#milotheas

     “is that a new necklace, dorothea?” 

Name: dorothea Age: you’re older than me, and yet… Do you like to cuddle?: if we ever get stranded somewhere cold i… would probably still not.  Can we make-out?: maybe if you make me laugh, but i will definitely be making that hard for you.  A night in or dinner out?: let’s see if you can handle going out and not wandering to other women for five minutes.   Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: ah, strawberries, the better to toss at you with! i’m just kidding, i just want to eat them. What makes you a good Valentine?: i’m not. i’m just filling this out to poke fun at you.  Would you cook for me?: actually… yes. Would you let me cook for you?: i didn’t take you for the sort…? make me a salad if you do, though.

    “michalina was asking for you today.” mercedes murmurs, the soft pads of her fingers carding idly through dorothea’s hair from root to tip, gently loosening tugs as she goes. the sound of falling rain fills the silence in which dorothea’s head rests on her lap, and mercedes’ free hand reaches for the brush that rests on the nightstand by the rickety bed that they share. she replaces her fingers with it, and speaks again. “i told her you were off on an adventure. she’ll be asking you for stories, tomorrow.”

❅ ·  Bad Dad hour???  //  Open  · ❅

       ❝  My daughter  —  just like her brother and sister  —  has a duty to our family. A duty that includes marrying in the best interest for the family.  ❞  IT’S A SUBJECT MATTER  that he so hates discussing, in all honesty. It’s always been fraught with frustration, exhaustion, and screaming matches up and down the halls of his estate.  ❝  It’s a duty that she merely refuses to accept out of some childish whim to marry for “true love”.  ❞  A luxury that neither himself or his wife had been afforded…a ideal that was out of the realm of possibility for those of noble status.

       ❝  Had I any confidence that she’d pick someone beneficial to our family on her own, I would trust her to do so…however, I cannot simply leave that to chance.  ❞  HIS VOICE IS QUIET,  his demeanor collected but stern all the same as his hands fold themselves atop his lap.  ❝  Odette has a habit of doing as she wishes, and that includes acting out of spite towards her responsibilities. Were I to leave her marital affairs to her, she’d likely run off with a commoner or a bandit  —  and what good would that do?  ❞  Leaning back in his seat, he sighs.

DOES HE JUST HAVE A RING READY AT ALL TIMES ?

of course he does y do u want it ?

“now this was unexpected... but i’m certainly not complaining. you’d have to be a fool to turn down one of the most intelligent, talented, and downright witty ladies on the continent.”

   she’s beautiful too, of course. you’d be lying if you said she hasn’t caught your eye once or twice back in school and especially today. but you don’t want dorothea to think you’re only taking interest in her because of that beauty when she deserves so much more than to be treated like some pretty doll whose only worth is in how good she looks on your arm. 

   you’re admittedly a little shaken by how quickly she’s picked up on your heritage, but then... you’ve also stopped trying to hide it nearly as much over the past couple of years. ( grandfather’s vitriol no longer being a concern has certainly helped with that. ) it just goes to show your compliments are genuine-- even with all the hints you’ve been dropping in recent years, no one seems to have figured it out just yet.

“it’s a date, then. but which is it, thea? would you prefer that i take you out or would you like a nice, private night in? the choice is yours.”

            she  wakes  up  alone,  in  a  room  she  does  not  recognize.

            weak,  filmy  sunlight  filters  in  through  the  curtains,  casting  everything  in  an  unsure  midday  haze,  like  the  sky  took  part  in  no  particular  place,  no  particular  time;  byleth,  for  her  part,  feels  ancient.  feels...  heavy.  time,  which  so  often  did  as  she  willed,  was  lost  to  her.  she  only  remembers  a  canyon,  and  falling,  and  falling.  she  remembers  sothis’  voice...  but  their  conversation  had  been  so  brief.

            byleth  shuts  her  eyes  again,  her  brow  tight  with  the  effort,  casting  the  images  aside.  somewhere  on  the  far  wall  a  clock  ticks  relentlessly.  𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥.

            to  that,  her  mind  rings  clear  and  empty.  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  it  seems  sothis  has  run  out  of  things  to  say.

            as  she  wills  herself  vertical,  idly  appraising  the  tunic  she’s  dressed  in,  the  stitch  of  the  quilt  draped  over  her  body,  byleth  first  notices  her  sword  propped  up  by  the  end  of  the  bed,  and  second  notices  the  hum  of  voices  just  outside  her  door,  soft  and  yet  drawing  louder  and  nearer  nonetheless.  the  door  cracks,  groaning  its  protest.  she  sees  a  tumble  of  chestnut  hair.

            ‘‘  ...dorothea,  ’’  byleth  says,  and  her  own  voice  sounds  strange  to  her  ears.