from her. Her husband being the most hated.