TOILE D'ARAIGNÉE

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: tba 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: le palais d'été 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: @ofmichel​

awkwardness, bold and riant, sits at the table just like the rest of them, a product of bad planning and even worse seating arrangements. it makes itself comfortable, with elbows neatly resting on the table, and soon enough another guest arrives, but this one bears the name discomfort. a sibling, not quite a twin, but the blood runs thick and deep and they share the same mother. maybe not the father. glancing across the room, she’s quickly reminded of her adolescence, of the loneliness and strangeness that followed her around like a loyal hound, a proper beast that frightened anyone who dared to come near. 

but she’s not that same girl anymore, not a meek and docile creature with a feeble spine that hides in her sister’s shadow and obeys her mother’s orders. she grew more legs, eight of them to be exact, found herself some spinnerets, but she has yet to master the true power that she holds in her hands. so instead of ignoring her companion for the evening, or sparing him a brief hello or any of the foolish pleasantries, she turns towards him with an amused smile, ❝ i’ve never quite seen you looking so magnificent, michel, ❞  celeste begins, prepared to spew out any necessary compliments.  

❝ but for an evening as boring as this, i almost regret dressing up this this much. the company isn’t that impressive either, ❞ with her voice dropping down to a whisper, she hides a growing smile behind a silver chalice filled with wine.  ❝ can you guess who i’m speaking of? ❞ perhaps it’s you.

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: 16th of maccius  𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: la pègre. 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: @ofregis​

enveloped in a shroud of shadow, she cranes her neck and peers up at the spiraling staircase, wondering if it ever served a different purpose, its actual purpose, other than just being a quaint little obstacle on her way into la pègre. the majority claimed that getting out would be the trickiest part, but for those like celeste, with supple hands and a body far too acquainted with the decadence and splendor of the court, it took far too long to gain access. it could be said that she doesn’t belong in this world, that she’s a fool for even trying as most have years of advantage. weaned on lies, deceit, and fraudulence, this is their domain and she’s merely a guest that was made of velveteen dreams and satin. yet celeste, like all heavenly bodies, is insatiable and she asks for the impossible. that’s how she, in the end, always gets it. 

but to meet alain gauthier’s sponsee, out of all people, ought to feel a lot like an execution in a place such as this  — and yet she does not tremble, does not quake or quiver, willingly submitting herself to the wolf. if anything, she hopes that HIS TEETH are big. 

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: 15th of maccius 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: quartiers d'argent, cyril’s shop  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇: @cyrilbeauchamp​

wasting an entire and precious afternoon in the famous silver quarter without her sister went from being an exception, something that she hardly dared to imagine, to nearly a regular occurrence given their clashing schedules, or better said personalities. beautiful, forceful, imposing, her sister’s a lion’s roar, worthy of the du leon name in every imaginable sense, and the only option that’s left for celeste is to stand in the dark and weave her silken web with intricate precision, until she either catches something that no other man ever could —  or until she completely gets devoured by it. 

it’s freeing too, the notion that she at last gets to forge her own path, even if the continuous process involves something as mundane as picking her attires and gowns and masks. from the day she was born, she was molded to resemble a celestial body, a falling star, all bright and shining, and swaddled in alabaster white silk and fine satin. she trades her luminescent halo for spinnerets, her iridescent, precious and pale pearls that were once tangled in her hair like hundreds of powdery and wayward snowflakes for much darker gemstones, for amethyst and tourmaline and black diamonds, and her floral white silk and chiffon for ebony black and cobalt blue lace. no light will ever touch her again. not when it’s cruel and unforgiving, not when it leaves her bare and exposed, stripped down to the bone with every flaw on display.