#prinxesssophia

|| LOCATION || The Palace Foyer, near the staircase

after her run in with edgar o'connor at the gemstone ball, she had become a regular visitor to the art galleries of london - inspecting each painting with the discerning eye of a creative heart and mind. particularly landscapes and flora caught her attention, just like now. she stands in a deep navy gown as she looks up at the small collection of paintings - each one depicting a different species of tulips, her favourite flowers. the artist did not just capture the shape of the flower, but the powerful meanings and properties behind each petal, each colour and each growth cycle. it was truly fascinating that leonora was lost in the swirling colours.

her own pieces of art were not as artistically portaryed as these tulips were, instead her own were for research and her own book of remedies. it was magical to see another interpretation of a simple flower.

There was a certain type of crowd that tended to attend charity events, Thomas had come to realize over the years. For most, it was more about the act of being seen as charitable rather than being charitable. And even those with a more generous spirit tended to want to avoid dissecting their actions too closely, for where was the line between benevolence and selfishness? Did one give to ease suffering, or to simply enjoy the feeling of having done so? Thomas, for his part, knew where he stood.

In truth, he rarely attended these events, but this one was different. Thomas had already made a generous donation before arriving, ensuring that his presence would be welcomed, and attendance justified. That, at least, was the explanation he offered himself as he stood in the corner with a glass of whisky in his hand.

He watches her work the room from afar, elegantly moving between guests. His heart felt as if it might burst from his chest, seeing her again. It would be easier if the time and distance had made her unfamiliar, if his memory was exaggerated. But she was the same as she had always been. Shame rippled inside of him, and he drowned it by finishing his drink and setting the empty glass aside with more force than necessary.

He could not take it anymore.

|| LOCATION || The Salvatore Manor; ballroom terrace

Returning to France had been quite the consideration as of late. Between disrespecting Sophia, hurting Edgar, and surely soiling any small relations she had with the O'Connors, there seemed to be a soured path following her about Mayfair. The dowager Queen needed her here, though she was unsure if her priorities had been in their typical order to warrant staying.

She was unfocused, unsure. For once, her brazen confidence in herself had led her down a path where she was willing to return to France and never set foot on English soil again. But outside, where the fresh air settled her nerves and cool, night air aided her flushed skin, she obtained a sense of clarity.

The club is noisy; a different sort of noise than the one she's the most used to. Her family's estate had always been rather boisterous, and a country ball was often far livelier than anything else in the known world, but this...there is a sort of buzzing to the air, an anticipated excitement that Charlotte didn't expect from a simple tea party. Maybe it is simply that all the women are filled with the excitement of the Season. She doesn't quite know.

She'd been excited to receive the invitation, desperate for company and thrilled at the novelty of it all, but now she feels rather out of place. The tea is weaker than she's used to. The food is sweeter than she prefers. And she feels rather like an actor in a play, pretending to be the same sort of lady as the rest of them. Her fingers drum on the table impatiently, nervous energy overflowing into her movements, until she remembers herself and quickly folds her hands in her lap. 'A lady does not fidget.' Her mother's voice is stern in her head.

Charlotte lets her eyes drift, taking in the rest of the women in the room, all of whom seem, to her eyes, far more at ease than she does. She leans slightly to her right, angling her body towards the young woman closest to her, who looks to be about her age. "I adore your ribbons," she says, her words lifting at the edges, a sort of hopeful note to her voice that makes it sound more like a question than a statement.

In a dim corner of the ballroom, the empty space has been replaced by an ethereal hideaway. Tapestries of periwinkle and deep blue form a draping tent for the fortune teller to do their games. Glass ornaments are strung from the ceiling and the inside of the tent, twinkling like stars. Deeper inside is a round table with mirrors of every shape, size, and frame surrounding it. The fortune teller calls out to the glittering passerbys, all ornately masked and swathed in fine fabric. “Come! Come! Your fate waits to be seen!”

Two people floating on the outskirts of the crowd catch the teller’s eye. One with a lion shawl and the other in a dress of exquisite gold. They point a finger at each, coaxing them to come closer. “You look like a pair whose fates need telling. Do not be afraid. Come see what your future holds.”

Augustia turns to the gold dressed stranger. The two of them seem to be in it together now, so she can’t help but say something. “I’m willing to jump into it, if you are. What do you say?”

Miss Kavika Das...

Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush

And if I only could I'd make a deal with God And I'd get him to swap our places Be runnin' up that road Be runnin' up that hill Be runnin' up that buildin' Say, if I only could, oh

The song was penned to explore the idea of a deal being struck to have men and women swap each other's roles. The belief is that it would lead to better understanding among the sexes. In that light Kavika is definitely one who has a song like this within her. Being misunderstood, and not treated as an equal really pisses her off. To some extent she wishes that people, for example Whistledown, would use her platform for something more substantial.

Mr. Nathaniel Bruce...

Lover Girl by Laufey

I'm in a reckless fever, love-struck girl, I'd tease her Thought I'd never be her Quite the job you've done on me, sir You've been hosting parties in my mind I'm working overtime to have you in my world Oh, what a curse it is to be a lover girl

Forced to get creative, wrote my feelings down The independent lady in me's nowhere to be found I can't wait another day to see you How embarrassing to be this way