#diessolis

freya did not  like alchemists  in general very much, but that probably came with the territory of being a mage. while the relationship had not always been quite as tense as it was now, it had been downright antagonistic for about a century now. not that freya had been alive long enough to witness how it had worsened along the years. still, while she was a mage --- and an excellent one at that --- she was also someone who was trying to hurt someone very, very powerful. and this worked best when one collected allies of considerable strength. and sometimes, these allies could be found in the most unusual places.

and this was  why she sitting in an alchemist's house, sipping tea and smiling subtly. to a lot of mages, this would be treason, but there was a reason why freya had never been part of a school, why she had always kept to herself. that way, no one could complain about what she did.

truthfully,  beatrice was fairly convinced that she could be doing this in half the time if she only were allowed to rely on her more acrobatic skills,  but --- cecilia was not auburn and thus,  she had not even made the suggestion.  it was nice like this as well  ---  cecilia did not seem to share noel’s . . . tolerance for the song last christmas and thus,  the music that was playing was not designed to grate on beatrice’s ever suffering last remaining nerves.

‘ ‘ i do like your collection of ornaments, ’ ’  she said as she picked another one from the box,  briefly holding it up to inspect it.  it was a gorgeous light blue bauble with a stag painted on it in silver,  quite appealing to beatrice’s aesthetic sense.  looking at all these ornaments,  cecilia would probably get along well with noel,  she decided,  but only if she could set aside her . . .  grievances with auburn  ---  no matter how much noel loved christmas,  beatrice knew that he loved his wife more.  as he should!

she twirled around to look back at the tree  ---  a beautiful,  downright impressive tree  ---  to search it for a good spot to add the ornament she was holding.  ‘ ‘ and i like the colour scheme,  too, ’ ’  she added with the smallest trace of smugness.  she had not yet been at noel’s place,  but she was expecting jewel tones,  this year,  rich hues of sapphire and ruby  ---  it only made sense whenever she glanced at his family.

beatrice was, she wanted to argue, more used to poison than she was to fear.  poison was an old acquaintance --- first because she had been taught to make and to use it during the lessons of her youth, then because she had been poisoned . . . on several occasions.  now, this would be as bad as it sounded, if --- if poison affected her as much as it should, but it did not.  had not in a very long time.  she had  ( once, a very long time ago, in a bad century )  run the calculations how much it would take for her to start feeling the effect, and she had not liked the result very much.

still, poison was a known variable.  but fear . . . she almost hissed with teeth, with sharpness as her legs trembled as she forced herself to remain seated in her chair.  she had walked paths, darkened by fear looming over her head.  she had walked on even when every single step had demanded of her to defy her instincts.  where poison wore off, where she could just keep walking through an almost failing heart, fear was not so easily bartered with.  fear demanded the full price and it was not hesitant to take its tribute in blood.

‘ ‘ perhaps you are wiser than me, then, ’ ’ she said quietly as she grasped her own ankle, pushing it down towards the ground and willing her feet to remain steady there.  jumpiness, no matter where she showed it, was always a sign of weakness and beatrice was not someone who thought that weakness was part of an appropriate dinner attire.  ‘ ‘ i have not many fears left, but those that remain. . . ’ ’