#eilnye

DWC Nov 2025 Day 1 - Shine/Static

Hoovanil inwardly thrashed in frustration as he made polite conversation. The gala hosted by Keranna Zerine had been touted as the event of the season, a place where influence was traded as freely as wine. He had expected a dazzling turnout of the kinds of people he needed to strengthen his standing. Instead, he found himself trapped in endless small talk with people who neither mattered nor knew how to hide that they didn’t.

He smiled anyway, the expression tight and practiced. Admittedly, he had never been one for charity. Even with an excess of wealth, he would not have donated a coin unless it purchased him something tangible, a favor, an introduction, a little power. Altruism, in his eyes, was just vanity in a prettier dress.

Eilyne Goldenreaver, his current hostess, certainly had the money to donate, but she had dismissed the idea outright. The noblewoman deeply believed that turning a noble estate into an artist’s commune was a vulgar perversion of tradition, though, to be fair, Eilyne felt everything deeply. Her passions came in waves: loud, glittering, and exhausting.

The dinner party she had organized opposite the gala was proof of that. Every detail had been orchestrated, the crystal place settings, the peacock feathers woven into the floral arrangements, the menu that began with pearl-dusted oysters and ended with rosewater sorbet. It was a gathering for those who shared her outrage, or pretended to. Many of them did, because it was easier to agree than risk her disfavor. Since Hoovanil was courting her, he naturally fell into that latter group.

Not that he disagreed with her. He simply didn’t care what others did with their estates so long as their choices didn’t touch his own affairs. What did affect him, however, was his niece, and the chaos she had made of his inheritance. If her mother didn’t die soon, he would owe money to a man who didn’t bother with threats twice.

He loathed the waiting. This static, suffocating period before everything shifted. His future hung on another person’s death, an undignified situation for him as he lived on another’s charity. The Diva’s continued existence was a curse, and every day she lingered, he felt his prospects rot a little further.

At least one matter was moving forward. Reclaiming the Summerhold estate would mean little if he had no funds to maintain it. He had grown comfortable in the golden prison of Lady Goldenreaver’s estate, the silk, the servants, the sense of being surrounded by wealth without having to spend any of it. The luxury was intoxicating, and he found himself becoming unwilling to go without it. Her money could sustain him, especially if his plans for his niece did not unfold as intended.

Upstairs, in his room, a small velvet-lined box waited. The timing had to be perfect. Eilyne had been hinting for weeks that she would welcome a more permanent arrangement, and Hoovanil was not a fool. He had enjoyed her company far more before he moved into her home, before the illusion of romance gave way to the reality of routine. But marriages among their kind were not made for love. Anyone in the noble ranks who said otherwise was either newly wed or utterly naïve.

A hand brushed his sleeve, light and familiar. Eilyne’s voice, smooth and certain, drew him back from his thoughts. She was smiling at him, radiant, satisfied, expectant.

He returned the smile automatically. “Of course, you always know what’s best,” he said, though he hadn’t the faintest idea what he was agreeing to.

It didn’t matter. All she wanted was his yes, and all he wanted was hers very soon. 

(@daily-writing-challenge)