#ryes-up

Neve often wondered if she’d ever be used to the grandeur of it all. It still took everything in her not to gawk in awe at the ornately designed manors in which the richest fae resided, each bearing their own unique brand of beauty. As she stood in the garden of the estate that the last of the wedding reception had spilled out into, clutching a goblet of honey mead, Neve quietly people watched. There was plenty to drink in both in sights and wine. The nobility were particularly adorned tonight, competing as usual for the best dressed at the party. Feathers, gems, silk and embroidery were in full display - albeit a bit more disheveled and droopy as the night progressed.

Neve had not been sure how to dress for a wedding, having only been to one in her entire life that had been staged in a worn old barn. But, something had felt right about the silk gown in Luna’s chest, the garment still wrapped in paper from the dressmaker. It’s color stradled the warmest black, and the darkest brown, small black beads scattered across it that shimmered as they hit the light. It took much pushing and prodding, and strange undergarments that nipped one in at the waist and then expanded into a wide bell shape at the hips to accommodate the massive skirts of the gown. Neve had commissioned a matching pair of small devil-like horns encrusted in black diamonds that pinned into her raven hair near each temple and had covered her eyelids in the blackest kohl. She had signed in relief when she walked into the room, and saw others dressed in kind.

She was pulled, most uncomfortably, out of her buzzed daze as murmurs ran through the crowd and King Oberon himself strode out into the gardens, looking as bored as usual. She immediately looked around for the closest exit, her hand tightening around her goblet. Neve had had multiple near run-ins with the King that night, and the week before. Yet, she nearly always found a way to dip into the crowd before he could near her. Exchanging pleasantries with King Oberon always made her feel sick to her stomach. There was nothing that felt more high-stakes than being a murderer masquerading as the beloved cousin of a King to his face. The last time King Oberon her said hello to her, she had had to excuse herself to puke into the pot of a nearby plant.

Neve inelegantly hitched her skirts, darted behind the waiting crowd, and ducked into a servant’s side door that lead into the passageway to the kitchens. The hob exhaled as the sounds of boisterous voices faded, her hand flying to her heart as though it could still the pounding. “Sun and stars!” she breathed, the familiar hearthling exclamation a comfort amidst all these stranger. Tonight had perhaps been a bit too much for her. There were too many faces to remember, and inside jokes to dodge. Her face ached from smiling too much. Neve giggled at her own momentary panic, her heart rate finally beginning to slow as she stood in the candlelight hallways. She turned to peek out and resume her people watching from afar, only to let out a shrill scream at a figure in the doorway.