𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 . . . under the mountain 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 . . . althea nian ( @skinnedtight )
though the conflict between the loyalists and the mortals had reached a bloodied but satisfactory end by the swift ( and some might say merciless ) actions of the high lord of the night court, the past decade had been chock full of the horrors of a war that had nearly sundered the continent irreparably and amaris was under no false belief that the night court was viewed any more favourably now that her brother had acted in necessary violence to protect the security of velaris and the dreamers that dwelled within. there were many that believed that the turning point in war had come too late for their own peoples and the ghosts of the departed lingered on the coat tails of some of the fae that had gathered beneath the mountain ─ to those that had thousands of years stretched ahead of them, the month of mourning seemed to feel more like a week and many still wore their grievances on the harsh panes of their faces, looking at her and seeing nothing more than a nightmare.
amaris had taken great care to cloak her own bitter biases, allowing an amused smile to dance across her mouth as she strode through the mountain in search of some peace yet purposeful steps were slowed at the sound of a familiar voice floating out from one of the rooms, the lilting tune drawing the illyrian woman through the doors ( with some struggle, wings tucked tight against her back ) to come face to face with althea, mending something or the other beneath the light of a flickering candle. ❝ knock, knock. ❞ a little too late to alert the other woman to her presence, perhaps, but at least amaris tried to remember her manners. ❝ i thought i heard someone familiar ... do they have you mending shirts now when you are not singing ? you wouldn't be made to do such menial work in the night court, little songbird. ❞
