#moonvcils

To the unobservant eye, the youngest Kaelvorn daughter had been aimlessly wandering the halls of Moira after the lockdown had lifted, still unsettled by the events of the night that left her sister a bloody mess. This is not entirely a lie either, for Nayara remains tense as there has been no announcements regarding the matter, but she is not nearly as unsettled as she may appear. Her nerves had settled after conversation with Lenore, and a night of invigorating sleep — as well as some time in the training grounds — had gone a long way for her to regain her balance. All it’s not quite as it should be, but she is settled enough that she is able to be productive rather than destructive. 

Aimless wandering as they wait for news has its benefits, as she is able to keep an eye on the coming and going of servants — usually fading to the background to all those born to their roles —, and that of other nobles. 

Turning a corner, she does not expect to find herself in near collision with another soul. If Nayara had not been paying as much attention as she had, she thinks they might have truly collided, but as it is, she takes a measured step to the side and places a steadying hand on the other’s shoulder. 

“My apologies, my lady,” she says quietly, almost sheepish. “I did not expect to run into anyone in the literal sense.”

𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊.  the  mouth  to  the  training  grounds  of  elaris  keep,  an  echo  of  the  near  past. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓.  @moonvcils's  luz  solkarith,  the  forsaken,  the  sundered  sibling.

but  a  single  quick  blink  heralds  the  shift  in  ran's  posture,  the  immediate  turn  of  his  left  shoulder  inward,  making  himself  flatter  against  the  closest  wall  to  make  way  for  the  next  person  to  use  the  facilities.  as  the  shorter  head  passes,  he  finds  that  he  cannot  help  but  laugh.  the  noise  bursts  out  of  him  like  a  whip  striking  out  to  coil  at  their  ankle.  they  had  parted  with  a  strike,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  at  celembron,  in  what  seemed  like  a  lifetime  ago.  and  yet  here  ran  was,  softened  enough  to  leave  room  for  someone  else.  the  ran  luz  had  grown  with  would  have  just  made  himself  a  pillar  and  allowed  the  collision,  if  only  for  the  derisive  sneer  that  would  follow,  or  the  crash  and  cry  of  the  other  as  they  crumpled  to  the  ground  under  his  strength.  instead,  he  had  moved  smooth  as  silk.  he  hadn't  even  thought  anything  of  it. 

“  little  luz,  ”  he  calls  in  greeting.  he  lets  it  hang  in  the  air  like  the  moon,  subject  to  obfuscation  by  cloud  and  storm.  the  address  in  itself  sounds  like  an  insult,  the  endearment  of  little  one  lost  to  the  name  and  its  alliteration.  a  ‘  my  '  had  been  implicit,  once  upon  a  time.  and  like  the  fairytale  cliché,  it  feels  little  more  than  an  errant  dream.  truth  be  told,  he  cannot  remember  ever  using  her  given  name  before.  gods  be  good  that  it  did  not  fall  clumsily  off  of  his  tongue.  “  come  to  run  some  of  those  fanciful  drills  your  esteemed  mentor  taught  you,  i  see.  ”

he  had  kicked  the  dirt  over  his  own  spilt  blood,  hadn't  he  ?  a  minor  mishap,  cloaked  now  by  his  dark  robes.  but  an  error  that  had  wrongly  made  itself  known  nonetheless.  his  mocking  grin  falters  then,  for  a  moment,  before  a  mirror  tide  rolls  in  anew.  his  rejoinder  is  all  the  weaker  for  it.  “  are  they  actually  of  any  help  ?  ”  a  half-genuine  question.

The young lord's willowy figure shifted in its seat with an air of arrogance and superiority; the winter bird he was, glorious against the pale moon, crowned in a sanctifying glow that spills down the length of his small shoulder in a cascade of white. "Well, look at you... don't you look like a painting of melancholy, all by your lonesome." he croons, deceptively sweet as usual; he hadn't asked to join him, his parasitic presence seldom asking for permission to worm its way in. He did not make a habit of conversing in public, alas, so long as it was not frequent enough he did not seem the harm. Best than to avoid entirely, that would be even more cause for suspicion. His parents would not approve, of course, but then again when had he ever asked for permission? Best to apologize later than risk being denied, it's what he thought.

Perching his chin atop his bony knuckles, the young Chae's clever eyes shifted periodically, always watching, studying, filing away thoughts for a later, searching for opportunity and leverage. Politics were a bore, but they a necessary evil. He was not such a fool as to think ignorance was bliss—ignorance was the slow, agonizing death of progress and civilization. If Nocturnia itself, in all of its ancient glory, was not proof of it, he did not know what could be.

