#hurrcm

fmk  #random  edition  

closed to @hurrcm​

         “ you reward your exalted sultan with this? ”  with the valide taking respite in her chamber, dilşah had taken it upon herself to arrange mahidevran’s regalia for upcoming pageants the sultan’s mother was expected to attend ––– not only attend, but anticipated to shine as the most radiant invitee. instead, the gowns mahidevran had commissioned were nothing short of humble, unremarkable; adjectives that belonged fastened to some pious european queen, and not the mother of a fearsome empire. dilşah stepped forth and snatched the stiff silks from the seamstress’ hands, azure eyes pinning the woman before her with all the iciness of a cavernous ocean, and none of its surface-lit warmth. “ these would not befit a humble english woman, let alone the valide of your beloved master. go –– your services are futile to us. i suggest you pray to Allah that the valide does not see reason to liquidate your position. ”  with a deferential nod, and a throat too waterlogged with tears to speak, the seamstress scurried from the cariye as if a mouse from a broom.

                   GIDDINESS  WAS  A  SENTIMENT  BEST  RESERVED  FOR  CHILDREN,  not  necessarily  for  the  full-grown  daughter  of  the  ottoman  sultan.  in  many  ways  it  was  unbecoming  for  a  woman  of  her  station,  yet  melek  simply  could  not  contain  her  excitement  nor  her  joy,  and  she  hadn’t  been  able  to  since  the  invitation  had  arrived  from  her  beloved  aunt.   melek  had  wasted  no  time  in  readying  herself  to  visit  her  aunt  and  as  the  carriage  pulled  up  to  the  córdoba  palazzo,  it  was  evident  that  she  was  early  due  to  the  flustered  reaction  of  the  servants.  regardless,  she  was  welcomed  hastily  enough  and  lead  to  her  aunts  room,  lingering  just  outside  her  doors  awaiting  her  announcement  –––  the  second  she  heard  her  name,  melek  hastily  approached.  formalities  were  instantly  forgotten  as  she  found  herself  approaching  her  aunt  with   open  arms,  desperate  to  feel  the  familiar  warmth  of   her  embrace.               

vittoria  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  courtyard  of  the  palazzo,  basking  in  the  sunlight  that  caresses  and  warms  her  skin.  the  sounds  of  shuffling  feet  and  voices  moving  in  every  direction  sooth  her,  comfort  her.  no  one  has  gone  running  from  their  home  yet.  she  had  time  to  fix  what  was  wrong,  ease  the  minds  of  her  guests.  the  breeze  that  plays  in  her  skirts  is  a  teasing  friend  from  years  ago  when  she  was  just  a  little  girl  playing  in  the  fields  of  naples.  it  is  one  friend  that  would  never  abandon  her.   “  the  day  is  most  beautiful,  the  weather  could  not  suit  us  better,  ”   she  comments  to  the  shaded  figure  who’s  stepped  into  the  courtyard  with  her.