#shadow plots

Her room at the Quicksand was small and modest, it served it’s purpose whilst her home was under renovation and repair. She couldn’t stay at the small house in Shirogane that the others could -- there were too many things that reminded her of the hallucinations that Jun’s father concocted and cast. She’d sooner move in with Alistair than live in that nightmarish hell.

Considering it had taken her a week to force herself to look in a mirror...yeah. Fuck that place. If Emeline and Jun weren’t so wrapped up in it, she’d fucking light it on fire herself.

She met her teal gaze in the mirror, noting how she was slightly paler and there were darker smudges beneath her eyes. Twelve, she was tired. She ached from sitting too long in chairs that were far too uncomfortable with Alistair, her mother, and Lady Noni. A low groan came from her as she pinched the bridge of her nose; the headache she had been fighting on and off for the past three days threatening to start up again.

All of them had been targeted by...whomever was after her. Either it was the same asshole cultist who was pissy about her possessing a certain journal or her list of enemies was beginning to lengthen more than she realized. Alistair had cornered her at the end of the four day stint of meetings, but she had managed to dodge the back hand and he had ceased his attempts when Lady Noni came out of the room with after bidding her mother goodbye. He was livid at the interruption to dealing a punishment he thought was just. She had felt a pulse of aether from it and her own miniscule amount threatened to curl through her veins to rise in defense. She had never felt her brother’s aether rise with such speed before and it caused more wariness than before.

She had been grateful to get the hell out of there.

She stared at herself in the mirror and began to apply her make up, prepping for the nuptials of Corsa’ir and Katalin this evening. She was losing her edge, her quick wit and silver tongue were dull. That was evident with the cool and tense conversation with Mafrea and Emeline last week, the results of it left her feeling like she was on uneven ground with the two. 

She was making mistakes left and right and it was starting to show; family, both of blood and of spirit, were suffering because of it. It was time for a reset, time to take a leaf from her favorite -- no, from Mafrea’s book. Emotions meant less control and she had to rectify that.

Rose brushed out her hair, reaching for the small bottle of Azeyma’s Rose oil and poured a little into her palm. She rubbed her hands together, threading them through her ebony locks to smooth them and take away and flyaway strands. Perhaps, she would recuse herself for a handful of days and take the time to handle things. Mayhaps, in doing so, she would draw the focus away from both parties. She could ferret out the seedy bar that the one hired fighter had spoken of. Some hair dye, different clothes, and some dirt would go a long way to change her appearance. Seven Hells, perhaps she could pick up the leve herself and confront the enemy?

She had to start thinking logically and plan. Gods, she was better than what she had been. She met her gaze in the mirror as she braided her hair back, twisting several lengths upward and pinning it in place. She smirked faintly; high risk meant high reward. It was time to handle her shit.