Gods, how he loathes sickness and all it entails; all this bellyaching and groaning made him want to sigh into his sleeve. How boring, how predictable, how repetitive... his gown drags against the ground following the trail of the young lord's willowy figure, his outstretched shadow stalking the halls as he perused through folk like livestock, occasionally offering aid where he could be seen doing so. Politics. What a bore. He understood why now, better than ever, why his parents seldom left the walls of their home.

Alas, there were answers to be found, and he could not unearth them from his sickbed while everyone fussed over him; so he'd draped himself in the finest of silks as to tightly conceal any bruises as well as his ill-temperament, and headed towards the only like-minded other he had managed to find along his journeys. The Mirethorn were a boorish bunch, but they were determined—he would give credit where it was due.

The Tethalune had asked for honesty from the dishonest, and for all that she wants to ignore them, Theano knows that she will not. What an absolute mess, to be forced to reveal one’s deepest secret to a near stranger, with only the promise of destruction to keep them in check. Yet, for all she hates that she must speak honestly, she also realizes that if she is smart enough she might be able to turn the tides in her favor. She has been matched with a second daughter after all, and not any second daughter, but Lady Sloane Caldrithen. If she plays her cards right, she might be able to hit two birds with one stone in this matter. Not only could she get a connection with the ruling house of Vallarion, but perhaps an ally as well. 

Yet, she needs to play her cards carefully for she could very well make an enemy or let an opponent know of her motives. It is a tricky line to walk, and one she must take with care, since there is no safety to be found if she falls. At the very least, though, she knows her secret will remain with Lady Caldrithen and not pass her lips, for she would not desire Vallarion’s doom. 

“Thank you for joining me,” she says with a kind smile as she raises from her seat and offers Lady Sloane a curtsy. Once she raises, she turns to the servants. “You are dismissed.”

Once they are truly alone in the room, she gestures to the tea table in invitation and moves to sit down once more. 

More often than not, Isolde keeps a careful eye on her siblings. Perhaps too cautiously, as many would claim, but she cannot help it. They are her world, and she would not know what to do with herself if they were truly in danger. Yet, for all she desires to spirit them away from the games of courts and politics, she does not want to stop them from living altogether. It is a fine line to walk, and more than once the only thing that had kept her steady on said walk had been her spouse’s careful hand on her back. This moment now, however, finds her without support, as she drinks tea and glances out a window into the White Oak’s forest thoughtfully. Eliza sits before her, and they are both enjoying the silence, books on the table and a sense of peace surrounding them, yet—

𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊.   the  outskirts  of  the  dancefloor. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓.   pipsqueak,  @moonvcils's  luz  solkarith.

“  you  promise  not  to  step  on  my  foot  this  time  ?  ”  calloused  palm  finds  a  like  kind,  lilting  gait  truncated  to  meet  the  other's  shortened  stride.  ran  chuckles  at  his  own  joke,  because  of  course  he  does  ⸻  this  all  is  pure  amusement  to  him;  there  isn't  a  moment  in  this  life  he'd  spend  unhappy.  indulgences  are  for  him  and  him  only,  and  spending  time  with  his  sibling  is  but  a  means  to  kill  the  time.  obviously.  “  i  actually  like  the  shoes  mother  picked  out  for  me  this  time,  so  if  you  end  up  creasing  them  i'll  be  quite  cross  with  you.  ”  not  that  anger  sat  with  him  for  very  long,  at  least  on  the  surface,  or  that  he  needed  to  be  angry  to  take  a  swing.  it  was  what  they  did,  it  was  how  they  learned  to  survive.  the  siblings  danced  together  quite  often,  in  figurative  terms.  grace  over  force,  however,  was  moderately  uncharted  territory.

he  lowers  his  head  as  the  next  song  starts,  moving  with  his  shoulders  as  his  grip  remains  ironclad,  rather  than  merely  his  chin  as  he  so  often  did  with  luz.  “  you  look  trussed  up  like  a  pheasant,  you  know.  ”  surely  they  do;  it's  still  a  big  brother's  duty  to  mock.  his  own  clothes  were  comparatively  less  restrictive,  but  no  less  burdensome  in  contrast  to  his  usual  garb.  ran  much  preferred  to  have  the  ability  to  fully  rotate  his  limbs,  but  alas.  “  need  a  distraction  to  switch  something  out  ?  ”