#cinderellatype

"ah, s'cuse me." lumine will give a small wave as she enters bubu pharmacy, she can't see qiqi - so ... she'll assume? no she'll ask.

With a soft and (mostly) contented sigh, Helen leaned back, allowing Andromeda ample room for her ministrations. “Thank you, dear one,” she murmured. (The qualifier of “mostly” existed mainly because the green-eyed dark mage was still getting used to not doing everything herself — of not having to do everything herself. It was a strange, though not exactly uncomfortable, feeling.) Another sigh passed red-painted lips, as the younger woman worked through freeing long black curls from the high, braided bun the  Marchioness wore it in when she had “actual” work to do — aka, work requiring she physically leave the Imperial Palace.  And although the older Dark Flier was usually loath to admit it… her favorite part of field work would always be coming home. Returning to Edelgard, their found family of the Black Eagles, her blood family of Mother and younger siblings — and especially so Andromeda. Because, although Helen had yet to say it aloud, Andromeda was… dear to her, in a way distinct from everyone else. Uncomfortable in sitting with her feelings the way she was, never truly one to ruminate on emotions overly much or often, she cast her peridot-green gaze down to where her ungloved hands lay in her lap. It was a shocking sight to most, the first time — the black rot slowly spreading upward from the tips of her fingers, and her slowly swelling joints — but she was used to it, now.

Used to the price she paid for the power of her Dark Magic proficiency, which she had and still did pay it without regret. Long fingers and bony wrists nearly blended in with the folds of her long black skirt. The state of her hands exactly why her dear one was letting down (the assortment of pins neatly placed in a small bowl on the vanity) and brushing through her hair; Helen couldn’t do it, herself, that night. Searching for something to fill the silence (another thing only Andromeda elicited in her), but not wanting to talk about work for the moment, the Emperor’s Confidant settled on something mundane. “Gwenneth sends her regards.” A small, offshoot pocket of Those Who Slither in the Dark had cropped up — or, rather, tried to take root and then been discovered — in Fraldarius territory. As the Duchess was unable to take care of it herself because of her delicate health, and with her usual two enforcers away in an issue of her own making (she was often wont to give Felix and Sylvain time to themselves), Helen had offered her aid. There was no pressing need to remain in Enbarr, and she had eventually learned to delegate. (She had also realized she missed her friend, another thing she was loath to admit; Helen would say hearing about Gwenneth in the letters Andromeda exchanged with the Duchess was just fine until the day she died). “I’m sure her next letter will say as much, but she sent an early birthday gift with me, to ensure it arrived in a timely and safe manner.”

Winter always arrived at least a moon earlier in the north, especially so in the Fraldarius and Gautier territories, and the first snows had made the roads inhospitable by the time Helen arrived home halfway through the Wyvern Moon; Gwenneth’s forethought was something the Marchioness always admired in the Duchess. With the “formalities” out of the way, however; “…I was unsure where it would be best to leave it for you,” Helen admitted, refusing to acknowledge the warmth she could feel creeping into her cheeks, taking the place of rouge she hadn’t applied that morning. (When in the field, she dispensed with makeup almost entirely, save for a bit of contouring.) At the time she had made the decision, it had seemed only logical. The two weren’t always in the same place, she still couldn’t one hundred percent pin down where Androneda might be at any given moment (yet another thing unique to the younger Dark Flier), and they didn’t share a suite of rooms; no matter what anyone else had to say on the subject. Now, it felt like she was trying to justify a ploy to get Andromeda to her room, needing help with her hair completely aside. Mentally shaking herself, although she couldn’t completely force the blush to recede, she continued.

“When you’ve finished, I’ll retrieve it.”

Truly, she ached for a bath, but first things first.

Red-painted lips curved upward in a smile, one that would have seemed self-satisfied and mockingly sultry, to anyone who couldn’t — or didn’t care to try to — read Helen; she knew Andromeda would understand it. “Almost more so than the Professor,” the Marchioness purred, amusement clear and genuine peridot-green eyes. “And we saw how that turned out…” Ostensibly, Helen and Andromeda were having tea (along with medicine proscribed by Manuela, in the older noble’s case), a very rare break this close to the Beginning of Everything.

All preparations were made; their Lady’s manifesto was as disseminated as it could be at this stage; all sides had been chosen and declared. (Felix was the least surprising. His sister, however…) The late Marquis Vestra was as dead as he was going to get. A moment away from the tension of impending war would be good for morale. And while all of that was true, while the two Dark Fliers certainly were having tea together, while the taller woman was giving Andromeda the majority of her attention…

Helen was also watching Edelgard with Byleth.

                ❛   l    -    look    .    .    .    from    h    -    healer    to    healer    ,    i    u    -    understand    .    .    .    that    it's    st    -    strange    .    but    still    .    .    .    i    h    -    have    to    ask    that    you    d    -    don't    just    .    .    .    stare    a    -    at    my    tail    like    that    .    it's    m    -    making    me    n    -    nervous    .         ❜              /           @cinderellatype              .

When they spoke those words so casually, it was almost like being struck by lightening. For so long, Sypha had gone years without being around others who could use magic so freely since the the time of their formative years spent born and raised by sister witches. Much of their life had been a dark one after their coven had almost all been burned at the stake, sans Sypha who had been one of the only survivors. Since then, their magic had been concealed, a matter of secrecy except on the field of battle where they allowed it to shine. So, when Andromeda mentioned her own magic, Sypha couldn't help but instantly pique with interest.

" i saw these at the store for you. it made me think of you. " inside a little red and white paper box is a stained glass white cat with little red eyes.