#chryssaetos

3/5 | ATTRACTION

1/5 | AFFECTION

4/5 | INTEREST

0/5 | LOYALTY

0/5 | TRUST

Does he come across as someone with a sweet tooth? The thought is distant, more amused than anything as it flits through his mind at the sight of another plate of sweets. For a moment, he seems to reach for it, pivoting at the last to plucking a yellow rose from his (now significantly reduced) bouquet.

Wordlessly, the Aurelian holds it out, his gaze falling upon the flower petals and somewhere more distant still. Sin had given him food when he'd shown up out of nowhere, following the scent on a whim; he'd cared to wish him a happy birthday just so that Wolf knew that it mattered; and now, despite how Wolf has held him at arm's length and willfully turned his eyes away from a want for familiarity, for friendship, for any kind of connection, Sin offers him a kindness once again.

Family and neighbors, Joachim had said earlier. A crease forms between his brows, an uneasy weight that tethers him back to the present. His eyes cut upward to meet Sin's own, tumultuous and unreadable. You would mourn me already when I am gone, he thinks, the line of his lips firming. I've failed you both. For who had he protected this way? No one; nothing, save for his cowardice.

From the sidelines, Mauvier watches a couple of students serenely dancing. All seems well; aside from the onslaught of "talent scouts", the evening has been rather peaceful.

A young lady suddenly storms up to the aforementioned couple, her face distressed, eyes teary. Mauvier nearly swoops to step in, before affirming to himself that there is no danger; there is no problem that he has the authority or tact to solve. Like baby birds, these young people must learn their own hard lessons from time to time.

Mauvier realizes that a familiar face is nearby; Sin, the stoic-faced knight, a natural with a bow. He wonders if they have both witnessed the same scene play out.

With another, Mauvier might feel the pressure of forced conversation. But Sin is cut from the same cloth of speaking only when necessary; there is no need for Mauvier to voice his every thought. For that privilege, he is grateful.

a single, unhurried glance is all that rath of the kutolah needs.

to know that there is a familiarity about the stranger before him: an unusual yet understandable paradox. a familiarity to the way his eyes narrow, to the shifting of his expression, to the way he stands, moves, looks. even without the appurtenances of their culture, the bandana, the furs, rath instinctively knows; knows as all his kind do of others who wade the golden sea-grass of sacae and feel father sky's wind on their skin. mother earth beneath their heel. before him is no dweller of cobble, no tall-collared man clad in steel, but a plainsman.

"you...from what tribe do you hail?"

it has been some manners of months since rath last spoke with a fellow plainsdweller. but, he is certain of this one. so certain that he holds out the box of sweets in his hand; an earlier handout given away freely under the reasoning that the ballroom needed to do away with excess. in reality, sweets of the like serve him none, his tongue is better acclimated to safe and unexciting flavors, but they are applied well here as his offering.

no, his historic kindness for his own people—those who have mocked and disowned him—without request for anything in turn.

"...I need to ask you something."

There's a faint strain to the figure's voice, almost like it's hesitating to present the question — Almost.

"Something could have happened to me, earlier. I put little stock into any of this, but... I'm in no hurry to get myself killed to know for certain. There is someone I must live for."

A year ago, a promise had been made. A year later, that promise is all that's left. Pride is worth many things, but it can't keep one safe from danger.

The figure's hand opens to reveal three tokens. It's a meager amount, but being conservative with these things is probably the best course of action. In the figure's mind, there is only the faint hope that she'll be forgiving about all this.

After all, come tomorrow, he might not be here to apologize to her.

"...If someone with a mask were to strike to kill me, and I, acting in self-defense, struck or even killed them in return... What would happen?"

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: 𝐬𝐢𝐧 #AMBlade2025

"hm...?"

it comes as no surprise that she's been sought out for answers yet again. in a painful twist, it's nearly reminiscent of the life she's led outside these walls — it was the mystical songstress who often was sought out, and hardly the girl behind the title. and here, now, the very same — the masked fortuneteller sought out in place of dorothea.

this strange place demands jobs of them nevertheless, and so she performs her duties as any other. where she might've offered the man a sympathetic smile, he is met only with the stoic exterior of the mask. in place of that usual reassurance, she lends her ears to his trouble isntead, allowing him to unload this weight off his chest.

no sooner does he pose his question does dorothea's spine suddenly stiffen.

a question she's already heard once before, realizing now in abject horror that she must relive it again.

VISION RECEIVED: thick, inky veils of darkness are drawn over her eyes, blinding her....

"you'll be thrown into the darkness," she breathes out, long before the vision has even ended. whether he hears her or not, the fortuneteller is unsure, for she is busy flailing inside the void.

the sun and stars extinguished .. .. .. .. . darkness clawing at her skin and pulling her deeper in. suffocation . t presses against her . ... darkness forcing its way down her eye sockets and throat, suffocation . wrapping around her entrails and drowning her further. deeper, deeper, into

when she resurfaces with a shuddering gasp, pulling air back into her lungs as if drowned.

A kiss on the chest

meme

Camilla stands over his prone body with a grin. She had just knocked him off of his horse during their training exercise. "Ouch." She gives a teasing hiss of pain. "That looks like it hurt."

Of course it had to hurt. He wouldn't be lying on his back for so long if it didn't.

"Do you need a kiss to make it better?" She offers a hand to help him up. Camilla pulls him to his feet and leans down, placing a kiss on his robes just over his heart. "Hope that helps your pride. I think you should take a break for the day."