#roseire

2024 is almost over | Accepting | @roseire

More Munday questions / @roseire

// I used to. I don't really anymore though. The biggest thing I can say that helped me is honestly having other muses and interacting with duplicates. When I used to rp Nathan Prescott on my old blog, I had INTENSE dupe anxiety. And eventually I wanted to try writing Rachel and Victoria. When I wrote them I had the pleasure of writing with the Nathans I was so insecure about. They were LOVELY. It was fun to see how they did him differently than me. I started trying to promo other Nathans and support them when I could on my blog since I was quite popular. I learned that we all just really liked the character.

@roseire said; you'll never get what you want .

A mere twenty summers and the Prince’s latest ambitions had been realised only a few moments ago and a pride pressed against his ribs; he was to lead his own cohort of knights, so that he might better serve his Father and the people of Sanbreque. There was much to be done and many more distractions pouring through Dion’s mind.

Full lashes lift and his gilded gaze settles upon the Empress. Had he heard her right? Or a trick of the space, perhaps. Sound echoed strangely off the walls of Whitewyrm and Dion confesses, in the privacy of his own mind, that she did not have his full attention, fixed instead upon his Father’s retreating figure as it was. Perhaps she had not even been addressing him. Still, Dion turns to Anabella with a palm upon his breast and a tilt upon his hips.

“I beg your pardon, your Majesty?”

"I'm just a humble traveler. Don't look at me this way, darling. You're hurting my feelings." Astarion is looking at Anabella with a playful smile. No, he doesn't care at all if she despises him. Anyway, she doesn't seem to like many people. He wonders how she'd react if she knew he was a vampire. Would it be worst or better ?

Inner Thoughts Meme | @roseire

She is... unfathomably beautiful. From the moment we first met, I was in awe. But there is a coldness underneath that mask of elegance -- one especially apparent within her smile.

Long have I accepted that nothing I say or do will break through that barrier of ice, though I oft do find myself wondering why it is that she is so unhappy?

The early morning wasn't tense, per se; like most mornings between them, it was quiet, with both of them getting ready for the day in their respective manners. Elwin released a barely audible sigh. As he fastened the last buttons of his surcoat and smoothed out the chest with his hands, his head raised in thought.

"What do you call a well-balanced chocobo?" Although the Archduke broke the lingering silence between them, his voice was kept at its usual calm and even tone. Then, without waver or hesitation, he gave the answer:

"Stable."

@roseire asked: ❝ So sleep in your only memory of me, my dearest. ❞ | Silent Hill Lyric Starters

The dilapidated audience room was silent, empty aside from the two of them. Any grief the man would have otherwise felt at the sight of what had become of his former home was replaced with anger -- burning so intensely within his breast. It acted as kindling for the flames of hatred which threatened to consume him.

Miles -- no, Elwin would not tear his gaze away from the woman. The Holy Empire's former Empress. The scourge of Rosaria, far more devastating even than the Blight itself had been.

Beneath the collar he wore to cover it, that old scar encircling his neck began to burn too; rather than flinching or reaching up to it, his face contorted into a scowl. Lips pulled back, revealing gritted teeth. Though his head tipped slightly downward, those darkened eyes never strayed from Anabella, daring her to move or to speak.

Daring her to give him a reason to draw the dagger sheathed at his thigh, the hilt upon which one hand rested in preparation.

"You have no right to be here," the disgraced royal warned. "Not after everything you have done, Your Grace. Monster. Murderer. Snake in the grass."

Elwin stepped forward slowly. Each footfall that brought him closer to the former Duchess dredged up more and more unwanted feelings, fleeting reminders of times long dead from another life. Her words echoed within his very soul as effortlessly as they echoed throughout the walls of the throne room: So sleep in your only memory of me, my dearest.

"My memory of you has been overtaken with fire and grief. Sleep brings me no peace, no solace -- I dream only of that night, and of the faces of the dead. Ever since my liberation, do you have any idea how many of your messes I have aided in cleaning up? How many of our people -- friends, all, who looked to us for guidance and protection -- I have helped in burying after your men slaughtered them in cold blood? How many horrific stories were relayed back to us by our fellow Cursebreakers out in the field?"