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she's a ten but she's running around barefoot and she's covered in dirt and there's twigs in her hair and she cries when i imply that i wouldn't love her if she was a worm-
she's a ten but, accepting ˎˊ˗
allie, covered in mud: come gimme a hug thea! :D
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she's a 10 but she beats you every time you race her on horseback and she's smug about it in the most polite way ever
she'll tell you that you should ask your horse to go faster, maybe it will take pity on you
she's a ten but...
@highaevr sent: ❛ you’re about as intimidating as a butterfly. ❜ { x }
Brows pull together as her nose crinkles. Amelia knows Thea means no offense, that she’s teasing, and she’s not offended. Thea had the same energy as so many of the women in her family had. How easily they could and and turn and spin the attention of the entire room, the way even the most proud of lords turned their gaze when sharp attention was turned to them. No matter how hard Amelia tried, she could never achieve it. She was too much like her father in that regard, still respected, but softer, she also did not hold the same weight as she was not monarch. She did only the best that she could. She does her best to brush the thoughts aside.
“I hope you mean that as a compliment.” she says with a smile her tone is light, teasing even. It was not Thea’s fault, the last thing Amelia wanted was to make her feel bad, even if it was unintentional.
“ i never thought we’d meet again, @highaevr. at least, not under these circumstances. ”
thinkin about elspeth furiously writing to her brother and sister in denerim and gwaren that the assassination attempt against her has been greatly exaggerated and they do not, in fact, need to come to amaranthine, as she’s dealing with it—
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@highaevr
❝what comes after the words you said?❞
@highaevr
THEY DRAG WITH THEM MORE HEARTACHE THAN A SMALL BAND SHOULD CARRY. circe has heard them coming ; has heard their footfall and their voices and their laughter and their tears for YEARS, for as long as she can remember. there are plenty of important players in this world, people who bring with them echoes of themselves that will bounce about the world for generations, but THIS ONE ... she is more than that. there are shards of her and what she has done and what she will do stuck in all of history from ostegar onwards. and that sort of change ... it is LOUD. so circe lingers by the exit of the bridge just outside lothering, a place that it soon to be little more than ash and rot, and WAITS.
they’re leaving today, more people in their party and unknowing what will be left of the people they have spoken to who do not leave with them. circe will not be staying here. but she must ... she must say something. SOMETHING HELPFUL. “elethea cousland,” she calls, voice quiet but carrying as the woman herself approaches to leave lothering, “you - - - hello. you did not - do not - know me, but i ... know you. of you. i have - - - news.”
roman & elethea aesthetics. *ੈ✩‧₊˚ { @highaevr }
