#bc ocs

The Vermillion estate was quiet that evening. The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon, and only the bright torches, hung seemingly on every meter of the stone walls, saved it from complete darkness. Servants moved silently, on tiptoes, having long since understood the hardships of the lives of the ghosts, who, according to tales, lurked within the walls of the ancient castle. And the reason for such a fear of making even a rustle was one: Leonheard Vermillion. Or rather, his undying love for his wife, which at first blazed with passion, and in two years had not faded for a moment, only become wiser and more grounded. That’s why the servants were afraid to disturb the lady in any way, especially when the news broke that Lady Mereolis was carrying a child under her heart – the couple’s firstborn.

Embers slowly crackled in the fireplace of the master’s room, flooding the spacious, richly furnished space with light. Lord Leonhard had used it very rarely before, mainly only for better lighting. As if it wasn’t ridiculous for the great fire mage to complain about the cold? But, despite this, as soon as Lady Mereolis complained about the coolness felt from the stone walls, Leonheart immediately rushed to light the fireplace, so much so that the heat from it would be enough to boil a small lake. And one simple word from his wife was enough to accomplish this.Two figures reclined languidly on a velvet couch, enclosed by a red tulle canopy hanging from the ceiling. The man with the fair, voluminous hair rested his arm on the back of the couch, sipping mead from a faceted glass. His figure seemed majestic and powerful even in such a domestic setting. His lilac eyes lingered on the golden liquid sloshing in the glass for a few seconds before shifting to the woman beside him.Her fiery red, unruly hair, resembling tongues of flame, involuntarily made him remember the moment he first saw her. Back then, during their first meeting, the only thought that flashed through his mind was, “She’s exactly who I’ve been looking for…” He didn’t care that she looked like a man in those dirty, dusty armor. He didn’t care that a second earlier she had effortlessly knocked out an enemy mage. In that moment, he only saw her face. Strangely, she was wildly different from the other ladies he had met. Those cute freckles on her cheeks were nothing like the pale, almost sickly-looking, white skin he was used to seeing. Her disheveled, sheep-like hair was incomparable to the elaborate, even laughable, hairstyles he was accustomed to. And especially her blue eyes, not hiding any emotions beneath their darkened lashes, the way other women did.

So imperfect… So alive… So real…

He remembered the eyes of his numerous relatives, aunts and uncles, and how their eyes had grown to the size of coins when he introduced them to his bride-to-be. But he didn’t care what they thought, what dirt they threw behind his back. All that mattered to him was the short, slender woman with the lovely red hair, standing across from him in a white dress and a wreath of daisies, when he slipped the ring onto her finger, when her face flushed crimson and she shyly lowered her blue eyes.His sweet memories were interrupted by his wife’s voice.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” she looked at him with surprise. She held a small plate with ripe bunches of grapes, and she herself was wrapped in the fur of some magical beast, killed by him in his youth on a hunt. Leonheard seemed to know that someday it would be useful to his wife, who was freezing from the castle’s cold, and therefore he carefully stored it in a chest, locked with a padlock.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” he took another sip from his glass, placing it on the table, next to all sorts of dishes and delicacies prepared especially for his wife, because “his wife, carrying a child, must not go hungry”!

He finally noticed how she had settled languidly on the couch: she lay in a sea of soft pillows, throwing her bare feet onto his lap. The hated, but necessary, crown lay somewhere on the bed, between the book she had been reading after lunch and the hairbrush she had been trying to tame her hair with since morning, and the light ballet flats had been thrown off at the entrance to the room. Everything was filled with her…And his room, which had previously seemed empty and lifeless, had somehow come alive, even if it meant perpetual chaos. And soon it would come even more alive when his child was running around in it. Their child. A child from the woman he loved.He took a deep breath. Everything was filled with her incomparable scent. With renewed determination, he turned his head toward her.

“What would you say if we take ‘mereo’ from Mereolis, and ‘leon’ from Leonhard?” His palm gently caressed her ankle.

“What are you talking about?” She popped another sweet berry into her mouth.

“It’s a name… For her.” His gaze lowered to the bulge under the woolen cape.

“Her? You think it will be a girl?” She froze, staring at him.

“Yes. Somehow, I think,-he carefully placed his hand on her stomach, drawing circles with his thumb-that it will be a strong girl who will bring men to their knees.

The room filled with feminine laughter, blending with the crackling of the fireplace and the wind outside the window.

“Haha, I think you’re right! Mereoleona, you say? A good name. Well, I think everything will be as you said, because it’s your child!”